23031	----	WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF MRS. SEACOLE IN MANY LANDS EDITED BY W. J. S. WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE BY W. H. RUSSELL, ESQ., THE "TIMES" CORRESPONDENT IN THE CRIMEA. LONDON: JAMES BLACKWOOD, PATERNOSTER ROW. 1857. [Illustration: MRS. SEACOLE'S HOTEL IN THE CRIMEA.] LONDON: THOMAS HARRILD, PRINTER, 11, SALISBURY SQUARE, FLEET STREET. DEDICATED, BY PERMISSION, TO MAJOR-GENERAL LORD ROKEBY, K.C.B., BY HIS LORDSHIP'S HUMBLE AND MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT, MARY SEACOLE. TO THE READER. I should have thought that no preface would have been required to introduce Mrs. Seacole to the British public, or to recommend a book which must, from the circumstances in which the subject of it was placed, be unique in literature. If singleness of heart, true charity, and Christian works; if trials and sufferings, dangers and perils, encountered boldly by a helpless woman on her errand of mercy in the camp and in the battle-field, can excite sympathy or move curiosity, Mary Seacole will have many friends and many readers. She is no Anna Comnena, who presents us with a verbose history, but a plain truth-speaking woman, who has lived an adventurous life amid scenes which have never yet found a historian among the actors on the stage where they passed. I have witnessed her devotion and her courage; I have already borne testimony to her services to all who needed them. She is the first who has redeemed the name of "sutler" from the suspicion of worthlessness, mercenary baseness, and plunder; and I trust that England will not forget one who nursed her sick, who sought out her wounded to aid and succour them, and who performed the last offices for some of her illustrious dead. W. H. RUSSELL. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. My Birth and Parentage--Early Tastes and Travels--Marriage, and Widowhood 1 CHAPTER II. Struggles for Life--The Cholera in Jamaica--I leave Kingston for the Isthmus of Panama--Chagres, Navy Bay, and Gatun--Life in Panama--Up the River Chagres to Gorgona and Cruces 6 CHAPTER III. My Reception at the Independent Hotel--A Cruces Table d'Hôte--Life in Cruces--Amusements of the Crowds--A Novel Four-post Bed 17 CHAPTER IV. An Unwelcome Visitor in Cruces--The Cholera--Success of the Yellow Doctress--Fearful Scene at the Mule-owner's--The Burying Parties--The Cholera attacks me 23 CHAPTER V. American Sympathy--I take an Hotel in Cruces--My Customers--Lola Montes--Miss Hayes and the Bishop--Gambling in Cruces--Quarrels amongst the Travellers--New Granadan Military--The Thieves of Cruces--A Narrow Escape 34 CHAPTER VI. Migration to Gorgona--Farewell Dinners and Speeches--A Building Speculation--Life in Gorgona--Sympathy with American Slaves--Dr. Casey in Trouble--Floods and Fires--Yankee Independence and Freedom 46 CHAPTER VII. The Yellow Fever in Jamaica--My Experience of Death-bed Scenes--I leave again for Navy Bay, and open a Store there--I am attacked with the Gold Fever, and start for Escribanos--Life in the Interior of the Republic of New Granada--A Revolutionary Conspiracy on a small scale--The Dinner Delicacies of Escribanos--Journey up the Palmilla River--A Few Words on the Present Aspect of Affairs on the Isthmus of Panama 59 CHAPTER VIII. I long to join the British Army before Sebastopol--My Wanderings about London for that purpose--How I failed--Establishment of the Firm of "Day and Martin"--I Embark for Turkey 73 CHAPTER IX. Voyage to Constantinople--Malta--Gibraltar--Constantinople, and what I thought of it--Visit to Scutari Hospital--Miss Nightingale 82 CHAPTER X. "Jew Johnny"--I Start for Balaclava--Kindness of my old Friends--On Board the "Medora"--My Life on Shore--The Sick Wharf 92 CHAPTER XI. Alarms in the Harbour--Getting the Stores on Shore--Robbery by Night and Day--The Predatory Tribes of Balaclava--Activity of the Authorities--We obtain leave to erect our Store, and fix upon Spring Hill as its Site--The Turkish Pacha--The Flood--Our Carpenters--I become an English Schoolmistress Abroad 102 CHAPTER XII. The British Hotel--Domestic Difficulties--Our Enemies--The Russian Rats--Adventures in Search of a Cat--Light-fingered Zouaves--Crimean Thieves--Powdering a Horse 113 CHAPTER XIII. My Work in the Crimea 124 CHAPTER XIV. My Customers at the British Hotel 135 CHAPTER XV. My First Glimpse of War--Advance of my Turkish Friends on Kamara--Visitors to the Camp--Miss Nightingale--Mons. Soyer and the Cholera--Summer in the Crimea--"Thirsty Souls"--Death busy in the Trenches 146 CHAPTER XVI. Under Fire on the fatal 18th of June--Before the Redan--At the Cemetery--The Armistice--Deaths at Head-quarters--Depression in the Camp--Plenty in the Crimea--The Plague of Flies--Under Fire at the Battle of the Tchernaya--Work on the Field--My Patients 154 CHAPTER XVII. Inside Sebastopol--The Last Bombardment of Sebastopol--On Cathcart's Hill--Rumours in the Camp--The Attack on the Malakhoff--The Old Work again--A Sunday Excursion--Inside "Our" City--I am taken for a Spy, and thereat lose my Temper--I Visit the Redan, etc.--My Share of the Plunder 167 CHAPTER XVIII. Holiday in the Camp--A New Enemy, Time--Amusements in the Crimea--My share in them--Dinner at Spring Hill--At the Races--Christmas Day in the British Hotel--New Year's Day in the Hospital 177 CHAPTER XIX. New Year in the Crimea--Good News--The Armistice--Barter with the Russians--War and Peace--Tidings of Peace--Excursions into the Interior of the Crimea--To Simpheropol, Baktchiserai, etc.--The Troops begin to leave the Crimea--Friends' Farewells--The Cemeteries--We remove from Spring Hill to Balaclava--Alarming Sacrifice of our Stock--A last Glimpse of Sebastopol--Home! 188 Conclusion 197 ADVENTURES OF MRS. SEACOLE IN MANY LANDS. CHAPTER I. MY BIRTH AND PARENTAGE--EARLY TASTES AND TRAVELS--MARRIAGE, AND WIDOWHOOD. I was born in the town of Kingston, in the island of Jamaica, some time in the present century. As a female, and a widow, I may be well excused giving the precise date of this important event. But I do not mind confessing that the century and myself were both young together, and that we have grown side by side into age and consequence. I am a Creole, and have good Scotch blood coursing in my veins. My father was a soldier, of an old Scotch family; and to him I often trace my affection for a camp-life, and my sympathy with what I have heard my friends call "the pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious war." Many people have also traced to my Scotch blood that energy and activity which are not always found in the Creole race, and which have carried me to so many varied scenes: and perhaps they are right. I have often heard the term "lazy Creole" applied to my country people; but I am sure I do not know what it is to be indolent. All my life long I have followed the impulse which led me to be up and doing; and so far from resting idle anywhere, I have never wanted inclination to rove, nor will powerful enough to find a way to carry out my wishes. That these qualities have led me into many countries, and brought me into some strange and amusing adventures, the reader, if he or she has the patience to get through this book, will see. Some people, indeed, have called me quite a female Ulysses. I believe that they intended it as a compliment; but from my experience of the Greeks, I do not consider it a very flattering one. It is not my intention to dwell at any length upon the recollections of my childhood. My mother kept a boarding-house in Kingston, and was, like very many of the Creole women, an admirable doctress; in high repute with the officers of both services, and their wives, who were from time to time stationed at Kingston. It was very natural that I should inherit her tastes; and so I had from early youth a yearning for medical knowledge and practice which has never deserted me. When I was a very young child I was taken by an old lady, who brought me up in her household among her own grandchildren, and who could scarcely have shown me more kindness had I been one of them; indeed, I was so spoiled by my kind patroness that, but for being frequently with my mother, I might very likely have grown up idle and useless. But I saw so much of her, and of her patients, that the ambition to become a doctress early took firm root in my mind; and I was very young when I began to make use of the little knowledge I had acquired from watching my mother, upon a great sufferer--my doll. I have noticed always what actors children are. If you leave one alone in a room, how soon it clears a little stage; and, making an audience out of a few chairs and stools, proceeds to act its childish griefs and blandishments upon its doll. So I also made good use of my dumb companion and confidante; and whatever disease was most prevalent in Kingston, be sure my poor doll soon contracted it. I have had many medical triumphs in later days, and saved some valuable lives; but I really think that few have given me more real gratification than the rewarding glow of health which my fancy used to picture stealing over my patient's waxen face after long and precarious illness. Before long it was very natural that I should seek to extend my practice; and so I found other patients in the dogs and cats around me. Many luckless brutes were made to simulate diseases which were raging among their owners, and had forced down their reluctant throats the remedies which I deemed most likely to suit their supposed complaints. And after a time I rose still higher in my ambition; and despairing of finding another human patient, I proceeded to try my simples and essences upon--myself. When I was about twelve years old I was more frequently at my mother's house, and used to assist her in her duties; very often sharing with her the task of attending upon invalid officers or their wives, who came to her house from the adjacent camp at Up-Park, or the military station at Newcastle. As I grew into womanhood, I began to indulge that longing to travel which will never leave me while I have health and vigour. I was never weary of tracing upon an old map the route to England; and never followed with my gaze the stately ships homeward bound without longing to be in them, and see the blue hills of Jamaica fade into the distance. At that time it seemed most improbable that these girlish wishes should be gratified; but circumstances, which I need not explain, enabled me to accompany some relatives to England while I was yet a very young woman. I shall never forget my first impressions of London. Of course, I am not going to bore the reader with them; but they are as vivid now as though the year 18-- (I had very nearly let my age slip then) had not been long ago numbered with the past. Strangely enough, some of the most vivid of my recollections are the efforts of the London street-boys to poke fun at my and my companion's complexion. I am only a little brown--a few shades duskier than the brunettes whom you all admire so much; but my companion was very dark, and a fair (if I can apply the term to her) subject for their rude wit. She was hot-tempered, poor thing! and as there were no policemen to awe the boys and turn our servants' heads in those days, our progress through the London streets was sometimes a rather chequered one. I remained in England, upon the occasion of my first visit, about a year; and then returned to Kingston. Before long I again started for London, bringing with me this time a large stock of West Indian preserves and pickles for sale. After remaining two years here, I again started home; and on the way my life and adventures were very nearly brought to a premature conclusion. Christmas-day had been kept very merrily on board our ship the "Velusia;" and on the following day a fire broke out in the hold. I dare say it would have resisted all the crew's efforts to put it out, had not another ship appeared in sight; upon which the fire quietly allowed itself to be extinguished. Although considerably alarmed, I did not lose my senses; but during the time when the contest between fire and water was doubtful, I entered into an amicable arrangement with the ship's cook, whereby, in consideration of two pounds--which I was not, however, to pay until the crisis arrived--he agreed to lash me on to a large hen-coop. Before I had been long in Jamaica I started upon other trips, many of them undertaken with a view to gain. Thus I spent some time in New Providence, bringing home with me a large collection of handsome shells and rare shell-work, which created quite a sensation in Kingston, and had a rapid sale; I visited also Hayti and Cuba. But I hasten onward in my narrative. Returned to Kingston, I nursed my old indulgent patroness in her last long illness. After she died, in my arms, I went to my mother's house, where I stayed, making myself useful in a variety of ways, and learning a great deal of Creole medicinal art, until I couldn't find courage to say "no" to a certain arrangement timidly proposed by Mr. Seacole, but married him, and took him down to Black River, where we established a store. Poor man! he was very delicate; and before I undertook the charge of him, several doctors had expressed most unfavourable opinions of his health. I kept him alive by kind nursing and attention as long as I could; but at last he grew so ill that we left Black River, and returned to my mother's house at Kingston. Within a month of our arrival there he died. This was my first great trouble, and I felt it bitterly. For days I never stirred--lost to all that passed around me in a dull stupor of despair. If you had told me that the time would soon come when I should remember this sorrow calmly, I should not have believed it possible: and yet it was so. I do not think that we hot-blooded Creoles sorrow less for showing it so impetuously; but I do think that the sharp edge of our grief wears down sooner than theirs who preserve an outward demeanour of calmness, and nurse their woe secretly in their hearts. CHAPTER II. STRUGGLES FOR LIFE--THE CHOLERA IN JAMAICA--I LEAVE KINGSTON FOR THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA--CHAGRES, NAVY BAY, AND GATUN--LIFE IN PANAMA--UP THE RIVER CHAGRES TO GORGONA AND CRUCES. I had one other great grief to master--the loss of my mother, and then I was left alone to battle with the world as best I might. The struggles which it cost me to succeed in life were sometimes very trying; nor have they ended yet. But I have always turned a bold front to fortune, and taken, and shall continue to take, as my brave friends in the army and navy have shown me how, "my hurts before." Although it was no easy thing for a widow to make ends meet, I never allowed myself to know what repining or depression was, and so succeeded in gaining not only my daily bread, but many comforts besides from the beginning. Indeed, my experience of the world--it is not finished yet, but I do not think it will give me reason to change my opinion--leads me to the conclusion that it is by no means the hard bad world which some selfish people would have us believe it. It may be as my editor says-- "That gently comes the world to those That are cast in gentle mould;" hinting at the same time, politely, that the rule may apply to me personally. And perhaps he is right, for although I was always a hearty, strong woman--plain-spoken people might say stout--I think my heart is soft enough. How slowly and gradually I succeeded in life, need not be told at length. My fortunes underwent the variations which befall all. Sometimes I was rich one day, and poor the next. I never thought too exclusively of money, believing rather that we were born to be happy, and that the surest way to be wretched is to prize it overmuch. Had I done so, I should have mourned over many a promising speculation proving a failure, over many a pan of preserves or guava jelly burnt in the making; and perhaps lost my mind when the great fire of 1843, which devastated Kingston, burnt down my poor home. As it was, I very nearly lost my life, for I would not leave my house until every chance of saving it had gone, and it was wrapped in flames. But, of course, I set to work again in a humbler way, and rebuilt my house by degrees, and restocked it, succeeding better than before; for I had gained a reputation as a skilful nurse and doctress, and my house was always full of invalid officers and their wives from Newcastle, or the adjacent Up-Park Camp. Sometimes I had a naval or military surgeon under my roof, from whom I never failed to glean instruction, given, when they learned my love for their profession, with a readiness and kindness I am never likely to forget. Many of these kind friends are alive now. I met with some when my adventures had carried me to the battle-fields of the Crimea; and to those whose eyes may rest upon these pages I again offer my acknowledgments for their past kindness, which helped me to be useful to my kind in many lands. And here I may take the opportunity of explaining that it was from a confidence in my own powers, and not at all from necessity, that I remained an unprotected female. Indeed, I do not mind confessing to my reader, in a friendly confidential way, that one of the hardest struggles of my life in Kingston was to resist the pressing candidates for the late Mr. Seacole's shoes. Officers of high rank sometimes took up their abode in my house. Others of inferior rank were familiar with me, long before their bravery, and, alas! too often death, in the Crimea, made them world famous. There were few officers of the 97th to whom Mother Seacole was not well known, before she joined them in front of Sebastopol; and among the best known was good-hearted, loveable, noble H---- V----, whose death shocked me so terribly, and with whose useful heroic life the English public have become so familiar. I can hear the ring of his boyish laughter even now. In the year 1850, the cholera swept over the island of Jamaica with terrible force. Our idea--perhaps an unfounded one--was, that a steamer from New Orleans was the means of introducing it into the island. Anyhow, they sent some clothes on shore to be washed, and poor Dolly Johnson, the washerwoman, whom we all knew, sickened and died of the terrible disease. While the cholera raged, I had but too many opportunities of watching its nature, and from a Dr. B----, who was then lodging in my house, received many hints as to its treatment which I afterwards found invaluable. Early in the same year my brother had left Kingston for the Isthmus of Panama, then the great high-road to and from golden California, where he had established a considerable store and hotel. Ever since he had done so, I had found some difficulty in checking my reviving disposition to roam, and at last persuading myself that I might be of use to him (he was far from strong), I resigned my house into the hands of a cousin, and made arrangements to journey to Chagres. Having come to this conclusion, I allowed no grass to grow beneath my feet, but set to work busily, for I was not going to him empty-handed. My house was full for weeks, of tailors, making up rough coats, trousers, etc., and sempstresses cutting out and making shirts. In addition to these, my kitchen was filled with busy people, manufacturing preserves, guava jelly, and other delicacies, while a considerable sum was invested in the purchase of preserved meats, vegetables, and eggs. It will be as well, perhaps, if I explain, in as few words as possible, the then condition of the Isthmus of Panama. All my readers must know--a glance at the map will show it to those who do not--that between North America and the envied shores of California stretches a little neck of land, insignificant-looking enough on the map, dividing the Atlantic from the Pacific. By crossing this, the travellers from America avoided a long, weary, and dangerous sea voyage round Cape Horn, or an almost impossible journey by land. But that journey across the Isthmus, insignificant in distance as it was, was by no means an easy one. It seemed as if nature had determined to throw every conceivable obstacle in the way of those who should seek to join the two great oceans of the world. I have read and heard many accounts of old endeavours to effect this important and gigantic work, and how miserably they failed. It was reserved for the men of our age to accomplish what so many had died in attempting, and iron and steam, twin giants, subdued to man's will, have put a girdle over rocks and rivers, so that travellers can glide as smoothly, if not as inexpensively, over the once terrible Isthmus of Darien, as they can from London to Brighton. Not yet, however, does civilization, rule at Panama. The weak sway of the New Granada Republic, despised by lawless men, and respected by none, is powerless to control the refuse of every nation which meet together upon its soil. Whenever they feel inclined now they overpower the law easily; but seven years ago, when I visited the Isthmus of Panama, things were much worse, and a licence existed, compared to which the present lawless state of affairs is enviable. When, after passing Chagres, an old-world, tumble-down town, for about seven miles, the steamer reached Navy Bay, I thought I had never seen a more luckless, dreary spot. Three sides of the place were a mere swamp, and the town itself stood upon a sand-reef, the houses being built upon piles, which some one told me rotted regularly every three years. The railway, which now connects the bay with Panama, was then building, and ran, as far as we could see, on piles, connected with the town by a wooden jetty. It seemed as capital a nursery for ague and fever as Death could hit upon anywhere, and those on board the steamer who knew it confirmed my opinion. As we arrived a steady down-pour of rain was falling from an inky sky; the white men who met us on the wharf appeared ghostly and wraith-like, and the very negroes seemed pale and wan. The news which met us did not tempt me to lose any time in getting up the country to my brother. According to all accounts, fever and ague, with some minor diseases, especially dropsy, were having it all their own way at Navy Bay, and, although I only stayed one night in the place, my medicine chest was called into requisition. But the sufferers wanted remedies which I could not give them--warmth, nourishment, and fresh air. Beneath leaky tents, damp huts, and even under broken railway waggons, I saw men dying from sheer exhaustion. Indeed, I was very glad when, with the morning, the crowd, as the Yankees called the bands of pilgrims to and from California, made ready to ascend to Panama. The first stage of our journey was by railway to Gatun, about twelve miles distant. For the greater portion of that distance the lines ran on piles, over as unhealthy and wretched a country as the eye could well grow weary of; but, at last, the country improved, and you caught glimpses of distant hills and English-like scenery. Every mile of that fatal railway cost the world thousands of lives. I was assured that its site was marked thickly by graves, and that so great was the mortality among the labourers that three times the survivors struck in a body, and their places had to be supplied by fresh victims from America, tempted by unheard-of rates of wages. It is a gigantic undertaking, and shows what the energy and enterprise of man can accomplish. Everything requisite for its construction, even the timber, had to be prepared in, and brought from, America. The railway then ran no further than Gatun, and here we were to take water and ascend the River Chagres to Gorgona, the next stage on the way to Cruces, where my brother was. The cars landed us at the bottom of a somewhat steep cutting through a reddish clay, and deposited me and my suite, consisting of a black servant, named "Mac," and a little girl, in safety in the midst of my many packages, not altogether satisfied with my prospects; for the rain was falling heavily and steadily, and the Gatun porters were possessing themselves of my luggage with that same avidity which distinguishes their brethren on the pier of Calais or the quays of Pera. There are two species of individuals whom I have found alike wherever my travels have carried me--the reader can guess their professions--porters and lawyers. It was as much as I could do to gather my packages together, sit in the midst with a determined look to awe the hungry crowd around me, and send "Mac" up the steep slippery bank to report progress. After a little while he returned to say that the river-side was not far off, where boats could be hired for the upward journey. The word given, the porters threw themselves upon my packages; a pitched battle ensued, out of which issued the strongest Spanish Indians, with their hardly earned prizes, and we commenced the ascent of the clayey bank. Now, although the surveyors of the Darien highways had considerately cut steps up the steep incline, they had become worse than useless, so I floundered about terribly, more than once losing my footing altogether. And as with that due regard to personal appearance, which I have always deemed a duty as well as a pleasure to study, I had, before leaving Navy Bay, attired myself in a delicate light blue dress, a white bonnet prettily trimmed, and an equally chaste shawl, the reader can sympathise with my distress. However, I gained the summit, and after an arduous descent, of a few minutes duration, reached the river-side; in a most piteous plight, however, for my pretty dress, from its contact with the Gatun clay, looked as red as if, in the pursuit of science, I had passed it through a strong solution of muriatic acid. By the water-side I found my travelling companions arguing angrily with the shrewd boatmen, and bating down their fares. Upon collecting my luggage, I found, as I had expected, that the porters had not neglected the glorious opportunity of robbing a woman, and that several articles were missing. Complaints, I knew, would not avail me, and stronger measures seemed hazardous and barely advisable in a lawless out-of-the-way spot, where "The simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can," seemed universally practised, and would very likely have been defended by its practitioners upon principle. It was not so easy to hire a boat as I had been led to expect. The large crowd had made the boatmen somewhat exorbitant in their demands, and there were several reasons why I should engage one for my own exclusive use, instead of sharing one with some of my travelling companions. In the first place, my luggage was somewhat bulky; and, in the second place, my experience of travel had not failed to teach me that Americans (even from the Northern States) are always uncomfortable in the company of coloured people, and very often show this feeling in stronger ways than by sour looks and rude words. I think, if I have a little prejudice against our cousins across the Atlantic--and I do confess to a little--it is not unreasonable. I have a few shades of deeper brown upon my skin which shows me related--and I am proud of the relationship--to those poor mortals whom you once held enslaved, and whose bodies America still owns. And having this bond, and knowing what slavery is; having seen with my eyes and heard with my ears proof positive enough of its horrors--let others affect to doubt them if they will--is it surprising that I should be somewhat impatient of the airs of superiority which many Americans have endeavoured to assume over me? Mind, I am not speaking of all. I have met with some delightful exceptions. At length I succeeded in hiring a boat for the modest consideration of ten pounds, to carry me and my fortunes to Cruces. My boat was far from uncomfortable. Large and flat-bottomed, with an awning, dirty it must be confessed, beneath which swung a hammock, of which I took immediate possession. By the way, the Central Americans should adopt the hammock as their national badge; but for sheer necessity they would never leave it. The master of the boat, the padrone, was a fine tall negro, his crew were four common enough specimens of humanity, with a marked disregard of the prejudices of society with respect to clothing. A dirty handkerchief rolled over the head, and a wisp of something, which might have been linen, bound round the loins, formed their attire. Perhaps, however, the thick coating of dirt which covered them kept them warmer than more civilized clothing, besides being indisputably more economical. The boat was generally propelled by paddles, but when the river was shallow, poles were used to punt us along, as on English rivers; the black padrone, whose superior position was indicated by the use of decent clothing, standing at the helm, gesticulating wildly, and swearing Spanish oaths with a vehemence that would have put Corporal Trim's comrades in Flanders to the blush. Very much shocked, of course, but finding it perfectly useless to remonstrate with him, I swung myself in my hammock and leisurely watched the river scene. The river Chagres lolled with considerable force, now between low marshy shores, now narrowing, between steep, thickly wooded banks. It was liable, as are all rivers in hilly districts, to sudden and heavy floods; and although the padrone, on leaving Gatun, had pledged his soul to land me at Cruces that night, I had not been long afloat before I saw that he would forfeit his worthless pledge; for the wind rose to a gale, ruffling the river here and there into a little sea; the rain came down in torrents, while the river rose rapidly, bearing down on its swollen stream trunks of trees, and similar waifs and strays, which it tossed about like a giant in sport, threatening to snag us with its playthings every moment. And when we came to a sheltered reach, and found that the little fleet of boats which had preceded us had laid to there, I came to the conclusion that, stiff, tired, and hungry, I should have to pass a night upon the river Chagres. All I could get to eat was some guavas, which grew wild upon the banks, and then I watched the padrone curl his long body up among my luggage, and listened to the crew, who had rolled together at the bottom of the boat, snore as peacefully as if they slept between fair linen sheets, in the purest of calico night-gear, and the most unexceptionable of nightcaps, until somehow I fell into a troubled, dreamy sleep. At daybreak we were enabled to pursue our journey, and in a short time reached Gorgona. I was glad enough to go on shore, as you may imagine. Gorgona was a mere temporary town of bamboo and wood houses, hastily erected to serve as a station for the crowd. In the present rainy season, when the river was navigable up to Cruces, the chief part of the population migrated thither, so that Gorgona was almost deserted, and looked indescribably damp, dirty, and dull. With some difficulty I found a bakery and a butcher's shop. The meat was not very tempting, for the Gorgona butchers did not trouble themselves about joints, but cut the flesh into strips about three inches wide, and of various lengths. These were hung upon rails, so that you bought your meat by the yard, and were spared any difficulty in the choice of joint. I cannot say that I was favourably impressed with this novel and simple way of avoiding trouble, but I was far too hungry to be particular, and buying a strip for a quarter of a real, carried it off to Mac to cook. Late that afternoon, the padrone and his crew landed me, tired, wretched, and out of temper, upon the miserable wharf of Cruces. CHAPTER III. MY RECEPTION AT THE INDEPENDENT HOTEL--A CRUCES TABLE D'HÔTE--LIFE IN CRUCES--AMUSEMENTS OF THE CROWDS--A NOVEL FOUR-POST BED. The sympathising reader, who very likely has been laughing heartily at my late troubles, can fancy that I was looking forward with no little pleasurable anticipation to reaching my brother's cheerful home at Cruces. After the long night spent on board the wretched boat in my stiff, clayey dress, and the hours of fasting, the warmth and good cheer of the Independent Hotel could not fail to be acceptable. My brother met me on the rickety wharf with the kindest welcome in his face, although he did not attempt to conceal a smile at my forlorn appearance, and giving the necessary instructions about my luggage, led the way at once to his house, which was situated at the upper end of the street. A capital site, he said, when the rest of the town was under water--which agreeable variety occurred twice or thrice a year unexpectedly. On our way, he rather damped my hopes by expressing his fears that he should be unable to provide his sister with the accommodation he could wish. For you see, he said, the crowd from Panama has just come in, meeting your crowd from Navy Bay; and I shouldn't be at all surprised if very many of them have no better bed than the store floors. But, despite this warning, I was miserably unprepared for the reception that awaited me. To be sure, I found Cruces as like Gorgona, in its dampness, dirt, and confusion, as it well could be; but the crowd from the gold-fields of California had just arrived, having made the journey from Panama on mules, and the street was filled with motley groups in picturesque variety of attire. The hotels were also full of them, while many lounged in the verandahs after their day's journey. Rude, coarse gold-diggers, in gay-coloured shirts, and long, serviceable boots, elbowed, in perfect equality, keen Yankee speculators, as close shaven, neat, and clean on the Isthmus of Panama as in the streets of New York or New Orleans. The women alone kept aloof from each other, and well they might; for, while a very few seemed not ashamed of their sex, it was somewhat difficult to distinguish the majority from their male companions, save by their bolder and more reckless voice and manner. I must say, however, that many of them adopted male attire for the journey across the Isthmus only, as it spared them many compliments which their husbands were often disposed to resent, however flattering they might be to their choice. Through all these I pressed on, stiff, cold, and hungry, to the Independent Hotel, eagerly anticipating the comforts which awaited me there. At length we reached it. But, rest! warmth! comfort!--miserable delusions! Picture to yourself, sympathising reader, a long, low hut, built of rough, unhewn, unplaned logs, filled up with mud and split bamboo; a long, sloping roof and a large verandah, already full of visitors. And the interior: a long room, gaily hung with dirty calico, in stripes of red and white; above it another room, in which the guests slept, having the benefit of sharing in any orgies which might be going on below them, through the broad chinks between the rough, irregular planks which formed its floor. At the further end, a small corner, partitioned roughly off, formed a bar, and around it were shelves laden with stores for the travellers, while behind it was a little room used by my brother as his private apartment; but three female travellers had hired it for their own especial use for the night, paying the enormous sum of £10 for so exclusive a luxury. At the entrance sat a black man, taking toll of the comers-in, giving them in exchange for coin or gold-dust (he had a rusty pair of scales to weigh the latter) a dirty ticket, which guaranteed them supper, a night's lodging, and breakfast. I saw all this very quickly, and turned round upon my brother in angry despair. "What am I to do? Why did you ever bring me to this place? See what a state I am in--cold, hungry, and wretched. I want to wash, to change my clothes, to eat, to----" But poor Edward could only shrug his shoulders and shake his head, in answer to my indignant remonstrances. At last he made room for me in a corner of the crowded bar, set before me some food, and left me to watch the strange life I had come to; and before long I soon forgot my troubles in the novelty of my position. The difference between the passengers to and from California was very distinguishable. Those bound for the gold country were to a certain extent fresh from civilization, and had scarcely thrown off its control; whereas the homeward bound revelled in disgusting excess of licence. Although many of the women on their way to California showed clearly enough that the life of licence they sought would not be altogether unfamiliar to them, they still retained some appearance of decency in their attire and manner; but in many cases (as I have before said) the female companions of the successful gold-diggers appeared in no hurry to resume the dress or obligations of their sex. Many were clothed as the men were, in flannel shirt and boots; rode their mules in unfeminine fashion, but with much ease and courage; and in their conversation successfully rivalled the coarseness of their lords. I think, on the whole, that those French lady writers who desire to enjoy the privileges of man, with the irresponsibility of the other sex, would have been delighted with the disciples who were carrying their principles into practice in the streets of Cruces. The chief object of all the travellers seemed to be dinner or supper; I do not know what term they gave it. Down the entire length of the Independent Hotel ran a table covered with a green oilskin cloth, and at proper intervals were placed knives and forks, plates, and cups and saucers turned down; and when a new-comer received his ticket, and wished to secure his place for the coming repast, he would turn his plate, cup, and saucer up; which mode of reserving seats seemed respected by the rest. And as the evening wore on, the shouting and quarrelling at the doorway in Yankee twang increased momentarily; while some seated themselves at the table, and hammering upon it with the handles of their knives, hallooed out to the excited nigger cooks to make haste with the slapjack. Amidst all this confusion, my brother was quietly selling shirts, boots, trousers, etc., to the travellers; while above all the din could be heard the screaming voices of his touters without, drawing attention to the good cheer of the Independent Hotel. Over and over again, while I cowered in my snug corner, wishing to avoid the notice of all, did I wish myself safe back in my pleasant home in Kingston; but it was too late to find out my mistake now. At last the table was nearly filled with a motley assemblage of men and women, and the slapjack, hot and steaming, was carried in by the black cooks. The hungry diners welcomed its advent with a shout of delight; and yet it did not seem particularly tempting. But beyond all doubt it was a capital _pièce de résistance_ for great eaters; and before the dinner was over, I saw ample reasons to induce any hotel-keeper to give it his patronage. In truth, it was a thick substantial pancake of flour, salt, and water--eggs were far too expensive to be used in its composition; and by the time the supply had disappeared, I thought the largest appetites must have been stayed. But it was followed by pork, strips of beef stewed with hard dumplings, hams, great dishes of rice, jugs of molasses and treacle for sauce; the whole being washed down with an abundance of tea and coffee. Chickens and eggs were provided for those who were prepared to pay for these luxuries of Panama life. But, so scarce and expensive were they, that, as I afterwards discovered, those hotel-keepers whose larders were so stocked would hang out a chicken upon their signposts, as a sure attraction for the richer and more reckless diggers; while the touter's cry of "Eggs and chickens here" was a very telling one. Wine and spirits were also obtainable, but were seldom taken by the Americans, who are abstemious abroad as well as at home. After dinner the store soon cleared. Gambling was a great attraction; but my brother, dreading its consequences with these hot-brained armed men, allowed none to take place in his hotel. So some lounged away to the faro and monte tables, which were doing a busy trade; others loitered in the verandah, smoking, and looking at the native women, who sang and danced fandangos before them. The whole of the dirty, woe-begone place, which had looked so wretched by the light of day, was brilliantly illuminated now. Night would bring no rest to Cruces, while the crowds were there to be fed, cheated, or amused. Daybreak would find the faro-tables, with their piles of silver and little heaps of gold-dust, still surrounded by haggard gamblers; daybreak would gleam sickly upon the tawdry finery of the poor Spanish singers and dancers, whose weary night's work would enable them to live upon the travellers' bounty for the next week or so. These few hours of gaiety and excitement were to provide the Cruces people with food and clothing for as many days; and while their transitory sun shone, I will do them the justice to say they gathered in their hay busily. In the exciting race for gold, we need not be surprised at the strange groups which line the race-course. All that I wondered at was, that I had not foreseen what I found, or that my rage for change and novelty had closed my ears against the warning voices of those who knew somewhat of the high-road to California; but I was too tired to moralise long, and begged my brother to find me a bed somewhere. He failed to do so completely, and in despair I took the matter in my own hands; and stripping the green oilskin cloth from the rough table--it would not be wanted again until to-morrow's breakfast--pinned up some curtains round the table's legs, and turned in with my little servant beneath it. It was some comfort to know that my brother, his servants, and Mac brought their mattresses, and slept upon it above us. It was a novel bed, and required some slight stretch of the imagination to fancy it a four-poster; but I was too tired to be particular, and slept soundly. We were up right early on the following morning; and refreshed with my night's sleep, I entered heartily into the preparations for breakfast. That meal over, the homeward-bound passengers took boats _en route_ for Gorgona, while those bound for California hired mules for the land journey to Panama. So after awhile all cleared away, and Cruces was left to its unhealthy solitude. CHAPTER IV. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR IN CRUCES--THE CHOLERA--SUCCESS OF THE YELLOW DOCTRESS--FEARFUL SCENE AT THE MULE-OWNER'S--THE BURYING PARTIES--THE CHOLERA ATTACKS ME. I do not think I have ever known what it is to despair, or even to despond (if such were my inclination, I have had some opportunities recently), and it was not long before I began to find out the bright side of Cruces life, and enter into schemes for staying there. But it would be a week or so before the advent of another crowd would wake Cruces to life and activity again; and in the meanwhile, and until I could find a convenient hut for my intended hotel, I remained my brother's guest. But it was destined that I should not be long in Cruces before my medicinal skill and knowledge were put to the test. Before the passengers for Panama had been many days gone, it was found that they had left one of their number behind them, and that one--the cholera. I believe that the faculty have not yet come to the conclusion that the cholera is contagious, and I am not presumptuous enough to forestall them; but my people have always considered it to be so, and the poor Cruces folks did not hesitate to say that this new and terrible plague had been a fellow-traveller with the Americans from New Orleans or some other of its favoured haunts. I had the first intimation of its unwelcome presence in the following abrupt and unpleasant manner:-- A Spaniard, an old and intimate friend of my brother, had supped with him one evening, and upon returning home had been taken ill, and after a short period of intense suffering had died. So sudden and so mysterious a death gave rise to the rumour that he had been poisoned, and suspicion rested for a time, perhaps not unnaturally, upon my brother, in whose company the dead man had last been. Anxious for many reasons--the chief one, perhaps, the position of my brother--I went down to see the corpse. A single glance at the poor fellow showed me the terrible truth. The distressed face, sunken eyes, cramped limbs, and discoloured shrivelled skin were all symptoms which I had been familiar with very recently; and at once I pronounced the cause of death to be cholera. The Cruces people were mightily angry with me for expressing such an opinion; even my brother, although it relieved him of the odium of a great crime, was as annoyed as the rest. But by twelve o'clock that morning one of the Spaniard's friends was attacked similarly, and the very people who had been most angry with me a few hours previously, came to me now eager for advice. There was no doctor in Cruces; the nearest approach to one was a little timid dentist, who was there by accident, and who refused to prescribe for the sufferer, and I was obliged to do my best. Selecting from my medicine chest--I never travel anywhere without it--what I deemed necessary, I went hastily to the patient, and at once adopted the remedies I considered fit. It was a very obstinate case, but by dint of mustard emetics, warm fomentations, mustard plasters on the stomach and the back, and calomel, at first in large then in gradually smaller doses, I succeeded in saving my first cholera patient in Cruces. For a few days the terrible disease made such slow progress amongst us that we almost hoped it had passed on its way and spared us; but all at once it spread rapidly, and affrighted faces and cries of woe soon showed how fatally the destroyer was at work. And in so great request were my services, that for days and nights together I scarcely knew what it was to enjoy two successive hours' rest. And here I must pause to set myself right with my kind reader. He or she will not, I hope, think that, in narrating these incidents, I am exalting my poor part in them unduly. I do not deny (it is the only thing indeed that I have to be proud of) that I _am_ pleased and gratified when I look back upon my past life, and see times now and then, and places here and there, when and where I have been enabled to benefit my fellow-creatures suffering from ills my skill could often remedy. Nor do I think that the kind reader will consider this feeling an unworthy one. If it be so, and if, in the following pages, the account of what Providence has given me strength to do on larger fields of action be considered vain or egotistical, still I cannot help narrating them, for my share in them appears to be the one and only claim I have to interest the public ear. Moreover I shall be sadly disappointed, if those years of life which may be still in store for me are not permitted by Providence to be devoted to similar usefulness. I am not ashamed to confess--for the gratification is, after all, a selfish one--that I love to be of service to those who need a woman's help. And wherever the need arises--on whatever distant shore--I ask no greater or higher privilege than to minister to it. After this explanation, I resume more freely the account of my labours in Cruces. It was scarcely surprising that the cholera should spread rapidly, for fear is its powerful auxiliary, and the Cruces people bowed down before the plague in slavish despair. The Americans and other foreigners in the place showed a brave front, but the natives, constitutionally cowardly, made not the feeblest show of resistance. Beyond filling the poor church, and making the priests bring out into the streets figures of tawdry dirty saints, supposed to possess some miraculous influence which they never exerted, before which they prostrated themselves, invoking their aid with passionate prayers and cries, they did nothing. Very likely the saints would have got the credit of helping them if they had helped themselves; but the poor cowards never stirred a finger to clean out their close, reeking huts, or rid the damp streets of the rotting accumulation of months. I think their chief reliance was on "the yellow woman from Jamaica with the cholera medicine." Nor was this surprising; for the Spanish doctor, who was sent for from Panama, became nervous and frightened at the horrors around him, and the people soon saw that he was not familiar with the terrible disease he was called upon to do battle with, and preferred trusting to one who was. It must be understood that many of those who could afford to pay for my services did so handsomely, but the great majority of my patients had nothing better to give their doctress than thanks. The best part of my practice lay amongst the American store and hotel keepers, the worst among the native boatmen and muleteers. These latter died by scores, and among them I saw some scenes of horror I would fain forget, if it were possible. One terrible night, passed with some of them, has often haunted me. I will endeavour to narrate it, and should the reader be supposed to think it highly coloured and doubtful, I will only tell him that, terrible as it seems, I saw almost as fearful scenes on the Crimean peninsula among British men, a few thousand miles only from comfort and plenty. It was late in the evening when the largest mule-owner in Cruces came to me and implored me to accompany him to his kraal, a short distance from the town, where he said some of his men were dying. One in particular, his head muleteer, a very valuable servant, he was most selfishly anxious for, and, on the way thither, promised me a large remuneration if I should succeed in saving him. Our journey was not a long one, but it rained hard, and the fields were flooded, so that it took us some time to reach the long, low hut which he called his home. I would rather not see such another scene as the interior of that hut presented. Its roof scarcely sheltered its wretched inmates from the searching rain; its floor was the damp, rank turf, trodden by the mules' hoofs and the muleteers' feet into thick mud. Around, in dirty hammocks, and on the damp floor, were the inmates of this wretched place, male and female, the strong and the sick together, breathing air that nearly choked me, accustomed as I had grown to live in impure atmosphere; for beneath the same roof the mules, more valuable to their master than his human servants, were stabled, their fore-feet locked, and beside them were heaps of saddles, packs, and harness. The groans of the sufferers and the anxiety and fear of their comrades were so painful to hear and witness, that for a few minutes I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to run out into the stormy night, and flee from this plague-spot. But the weak feeling vanished, and I set about my duty. The mule-owner was so frightened that he did not hesitate to obey orders, and, by my directions, doors and shutters were thrown open, fires were lighted, and every effort made to ventilate the place; and then, with the aid of the frightened women, I applied myself to my poor patients. Two were beyond my skill. Death alone could give them relief. The others I could help. But no words of mine could induce them to bear their terrible sufferings like men. They screamed and groaned, not like women, for few would have been so craven-hearted, but like children; calling, in the intervals of violent pain, upon Jesu, the Madonna, and all the saints of heaven whom their lives had scandalised. I stayed with them until midnight, and then got away for a little time. But I had not long been quiet, before the mule-master was after me again. The men were worse; would I return with him. The rain was drifting heavily on the thatched roof, as it only does in tropical climates, and I was tired to death; but I could not resist his appeal. He had brought with him a pair of tall, thick boots, in which I was to wade through the flooded fields; and with some difficulty I again reached the kraal. I found the worst cases sinking fast, one of the others had relapsed, while fear had paralysed the efforts of the rest. At last I restored some order; and, with the help of the bravest of the women, fixed up rude screens around the dying men. But no screens could shut out from the others their awful groans and cries for the aid that no mortal power could give them. So the long night passed away; first a deathlike stillness behind one screen, and then a sudden silence behind the other, showing that the fierce battle with death was over, and who had been the victor. And, meanwhile, I sat before the flickering fire, with my last patient in my lap--a poor, little, brown-faced orphan infant, scarce a year old, was dying in my arms, and I was powerless to save it. It may seem strange, but it is a fact, that I thought more of that little child than I did of the men who were struggling for their lives, and prayed very earnestly and solemnly to God to spare it. But it did not please Him to grant my prayer, and towards morning the wee spirit left this sinful world for the home above it had so lately left, and what was mortal of the little infant lay dead in my arms. Then it was that I began to think--how the idea first arose in my mind I can hardly say--that, if it were possible to take this little child and examine it, I should learn more of the terrible disease which was sparing neither young nor old, and should know better how to do battle with it. I was not afraid to use my baby patient thus. I knew its fled spirit would not reproach me, for I had done all I could for it in life--had shed tears over it, and prayed for it. It was cold grey dawn, and the rain had ceased, when I followed the man who had taken the dead child away to bury it, and bribed him to carry it by an unfrequented path down to the river-side, and accompany me to the thick retired bush on the opposite bank. Having persuaded him thus much, it was not difficult, with the help of silver arguments to convince him that it would be for the general benefit and his own, if I could learn from this poor little thing the secret inner workings of our common foe; and ultimately he stayed by me, and aided me in my first and last _post mortem_ examination. It seems a strange deed to accomplish, and I am sure I could not wield the scalpel or the substitute I then used now, but at that time the excitement had strung my mind up to a high pitch of courage and determination; and perhaps the daily, almost hourly, scenes of death had made me somewhat callous. I need not linger on this scene, nor give the readers the results of my operation; although novel to me, and decidedly useful, they were what every medical man well knows. We buried the poor little body beneath a piece of luxuriant turf, and stole back into Cruces like guilty things. But the knowledge I had obtained thus strangely was very valuable to me, and was soon put into practice. But that I dreaded boring my readers, I would fain give them some idea of my treatment of this terrible disease. I have no doubt that at first I made some lamentable blunders, and, may be, lost patients which a little later I could have saved. I know I came across, the other day, some notes of cholera medicines which made me shudder, and I dare say they have been used in their turn and found wanting. The simplest remedies were perhaps the best. Mustard plasters, and emetics, and calomel; the mercury applied externally, where the veins were nearest the surface, were my usual resources. Opium I rather dreaded, as its effect is to incapacitate the system from making any exertion, and it lulls the patient into a sleep which is often the sleep of death. When my patients felt thirsty, I would give them water in which cinnamon had been boiled. One stubborn attack succumbed to an additional dose of ten grains of sugar of lead, mixed in a pint of water, given in doses of a table-spoonful every quarter of an hour. Another patient, a girl, I rubbed over with warm oil, camphor, and spirits of wine. Above all, I never neglected to apply mustard poultices to the stomach, spine, and neck, and particularly to keep my patient warm about the region of the heart. Nor did I relax my care when the disease had passed by, for danger did not cease when the great foe was beaten off. The patient was left prostrate; strengthening medicines had to be given cautiously, for fever, often of the brain, would follow. But, after all, one great conclusion, which my practice in cholera cases enabled me to come to, was the old one, that few constitutions permitted the use of exactly similar remedies, and that the course of treatment which saved one man, would, if persisted in, have very likely killed his brother. Generally speaking, the cholera showed premonitory symptoms; such as giddiness, sickness, diarrhoea, or sunken eyes and distressed look; but sometimes the substance followed its forecoming shadow so quickly, and the crisis was so rapid, that there was no time to apply any remedies. An American carpenter complained of giddiness and sickness--warning signs--succeeded so quickly by the worst symptoms of cholera, that in less than an hour his face became of an indigo tint, his limbs were doubled up horribly with violent cramps, and he died. To the convicts--and if there could be grades of wretchedness in Cruces, these poor creatures were the lowest--belonged the terrible task of burying the dead; a duty to which they showed the utmost repugnance. Not unfrequently, at some fancied alarm, they would fling down their burden, until at last it became necessary to employ the soldiers to see that they discharged the task allotted to them. Ordinarily, the victims were buried immediately after death, with such imperfect rites of sepulture as the harassed frightened priests would pay them, and very seldom was time afforded by the authorities to the survivors to pay those last offices to the departed which a Spaniard and a Catholic considers so important. Once I was present at a terrible scene in the house of a New Granada grandee, whose pride and poverty justified many of the old Spanish proverbs levelled at his caste. It was when the cholera was at its height, and yet he had left--perhaps on important business--his wife and family, and gone to Panama for three days. On the day after his departure, the plague broke out in his house, and my services were required promptly. I found the miserable household in terrible alarm, and yet confining their exertions to praying to a coarse black priest in a black surplice, who, kneeling beside the couch of the Spanish lady, was praying (in his turn) to some favourite saint in Cruces. The sufferer was a beautiful woman, suffering from a violent attack of cholera, with no one to help her, or even to take from her arms the poor little child they had allowed her to retain. In her intervals of comparative freedom from pain, her cries to the Madonna and her husband were heartrending to hear. I had the greatest difficulty to rout the stupid priest and his as stupid worshippers, and do what I could for the sufferer. It was very little, and before long the unconscious Spaniard was a widower. Soon after, the authorities came for the body. I never saw such passionate anger and despair as were shown by her relatives and servants, old and young, at the intrusion--rage that she, who had been so exalted in life, should go to her grave like the poor, poor clay she was. Orders were given to bar the door against the convict gang who had come to discharge their unpleasant duty, and while all were busy decking out the unconscious corpse in gayest attire, none paid any heed to me bending over the fire with the motherless child, journeying fast to join its dead parent. I had made more than one effort to escape, for I felt more sick and wretched than at any similar scene of woe; but finding exit impossible, I turned my back upon them, and attended to the dying child. Nor did I heed their actions until I heard orders given to admit the burial party, and then I found that they had dressed the corpse in rich white satin, and decked her head with flowers. The agitation and excitement of this scene had affected me as no previous horror had done, and I could not help fancying that symptoms were showing themselves in me with which I was familiar enough in others. Leaving the dying infant to the care of its relatives (when the Spaniard returned he found himself widowed and childless), I hastened to my brother's house. When there, I felt an unpleasant chill come over me, and went to bed at once. Other symptoms followed quickly, and, before nightfall, I knew full well that my turn had come at last, and that the cholera had attacked me, perhaps its greatest foe in Cruces. CHAPTER V. AMERICAN SYMPATHY--I TAKE AN HOTEL IN CRUCES--MY CUSTOMERS--LOLA MONTES--MISS HAYES AND THE BISHOP--GAMBLING IN CRUCES--QUARRELS AMONGST THE TRAVELLERS--NEW GRANADA MILITARY--THE THIEVES OF CRUCES--A NARROW ESCAPE. When it became known that their "yellow doctress" had the cholera, I must do the people of Cruces the justice to say that they gave her plenty of sympathy, and would have shown their regard for her more actively, had there been any occasion. Indeed, when I most wanted quiet, it was difficult to keep out the sympathising Americans and sorrowing natives who came to inquire after me; and who, not content with making their inquiries, and leaving their offerings of blankets, flannel, etc., must see with their own eyes what chance the yellow woman had of recovery. The rickety door of my little room could never be kept shut for many minutes together. A visitor would open it silently, poke his long face in with an expression of sympathy that almost made me laugh in spite of my pain, draw it out again, between the narrowest possible opening, as if he were anxious to admit as little air as he could; while another would come in bodily, and after looking at me curiously and inquisitively, as he would eye a horse or nigger he had some thoughts of making a bid for, would help to carpet my room, with the result perhaps of his meditations, and saying, gravely, "Air you better, Aunty Seacole, now? Isn't there a something we can du for you, ma'am?" would as gravely give place to another and another yet, until I was almost inclined to throw something at them, or call them bad names, like the Scotch king does the ghosts in the play.[A] But, fortunately, the attack was a very mild one, and by the next day all danger had gone by, although I still felt weak and exhausted. After a few weeks, the first force of the cholera was spent, and although it lingered with us, as though loath to leave so fine a resting-place, for some months, it no longer gave us much alarm; and before long, life went on as briskly and selfishly as ever with the Cruces survivors, and the terrible past was conveniently forgotten. Perhaps it is so everywhere; but the haste with which the Cruces people buried their memory seemed indecent. Old houses found new masters; the mules new drivers; the great Spaniard chose another pretty woman, and had a grand, poor, dirty wedding, and was married by the same lazy black priest who had buried his wife, dead a few months back; and very likely they would all have hastened as quickly to forget their doctress, had circumstances permitted them: but every now and then one of them sickened and died of the old complaint; and the reputation I had established founded for me a considerable practice. The Americans in the place gladly retained me as their medical attendant, and in one way or other gave me plenty to do; but, in addition to this, I determined to follow my original scheme of keeping an hotel in Cruces. Right opposite my brother's Independent Hotel there was a place to let which it was considered I could adapt to my purpose. It was a mere tumble-down hut, with wattled sides, and a rotten thatched roof, containing two rooms, one small enough to serve as a bedroom. For this charming residence--very openly situated, and well ventilated--twenty pounds a month was considered a fair and by no means exorbitant rent. And yet I was glad to take possession of it; and in a few days had hung its rude walls with calico of gayest colour in stripes, with an exuberance of fringes, frills, and bows (the Americans love show dearly), and prepared it to accommodate fifty dinner guests. I had determined that it should be simply a _table d'hôte_, and that I would receive no lodgers. Once, and once only, I relaxed this rule in favour of two American women, who sent me to sleep by a lengthy quarrel of words, woke me in the night to witness its crisis in a fisticuff _duello_, and left in the morning, after having taken a fancy to some of my moveables which were most easily removeable. I had on my staff my black servant Mac, the little girl I have before alluded to, and a native cook. I had had many opportunities of seeing how my brother conducted his business; and adopted his tariff of charges. For an ordinary dinner my charge was four shillings; eggs and chickens were, as I have before said, distinct luxuries, and fetched high prices. Four crowds generally passed through Cruces every month. In these were to be found passengers to and from Chili, Peru, and Lima, as well as California and America. The distance from Cruces to Panama was not great--only twenty miles, in fact; but the journey, from the want of roads and the roughness of the country, was a most fatiguing one. In some parts--as I found when I made the journey, in company with my brother--it was almost impassable; and for more than half the distance, three miles an hour was considered splendid progress. The great majority of the travellers were rough, rude men, of dirty, quarrelsome habits; the others were more civilized and more dangerous. And it was not long before I grew very tired of life in Cruces, although I made money rapidly, and pressed my brother to return to Kingston. Poor fellow! it would have been well for him had he done so; for he stayed only to find a grave on the Isthmus of Panama. The company at my _table d'hôte_ was not over select; and it was often very difficult for an unprotected female to manage them, although I always did my best to put them in good humour. Among other comforts, I used to hire a black barber, for the rather large consideration of two pounds, to shave my male guests. You can scarcely conceive the pleasure and comfort an American feels in a clean chin; and I believe my barber attracted considerable custom to the British Hotel at Cruces. I had a little out-house erected for his especial convenience; and there, well provided with towels, and armed with plenty of razors, a brush of extraordinary size, and a foaming sea of lather, José shaved the new-comers. The rivalry to get within reach of his huge brush was very great; and the threats used by the neglected, when the grinning black was considered guilty of any interested partiality, were of the fiercest description. This duty over, they and their coarser female companions--many of them well known to us, for they travelled backwards and forwards across the Isthmus, hanging on to the foolish gold-finders--attacked the dinner, very often with great lack of decency. It was no use giving them carving-knives and forks, for very often they laid their own down to insert a dirty hairy hand into a full dish; while the floor soon bore evidences of the great national American habit of expectoration. Very often quarrels would arise during the progress of dinner; and more than once I thought the knives, which they nearly swallowed at every mouthful, would have been turned against one another. It was, I always thought, extremely fortunate that the reckless men rarely stimulated their excitable passions with strong drink. Tea and coffee were the common beverages of the Americans; Englishmen, and men of other nations, being generally distinguishable by their demand for wine and spirits. But the Yankee's capacity for swilling tea and coffee was prodigious. I saw one man drink ten cups of coffee; and finding his appetite still unsatisfied, I ran across to my brother for advice. There was a merry twinkle in his eyes as he whispered, "I always put in a good spoonful of salt after the sixth cup. It chokes them off admirably." It was no easy thing to avoid being robbed and cheated by the less scrupulous travellers; although I think it was only the 'cutest Yankee who stood any fair chance of outwitting me. I remember an instance of the biter bit, which I will narrate, hoping it may make my reader laugh as heartily as its recollection makes me. He was a tall, thin Yankee, with a furtive glance of the eyes, and an amazing appetite, which he seemed nothing loath to indulge: his appetite for eggs especially seemed unbounded. Now, I have more than once said how expensive eggs were; and this day they happened to be eightpence apiece. Our plan was to charge every diner according to the number of shells found upon his plate. Now, I noticed how eagerly my thin guest attacked my eggs, and marvelled somewhat at the scanty pile of shells before him. My suspicions once excited, I soon fathomed my Yankee friend's dodge. As soon as he had devoured the eggs, he conveyed furtively the shells beneath the table, and distributed them impartially at the feet of his companions. I gave my little black maid a piece of chalk, and instructions; and creeping under the table, she counted the scattered shells, and chalked the number on the tail of his coat. And when he came up to pay his score, he gave up his number of eggs in a loud voice; and when I contradicted him, and referred to the coat-_tale_ in corroboration of _my_ score, there was a general laugh against him. But there was a nasty expression in his cat-like eyes, and an unpleasant allusion to mine, which were not agreeable, and dissuaded me from playing any more practical jokes upon the Yankees. I followed my brother's example closely, and forbade all gambling in my hotel. But I got some idea of its fruits from the cases brought to me for surgical treatment from the faro and monte tables. Gambling at Cruces, and on the Isthmus generally, was a business by which money was wormed out of the gold-seekers and gold-finders. No attempt was made to render it attractive, as I have seen done elsewhere. The gambling-house was often plainer than our hotels; and but for the green tables, with their piles of money and gold-dust, watched over by a well-armed determined banker, and the eager gamblers around, you would not know that you were in the vicinity of a spot which the English at home designate by a very decided and extreme name. A Dr. Casey--everybody familiar with the Americans knows their fondness for titles--owned the most favoured table in Cruces; and this, although he was known to be a reckless and unscrupulous villain. Most of them knew that he had been hunted out of San Francisco; and at that time--years before the Vigilance Committee commenced their labours of purification--a man too bad for that city must have been a prodigy of crime: and yet, and although he was violent-tempered, and had a knack of referring the slightest dispute to his revolver, his table was always crowded; probably because--the greatest rogues have some good qualities--he was honest in his way, and played fairly. Occasionally some distinguished passengers passed on the upward and downward tides of rascality and ruffianism, that swept periodically through Cruces. Came one day, Lola Montes, in the full zenith of her evil fame, bound for California, with a strange suite. A good-looking, bold woman, with fine, bad eyes, and a determined bearing; dressed ostentatiously in perfect male attire, with shirt-collar turned down over a velvet lapelled coat, richly worked shirt-front, black hat, French unmentionables, and natty, polished boots with spurs. She carried in her hand a handsome riding-whip, which she could use as well in the streets of Cruces as in the towns of Europe; for an impertinent American, presuming--perhaps not unnaturally--upon her reputation, laid hold jestingly of the tails of her long coat, and as a lesson received a cut across his face that must have marked him for some days. I did not wait to see the row that followed, and was glad when the wretched woman rode off on the following morning. A very different notoriety followed her at some interval of time--Miss Catherine Hayes, on her successful singing tour, who disappointed us all by refusing to sing at Cruces; and after her came an English bishop from Australia, who need have been a member of the church militant to secure his pretty wife from the host of admirers she had gained during her day's journey from Panama. Very quarrelsome were the majority of the crowds, holding life cheap, as all bad men strangely do--equally prepared to take or lose it upon the slightest provocation. Few tales of horror in Panama could be questioned on the ground of improbability. Not less partial were many of the natives of Cruces to the use of the knife; preferring, by the way, to administer sly stabs in the back, when no one was by to see the dastard blow dealt. Terribly bullied by the Americans were the boatmen and muleteers, who were reviled, shot, and stabbed by these free and independent filibusters, who would fain whop all creation abroad as they do their slaves at home. Whenever any Englishmen were present, and in a position to interfere with success, this bullying was checked; and they found, instead of the poor Spanish Indians, foemen worthy of their steel or lead. I must do them credit to say, that they were never loath to fight any one that desired that passing excitement, and thought little of ending their journey of life abruptly at the wretched wayside town of Cruces. It very often happened so, and over many a hasty head and ready hand have I seen the sod roughly pressed down, their hot hearts stilled suddenly in some senseless quarrel. And so in time I grew to have some considerable experience in the treatment of knife and gun-shot wounds. One night I heard a great noise outside my window, and on rising found a poor boatman moaning piteously, and in a strange jumble of many languages begging me to help him. At first I was afraid to open the door, on account of the noisy mob which soon joined him, for villainy was very shrewd at Cruces; but at last I admitted him, and found that the poor wretch's ears had been cruelly split by some hasty citizen of the United States. I stitched them up as well as I could, and silenced his cries. And at any time, if you happened to be near the river when a crowd were arriving or departing, your ears would be regaled with a choice chorus of threats, of which ear-splitting, eye-gouging, cow-hiding, and the application of revolvers were the mildest. Against the negroes, of whom there were many in the Isthmus, and who almost invariably filled the municipal offices, and took the lead in every way, the Yankees had a strong prejudice; but it was wonderful to see how freedom and equality elevate men, and the same negro who perhaps in Tennessee would have cowered like a beaten child or dog beneath an American's uplifted hand, would face him boldly here, and by equal courage and superior physical strength cow his old oppressor. When more than ordinary squabbles occurred in the street or at the gambling-tables, the assistance of the soldier-police of New Granada was called in, and the affair sometimes assumed the character of a regular skirmish. The soldiers--I wish I could speak better of them--were a dirty, cowardly, indolent set, more prone to use their knives than their legitimate arms, and bore old rusty muskets, and very often marched unshod. Their officers were in outward appearance a few shades superior to the men they commanded, but, as respects military proficiency, were their equals. Add to this description of their _personnel_ the well-known fact, that you might commit the grossest injustice, and could obtain the simplest justice only by lavish bribery, and you may form some idea of our military protectors. Very practised and skilful in thieving were the native population of Cruces--I speak of the majority, and except the negroes--always more inclined to do a dishonest night's labour at great risk, than an honest day's work for fair wages; for justice was always administered strictly to the poor natives--it was only the foreigners who could evade it or purchase exemption. Punishment was severe; and in extreme cases the convicts were sent to Carthagena, there to suffer imprisonment of a terrible character. Indeed, from what I heard of the New Granada prisons, I thought no other country could match them, and continued to think so until I read how the ingenuity in cruelty of his Majesty the King of Naples put the torturers of the New Granada Republic to the blush. I generally avoided claiming the protection of the law whilst on the Isthmus, for I found it was--as is the case in civilized England from other causes--rather an expensive luxury. Once only I took a thief caught in the act before the alcalde, and claimed the administration of justice. The court-house was a low bamboo shed, before which some dirty Spanish-Indian soldiers were lounging; and inside, the alcalde, a negro, was reclining in a dirty hammock, smoking coolly, hearing evidence, and pronouncing judgment upon the wretched culprits, who were trembling before his dusky majesty. I had attended him while suffering from an attack of cholera, and directly he saw me he rose from his hammock, and received me in a ceremonious, grand manner, and gave orders that coffee should be brought to me. He had a very pretty white wife, who joined us; and then the alcalde politely offered me a _cigarito_--having declined which, he listened to my statement with great attention. All this, however, did not prevent my leaving the necessary fee in furtherance of justice, nor his accepting it. Its consequence was, that the thief, instead of being punished as a criminal, was ordered to pay me the value of the stolen goods; which, after weeks of hesitation and delay, she eventually did, in pearls, combs, and other curiosities. Whenever an American was arrested by the New Granada authorities, justice had a hard struggle for the mastery, and rarely obtained it. Once I was present at the court-house, when an American was brought in heavily ironed, charged with having committed a highway robbery--if I may use the term where there were no roads--on some travellers from Chili. Around the frightened soldiers swelled an angry crowd of brother Americans, abusing and threatening the authorities in no measured terms, all of them indignant that a nigger should presume to judge one of their countrymen. At last their violence so roused the sleepy alcalde, that he positively threw himself from his hammock, laid down his cigarito, and gave such very determined orders to his soldiers that he succeeded in checking the riot. Then, with an air of decision that puzzled everybody, he addressed the crowd, declaring angrily, that since the Americans came the country had known no peace, that robberies and crimes of every sort had increased, and ending by expressing his determination to make strangers respect the laws of the Republic, and to retain the prisoner; and if found guilty, punish him as he deserved. The Americans seemed too astonished at the audacity of the black man, who dared thus to beard them, to offer any resistance; but I believe that the prisoner was allowed ultimately to escape. I once had a narrow escape from the thieves of Cruces. I had been down to Chagres for some stores, and returning, late in the evening, too tired to put away my packages, had retired to rest at once. My little maid, who was not so fatigued as I was, and slept more lightly, woke me in the night to listen to a noise in the thatch, at the further end of the store; but I was so accustomed to hear the half-starved mules of Cruces munching my thatch, that I listened lazily for a few minutes, and then went unsuspiciously into another heavy sleep. I do not know how long it was before I was again awoke by the child's loud screams and cries of "Hombro--landro;" and sure enough, by the light of the dying fire, I saw a fellow stealing away with my dress, in the pocket of which was my purse. I was about to rush forward, when the fire gleamed on a villainous-looking knife in his hand; so I stood still, and screamed loudly, hoping to arouse my brother over the way. For a moment the thief seemed inclined to silence me, and had taken a few steps forward, when I took up an old rusty horse-pistol which my brother had given me that I might look determined, and snatching down the can of ground coffee, proceeded to prime it, still screaming as loudly as my strong lungs would permit, until the rascal turned tail and stole away through the roof. The thieves usually buried their spoil like dogs, as they were; but this fellow had only time to hide it behind a bush, where it was found on the following morning, and claimed by me. FOOTNOTE: [A] Mrs. Seacole very likely refers to Macbeth. But it was the witches he abused.--Ed. CHAPTER VI. MIGRATION TO GORGONA--FAREWELL DINNERS AND SPEECHES--A BUILDING SPECULATION--LIFE IN GORGONA--SYMPATHY WITH AMERICAN SLAVES--DR. CASEY IN TROUBLE--FLOODS AND FIRES--YANKEE INDEPENDENCE AND FREEDOM. I remained at Cruces until the rainy months came to an end, and the river grew too shallow to be navigable by the boats higher up than Gorgona; and then we all made preparations for a flitting to that place. But before starting, it appeared to be the custom for the store and hotel keepers to exchange parting visits, and to many of these parties I, in virtue of my recent services to the community, received invitations. The most important social meeting took place on the anniversary of the declaration of American independence, at my brother's hotel, where a score of zealous Americans dined most heartily--as they never fail to do; and, as it was an especial occasion, drank champagne liberally at twelve shillings a bottle. And, after the usual patriotic toasts had been duly honoured, they proposed "the ladies," with an especial reference to myself, in a speech which I thought worth noting down at the time. The spokesman was a thin, sallow-looking American, with a pompous and yet rapid delivery, and a habit of turning over his words with his quid before delivering them, and clearing his mouth after each sentence, perhaps to make room for the next. I shall beg the reader to consider that the blanks express the time expended on this operation. He dashed into his work at once, rolling up and getting rid of his sentences as he went on:-- "Well, gentlemen, I expect you'll all support me in a drinking of this toast that I du----. Aunty Seacole, gentlemen; I give you, Aunty Seacole----. We can't du less for her, after what she's done for us----, when the cholera was among us, gentlemen----, not many months ago----. So, I say, God bless the best yaller woman He ever made----, from Jamaica, gentlemen----, from the Isle of Springs----Well, gentlemen, I expect there are only tu things we're vexed for----; and the first is, that she ain't one of us----, a citizen of the great United States----; and the other thing is, gentlemen----, that Providence made her a yaller woman. I calculate, gentlemen, you're all as vexed as I am that she's not wholly white----, but I du reckon on your rejoicing with me that she's so many shades removed from being entirely black----; and I guess, if we could bleach her by any means we would----, and thus make her as acceptable in any company as she deserves to be----. Gentlemen, I give you Aunty Seacole!" And so the orator sat down amidst much applause. It may be supposed that I did not need much persuasion to return thanks, burning, as I was, to tell them my mind on the subject of my colour. Indeed, if my brother had not checked me, I should have given them my thoughts somewhat too freely. As it was, I said:-- "Gentlemen,--I return you my best thanks for your kindness in drinking my health. As for what I have done in Cruces, Providence evidently made me to be useful, and I can't help it. But, I must say, that I don't altogether appreciate your friend's kind wishes with respect to my complexion. If it had been as dark as any nigger's, I should have been just as happy and as useful, and as much respected by those whose respect I value; and as to his offer of bleaching me, I should, even if it were practicable, decline it without any thanks. As to the society which the process might gain me admission into, all I can say is, that, judging from the specimens I have met with here and elsewhere, I don't think that I shall lose much by being excluded from it. So, gentlemen, I drink to you and the general reformation of American manners." I do not think that they altogether admired my speech, but I was a somewhat privileged person, and they laughed at it good-naturedly enough. Perhaps (for I was not in the best humour myself) I should have been better pleased if they had been angry. Rightly, I ought to have gone down to Gorgona a few weeks before Cruces was deserted, and secured an hotel; but I did not give up all hope of persuading my brother to leave the Isthmus until the very last moment, and then, of course, a suitable house was not to be hired in Gorgona for love or money. Seeing his fixed determination to stay, I consented to remain with him, for he was young and often ill, and set hard to work to settle myself somewhere. With the aid of an old Jamaica friend, who had settled at Gorgona, I at last found a miserable little hut for sale, and bought it for a hundred dollars. It consisted of one room only, and was, in its then condition, utterly unfit for my purpose; but I determined to set to work and build on to it--by no means the hazardous speculation in Gorgona, where bricks and mortar are unknown, that it is in England. The alcalde's permission to make use of the adjacent ground was obtained for a moderate consideration, and plenty of material was procurable from the opposite bank of the river. An American, whom I had cured of the cholera at Cruces, lent me his boat, and I hired two or three natives to cut down and shape the posts and bamboo poles. Directly these were raised, Mac and my little maid set to work and filled up the spaces between them with split bamboo canes and reeds, and before long my new hotel was ready to be roofed. The building process was simple enough, and I soon found myself in possession of a capital dining-room some thirty feet in length, which was gaily hung with coloured calico, concealing all defects of construction, and lighted with large oil lamps; a store-room, bar, and a small private apartment for ladies. Altogether, although I had to pay my labourers four shillings a day, the whole building did not cost me more than my brother paid for three months' rent of his hotel. I gave the travelling world to understand that I intended to devote my establishment principally to the entertainment of ladies, and the care of those who might fall ill on the route, and I found the scheme answered admirably. And yet, although the speculation paid well, I soon grew as weary of my life in Gorgona as I had been at Cruces; and when I found my brother proof against all persuasion to quit the Isthmus, I began to entertain serious thoughts of leaving him. Nor was it altogether my old roving inclination which led me to desire a change, although I dare say it had something to do with it. My present life was not agreeable for a woman with the least delicacy or refinement; and of female society I had none. Indeed, the females who crossed my path were about as unpleasant specimens of the fair sex as one could well wish to avoid. With very few exceptions, those who were not bad were very disagreeable, and as the majority came from the Southern States of America, and showed an instinctive repugnance against any one whose countenance claimed for her kindred with their slaves, my position was far from a pleasant one. Not that it ever gave me any annoyance; they were glad of my stores and comforts, I made money out of their wants; nor do I think our bond of connection was ever closer; only this, if any of them came to me sick and suffering (I say this out of simple justice to myself), I forgot everything, except that she was my sister, and that it was my duty to help her. I may have before said that the citizens of the New Granada Republic had a strong prejudice against all Americans. It is not difficult to assign a cause for this. In the first place, many of the negroes, fugitive from the Southern States, had sought refuge in this and the other States of Central America, where every profession was open to them; and as they were generally superior men--evinced perhaps by their hatred of their old condition and their successful flight--they soon rose to positions of eminence in New Granada. In the priesthood, in the army, in all municipal offices, the self-liberated negroes were invariably found in the foremost rank; and the people, for some reason--perhaps because they recognised in them superior talents for administration--always respected them more than, and preferred them to, their native rulers. So that, influenced naturally by these freed slaves, who bore themselves before their old masters bravely and like men, the New Granada people were strongly prejudiced against the Americans. And in the second and third places, they feared their quarrelsome, bullying habits--be it remembered that the crowds to California were of the lowest sorts, many of whom have since fertilised Cuban and Nicaraguan soil--and dreaded their schemes for annexation. To such an extent was this amusingly carried, that when the American Railway Company took possession of Navy Bay, and christened it Aspinwall, after the name of their Chairman, the native authorities refused to recognise their right to name any portion of the Republic, and pertinaciously returned all letters directed to Aspinwall, with "no such place known" marked upon them in the very spot for which they were intended. And, in addition to this, the legal authorities refused to compel any defendant to appear who was described as of Aspinwall, and put every plaintiff out of court who described himself as residing in that unrecognised place. Under these circumstances, my readers can easily understand that when any Americans crossed the Isthmus, accompanied by their slaves, the Cruces and Gorgona people were restlessly anxious to whisper into their ears offers of freedom and hints how easy escape would be. Nor were the authorities at all inclined to aid in the recapture of a runaway slave. So that, as it was necessary for the losers to go on with the crowd, the fugitive invariably escaped. It is one of the maxims of the New Granada constitution--as it is, I believe, of the English--that on a slave touching its soil his chains fall from him. Rather than irritate so dangerous a neighbour as America, this rule was rarely supported; but I remember the following instance of its successful application. A young American woman, whose character can be best described by the word "vicious," fell ill at Gorgona, and was left behind by her companions under the charge of a young negro, her slave, whom she treated most inhumanly, as was evinced by the poor girl's frequent screams when under the lash. One night her cries were so distressing, that Gorgona could stand it no longer, but broke into the house and found the chattel bound hand and foot, naked, and being severely lashed. Despite the threats and astonishment of the mistress, they were both carried off on the following morning, before the alcalde, himself a man of colour, and of a very humane disposition. When the particulars of the case were laid before him, he became strongly excited, and called upon the woman to offer an explanation of her cruelty. She treated it with the coolest unconcern--"The girl was her property, worth so many dollars, and a child at New Orleans; had misbehaved herself, and been properly corrected. The alcalde must be drunk or a fool, or both together, to interfere between an American and her property." Her coolness vanished, however, when the alcalde turned round to the girl and told her that she was free to leave her mistress when she liked; and when she heard the irrepressible cheering of the crowded court-hut at the alcalde's humanity and boldness, and saw the slave's face flush with delight at the judge's words, she became terribly enraged; made use of the most fearful threats, and would have wreaked summary vengeance on her late chattel had not the clumsy soldiery interfered. Then, with demoniac refinement of cruelty, she bethought herself of the girl's baby at New Orleans still in her power, and threatened most horrible torture to the child if its mother dared to accept the alcalde's offer. The poor girl trembled and covered her face with her hands, as though to shut out some fearful sight, and, I think, had we not persuaded her to the contrary, that she would have sacrificed her newly won freedom for the child's sake. But we knew very well that when the heat of passion had subsided, the threatener would be too 'cute to injure her own property; and at once set afloat a subscription for the purchase of the child. The issue of the tale I do not know, as the woman was very properly removed into the interior of the country. Life at Gorgona resembled life at Cruces so nearly that it does not need a separate description. Down with the store and hotel keepers came the muleteers and mules, porters and hangers-on, idlers and thieves, gamblers and dancing women; and soon the monte-tables were fitted up, and plying their deadly trade; and the dancers charmed the susceptible travellers as successfully in the dirty streets of Gorgona as they had previously done in the unwholesome precincts of Cruces. And Dr. Casey was very nearly getting himself into serious trouble, from too great a readiness to use his revolver. Still, he had a better excuse for bloodshed this time than might have been found for his previous breaches of the sixth commandment. Among the desperadoes who frequented his gambling-hut, during their short stay in Gorgona, was conceived the desperate plan of putting out the lights, and upsetting Casey's table--trusting in the confusion to carry off the piles of money upon it. The first part of their programme was successfully carried out; but the second was frustrated by the Doctor promptly firing his revolver into the dark, and hitting an unoffending boy in the hip. And at this crisis the Gorgona police entered, carried off all the parties they could lay hands upon (including the Doctor) to prison, and brought the wounded boy to me. On the following morning came a most urgent request that I would visit the imprisoned Doctor. I found him desperately angry, but somewhat nervous too, for the alcalde was known to be no friend to the Americans, owed Casey more than one grudge, and had shown recently a disposition to enforce the laws. "I say, Mrs. Seacole, how's that ---- boy?" "Oh, Dr. Casey, how could you shoot the poor lad, and now call him bad names, as though he'd injured you? He is very ill indeed--may die; so I advise you to think seriously of your position." "But, Madame Seacole," (this in a very altered tone), "_you'll_ surely help me? _you'll_ surely tell the alcalde that the wound's a slight one? He's a friend of yours, and will let me out of this hole. Come, Madame Seacole, you'll never leave me to be murdered by these bloodthirsty savages?" "What can I do or say, Dr. Casey? I must speak the truth, and the ball is still in the poor lad's hip," I answered, for I enjoyed the fellow's fear too much to help him. However, he sent some of his friends to the boy's father, and bribed him to take the lad from my care, and send him to Navy Bay, to a surgeon there. Of course, he never returned to prosecute Dr. Casey; and he was left with the alcalde only to deal with, who, although he hated the man, could not resist his money, and so set him free. Gorgona lying lower than Cruces, its inhabitants more frequently enjoyed the excitement of a flood. After heavy rains, the river would rise so rapidly that in a few hours the chief part of the place would be under water. On such occasions the scene was unusually exciting. As the water crept up the street, the frightened householders kept removing their goods and furniture to higher ground; while here and there, where the waters had surrounded them unawares, boats were sent to their rescue. The houses, not made to resist much wind or water, often gave way, and were carried down the Chagres. Meanwhile, the thieves were the busiest--the honest folks, forgetting the true old adage, "God helps those who help themselves," confining their exertions to bringing down their favourite saints to the water's edge, and invoking their interposition. Fortunately my hotel was at the upper end of the town, where the floods had been rarely known to extend; and although there was a sufficient chance of the water reaching me to compel me to have all my stores, etc., ready packed for removal, I escaped. Some distressing losses occurred. A Frenchman, a near neighbour, whose house was surrounded by the waters before he could remove his goods, grew so frantic at the loss, that he obstinately refused to quit his falling house; and some force had to be used before they could save his life. Scarcely had the ravages of the last flood been repaired when fire marked Gorgona for its prey. The conflagration began at a store by the river-side; but it spread rapidly, and before long all Gorgona was in danger. The town happened to be very full that night, two crowds having met there, and there was great confusion; but at last the lazy soldier-police, aided by the Americans, succeeded in pulling down some old crazy huts, and checking the fire's progress. The travellers were in sore plight, many of them being reduced to sleep upon their luggage, piled in the drenched streets. My hotel had some interesting inmates, for a poor young creature, borne in from one of the burning houses, became a mother during the night; and a stout little lassie opened its eyes upon this waesome world during the excitement and danger of a Gorgona conflagration. Shortly after this, tired to death of life in Panama, I handed over my hotel to my brother, and returned to Kingston. On the way thither I experienced another instance of American politeness, which I cannot help recording; first reminding my readers of what I have previously said of the character of the Californian travellers. Anxious to get home quickly, I took my passage in the first steamer that left Navy Bay--an American one; and late in the evening said farewell to the friends I had been staying with, and went on board. A very kind friend, an American merchant, doing a large business at Navy Bay, had tried hard to persuade me to delay my journey until the English company's steamer called; without, however, giving any good reasons for his wish. So, with Mac and my little maid, I passed through the crowd of female passengers on deck, and sought the privacy of the saloon. Before I had been long there, two ladies came to me, and in their cool, straightforward manner, questioned me. "Where air you going?" "To Kingston." "And how air you going?" "By sea." "Don't be impertinent, yaller woman. By what conveyance air you going?" "By this steamer, of course. I've paid for my passage." They went away with this information; and in a short time eight or nine others came and surrounded me, asking the same questions. My answers--and I was very particular--raised quite a storm of uncomplimentary remarks. "Guess a nigger woman don't go along with us in this saloon," said one. "I never travelled with a nigger yet, and I expect I shan't begin now," said another; while some children had taken my little servant Mary in hand, and were practising on her the politenesses which their parents were favouring me with--only, as is the wont of children, they were crueller. I cannot help it if I shock my readers; but the _truth_ is, that one positively spat in poor little Mary's frightened yellow face. At last an old American lady came to where I sat, and gave me some staid advice. "Well, now, I tell you for your good, you'd better quit this, and not drive my people to extremities. If you do, you'll be sorry for it, I expect." Thus harassed, I appealed to the stewardess--a tall sour-looking woman, flat and thin as a dressed-up broomstick. She asked me sundry questions as to how and when I had taken my passage; until, tired beyond all endurance, I said, "My good woman, put me anywhere--under a boat--in your store-room, so that I can get to Kingston somehow." But the stewardess was not to be moved. "There's nowhere but the saloon, and you can't expect to stay with the white people, that's clear. Flesh and blood can stand a good deal of aggravation; but not that. If the Britishers is so took up with coloured people, that's their business; but it won't do here." This last remark was in answer to an Englishman, whose advice to me was not to leave my seat for any of them. He made matters worse; until at last I lost my temper, and calling Mac, bade him get my things together, and went up to the captain--a good honest man. He and some of the black crew and the black cook, who showed his teeth most viciously, were much annoyed. Muttering about its being a custom of the country, the captain gave me an order upon the agent for the money I had paid; and so, at twelve o'clock at night, I was landed again upon the wharf of Navy Bay. My American friends were vastly annoyed, but not much surprised; and two days later, the English steamer, the "Eagle," in charge of my old friend, Captain B----, touched at Navy Bay, and carried me to Kingston. CHAPTER VII. THE YELLOW FEVER IN JAMAICA--MY EXPERIENCE OF DEATH-BED SCENES--I LEAVE AGAIN FOR NAVY BAY, AND OPEN A STORE THERE--I AM ATTACKED WITH THE GOLD FEVER, AND START FOR ESCRIBANOS--LIFE IN THE INTERIOR OF THE REPUBLIC OF NEW GRANADA--A REVOLUTIONARY CONSPIRACY ON A SMALL SCALE--THE DINNER DELICACIES OF ESCRIBANOS--JOURNEY UP THE PALMILLA RIVER--A FEW WORDS ON THE PRESENT ASPECT OF AFFAIRS ON THE ISTHMUS OF PANAMA. I stayed in Jamaica eight months out of the year 1853, still remembered in the island for its suffering and gloom. I returned just in time to find my services, with many others, needful; for the yellow fever never made a more determined effort to exterminate the English in Jamaica than it did in that dreadful year. So violent was the epidemic, that some of my people fell victims to its fury, a thing rarely heard of before. My house was full of sufferers--officers, their wives and children. Very often they were borne in from the ships in the harbour--sometimes in a dying state, sometimes--after long and distressing struggles with the grim foe--to recover. Habituated as I had become with death in its most harrowing forms, I found these scenes more difficult to bear than any I had previously borne a part in; and for this reason perhaps, that I had not only to cheer the death-bed of the sufferer, but, far more trying task, to soothe the passionate grief of wife or husband left behind. It was a terrible thing to see young people in the youth and bloom of life suddenly stricken down, not in battle with an enemy that threatened their country, but in vain contest with a climate that refused to adopt them. Indeed, the mother country pays a dear price for the possession of her colonies. I think all who are familiar with the West Indies will acknowledge that Nature has been favourable to strangers in a few respects, and that one of these has been in instilling into the hearts of the Creoles an affection for English people and an anxiety for their welfare, which shows itself warmest when they are sick and suffering. I can safely appeal on this point to any one who is acquainted with life in Jamaica. Another benefit has been conferred upon them by inclining the Creoles to practise the healing art, and inducing them to seek out the simple remedies which are available for the terrible diseases by which foreigners are attacked, and which are found growing under the same circumstances which produce the ills they minister to. So true is it that beside the nettle ever grows the cure for its sting. I do not willingly care to dwell upon scenes of suffering and death, but it is with such scenes that my life's experience has made me most familiar, and it is impossible to avoid their description now and then; and here I would fain record, in humble spirit, my conclusions, drawn from the bearing of those whom I have now and then accompanied a little distance on their way into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, on the awful and important question of religious feeling. Death is always terrible--no one need be ashamed to fear it. How we bear it depends much upon our constitutions. I have seen some brave men, who have smiled at the cruellest amputation, die trembling like children; while others, whose lives have been spent in avoidance of the least danger or trouble, have drawn their last painful breath like heroes, striking at their foe to the last, robbing him of his victory, and making their defeat a triumph. But I cannot trace _all_ the peace and resignation which I have witnessed on many death-beds to temperament alone, although I believe it has much more to do with them than many teachers will allow. I have stood by receiving the last blessings of Christians; and closing the eyes of those who had nothing to trust to but the mercy of a God who will be far more merciful to us than we are to one another; and I say decidedly that the Christian's death is the glorious one, as is his life. You can never find a good man who is not a worker; he is no laggard in the race of life. Three, two, or one score years of life have been to him a season of labour in his appointed sphere; and as the work of the hands earns for us sweet rest by night, so does the heart's labour of a lifetime make the repose of heaven acceptable. This is my experience; and I remember one death, of a man whom I grew to love in a few short weeks, the thought of which stirs my heart now, and has sustained me in seasons of great danger; for before that time, if I had never feared death, I had not learnt to meet him with a brave, smiling face, and this he taught me. I must not tell you his name, for his friends live yet, and have been kind to me in many ways. One of them we shall meet on Crimean soil. He was a young surgeon, and as busy, light-hearted, and joyous as a good man should be; and when he fell ill they brought him to my house, where I nursed him, and grew fond of him--almost as fond as the poor lady his mother in England far away. For some time we thought him safe, but at last the most terrible symptoms of the cruel disease showed themselves, and he knew that he must die. His thoughts were never for himself, but for those he had to leave behind; all his pity was for them. It was trying to see his poor hands tremblingly penning the last few words of leave-taking--trying to see how piteously the poor worn heart longed to see once more the old familiar faces of the loved ones in unconscious happiness at home; and yet I had to support him while this sad task was effected, and to give him all the help I could. I think he had some fondness for me, or, perhaps, his kind heart feigned a feeling that he saw would give me joy; for I used to call him "My son--my dear child," and to weep over him in a very weak and silly manner perhaps. He sent for an old friend, Captain S----; and when he came, I had to listen to the dictation of his simple will--his dog to one friend, his ring to another, his books to a third, his love and kind wishes to all; and that over, my poor son prepared himself to die--a child in all save a man's calm courage. He beckoned me to raise him in the bed, and, as I passed my arms around him, he saw the tears I could not repress, rolling down my brown cheeks, and thanked me with a few words. "Let me lay my head upon your breast;" and so he rested, now and then speaking lowly to himself, "It's only that I miss my mother; but Heaven's will be done." He repeated this many times, until the Heaven he obeyed sent him in its mercy forgetfulness, and his thoughts no longer wandered to his earthly home. I heard glad words feebly uttered as I bent over him--words about "Heaven--rest--rest"--a holy Name many times repeated; and then with a smile and a stronger voice, "Home! home!" And so in a little while my arms no longer held him. I have a little gold brooch with his hair in it now. I wonder what inducement could be strong enough to cause me to part with that memorial, sent me by his mother some months later, with the following letter:-- "My dear Madam,--Will you do me the favour to accept the enclosed trifle, in remembrance of that dear son whose last moments were soothed by your kindness, and as a mark of the gratitude of, my dear Madam, "Your ever sincere and obliged, "M---- S----." After this, I was sent for by the medical authorities to provide nurses for the sick at Up-Park Camp, about a mile from Kingston; and leaving some nurses and my sister at home, I went there and did my best; but it was little we could do to mitigate the severity of the epidemic. About eight months after my return to Jamaica, it became necessary that some one should go to the Isthmus of Panama to wind up the affairs of my late hotel; and having another fit of restlessness, I prepared to return there myself. I found Navy Bay but little altered. It was evening when I arrived there; and my friend Mr. H----, who came to meet me on the wharf, carefully piloted me through the wretched streets, giving me especial warning not to stumble over what looked like three long boxes, loosely covered with the _débris_ of a fallen house. They had such a peculiar look about them that I stopped to ask what they were, receiving an answer which revived all my former memories of Darien life, "Oh, they're only three Irishmen killed in a row a week ago, whom it's nobody's business to bury." I went to Gorgona, wound up the affairs of the hotel, and, before returning to Navy Bay, took the occasion of accompanying my brother to the town of Panama. We did not go with the crowd, but rode alone on mules, taking with us three native guides on foot; and although the distance was not much over twenty miles, and we started at daybreak, we did not reach Panama until nightfall. But far from being surprised at this, my chief wonder was that we ever succeeded in getting over the journey. Through sand and mud, over hill and plain--through thick forests, deep gulleys, and over rapid streams, ran the track; the road sometimes being made of logs of wood laid transversely, with faggots stuffed between; while here and there we had to work our way through a tangled network of brushwood, and over broken rocks that seemed to have been piled together as stones for some giant's sling. We found Panama an old-fashioned, irregular town, with queer stone houses, almost all of which had been turned by the traders into stores. On my return to Navy Bay--or Colon, as the New Granadans would have it called--I again opened a store, and stayed there for three months or so. I did not find that society had improved much in my absence; indeed, it appeared to have grown more lawless. Endless quarrels, often resulting in bloodshed, took place between the strangers and the natives, and disturbed the peace of the town. Once the Spanish were incensed to such an extent, that they planned a general rising against the foreigners; and but for the opportune arrival of an English war-steamer, the consequences might have been terrible. The Americans were well armed and ready; but the native population far outnumbered them. Altogether, I was not sorry when an opportunity offered itself to do something at one of the stations of the New Granada Gold-mining Company, Escribanos, about seventy miles from Navy Bay. I made the journey there in a little vessel, all communication by land from Navy Bay being impossible, on account of the thick, dense forests, that would have resisted the attempts of an army to cut its way through them. As I was at this place for some months altogether, and as it was the only portion of my life devoted to gold-seeking, I shall make no apologies for endeavouring to describe the out-of-the-way village-life of New Granada. Escribanos is in the province of Veraguas, in the State of New Granada--information uninteresting enough, I have little doubt, to all but a very few of my readers. It lies near the mouth of a rivulet bearing that name, which, leaving the river Belen, runs away to the sea on its own account, about a mile from the mouth of that river. It is a great neighbourhood for gold-mines; and about that time companies and private individuals were trying hard to turn them to good account. Near it is the Fort Bowen mine, and several others; some yielding silver, others gold ore, in small quantities. Others lie in the vicinity of the Palmilla--another river, which discharges itself into the sea about ten miles from Escribanos; and there were more eastward of it, near a similar river, the Coquelet. Legends were rife at that time, and they may be revived at no distant date, of the treasures to be found at Cucuyo, Zapetero, Pananomé, and many other Indian villages on their banks, which in times gone by had yielded up golden treasures to the Old World. But at this time the yield of gold did not repay the labour and capital necessary to extract it from the quartz; and it can only prove successful if more economical methods can be discovered than those now used for that purpose. Carlos Alexander, the alcalde of Escribanos, had made a good thing out of the gold mania. The mine had belonged to him; had been sold at a fine price, and, passing through several hands, had at last come into possession of the Company who were now working it; its former owner settling down as ruler over the little community of two hundred souls that had collected at Escribanos. He was a black man; was fond of talking of his early life in slavery, and how he had escaped; and possessed no ordinary intellect. He possessed, also, a house, which in England a well-bred hound would not have accepted as a kennel; a white wife, and a pretty daughter, with a whity-brown complexion and a pleasant name--Juliana. Of this mine Mr. Day--by whose invitation, when I saw him at Navy Bay, I went there--was at that time superintendent. He was a distant connection of my late husband, and treated me with great kindness. Strangely enough, we met again in a far different part of the world, and became more closely connected. But I am anticipating. The major part of the population of Escribanos, including even the women and children, worked at the mine. The labour was hard and disagreeable. I often used to watch them at their work; and would sometimes wander about by myself, thinking it possible that I might tumble across some gold in my rambles. And I once did come upon some heavy yellow material, that brought my heart into my mouth with that strange thrilling delight which all who have hunted for the precious metal understand so well. I think it was very wrong; but I kept the secret of the place from the alcalde and every one else, and filled some bottles with the precious dust, to carry down to Navy Bay. I did not go for some time; but when I did, one of my first visits was to a gold-buyer; and you can imagine my feelings when he coolly laughed, and told me it was some material (I forget its name) very like gold, but--valueless. The worst part of it was that, in my annoyance and shame, I threw all I had away, and among it some which I had reason to believe subsequently was genuine. The landing at Escribanos was very difficult, and when the surf ran high, impossible; and I was once witness to a harrowing scene there. A little boat, manned by three sailors, grounded on a rock not far from shore, at a terrible season, when to reach it from the land was, after many attempts, found impossible. The hapless crew lingered on for two days, suffering cruelly from hunger and thirst, their cries ringing in our ears above the storm's pitiless fury. On the third day, two of them took to the sea, and were drowned; the third was not strong enough to leave the boat, and died in it. I did not stay long at Escribanos, on my first visit, as the alcalde's guest; but, having made arrangements for a longer sojourn, I went back to Navy Bay, where I laid in a good stock of the stores I should have most use for, and returned to Escribanos in safety. I remained there some months, pleased with the novelty of the life, and busy with schemes for seeking for--or, as the gold-diggers call it, prospecting for--other mines. The foreigners were just as troublesome in this little out-of-the-way place as they were, and are, in every other part of Central America; and quarrels were as frequent in our little community as at Cruces or Navy Bay. Indeed, Alexander had hard work to maintain peace in his small kingdom; and although ably seconded by Mr. Day, more than once American disregard of his sway was almost too strong for him. Very often the few foreigners would quarrel among themselves; and once when they came to blows, and an Irishman was stabbed by an American named Campfield, the alcalde roused himself to punish the culprit. The native population were glad enough to have an American in their power; and when I heard Alexander give his men instructions to shoot the culprit if he resisted, I started off to his hut, and reached it in time to prevent bloodshed. He was taken and kept in confinement; and soft-hearted Juliana and I had enough to do to prevent his being made a stern example of. But we got him off for a fine of five hundred dollars. Again the little community of Escribanos was very near getting up a revolution against its constituted government--a very common amusement in Central America. Twelve sailors, deserters from an American ship, found their way there, and before long plotted to dethrone Alexander, and take possession of the mine. Mr. Day gained information of their plan. The whole population of Escribanos were roused and warned; and arming a score of the boldest natives, he surrounded the house in which they were, and captured the conspirators, who were too much taken by surprise to offer resistance, and sent them down to Navy Bay, there to be handed over to the Government whose service they had left. Of course, my medical skill did not rust for want of practice at Escribanos. The place was not healthy, and strangers to the climate suffered severely. A surgeon himself, sent there by the West Granada Gold-mining Company, was glad to throw _his_ physic to the dogs, and be cured in my way by mine; while I was fortunately able to nurse Mr. Day through a sharp attack of illness. In consequence of the difficulty of communication with Navy Bay, our fare was of the simplest at Escribanos. It consisted mainly of salt meat, rice, and roasted Indian corn. The native fare was not tempting, and some of their delicacies were absolutely disgusting. With what pleasure, for instance, could one foreign to their tastes and habits dine off a roasted monkey, whose grilled head bore a strong resemblance to a negro baby's? And yet the Indians used to bring them to us for sale, strung on a stick. They were worse still stewed in soup, when it was positively frightful to dip your ladle in unsuspectingly, and bring up what closely resembled a brown baby's limb. I got on better with the parrots, and could agree with the "senorita, buono buono" with which the natives recommended them; and yet their flesh, what little there was of it, was very coarse and hard. Nor did I always refuse to concede praise to a squirrel, if well cooked. But although the flesh of the iguana--another favourite dish--was white and tender as any chicken, I never could stomach it. These iguanas are immense green lizards, or rather moderate-sized crocodiles, sometimes three feet in length, but weighing generally about seven or eight pounds. The Indians used to bring them down in boats, alive, on their backs, with their legs tied behind them; so that they had the most comical look of distress it is possible to imagine. The Spanish Indians have a proverb referring to an iguana so bound, the purport of which has slipped from my memory, but which shows the habit to be an old one. Their eggs are highly prized, and their captors have a cruel habit of extracting these delicacies from them while alive, and roughly sewing up the wound, which I never could muster sufficient courage to witness. The rivers near Escribanos were well stocked with crocodiles, the sea had its fair share of sharks, while on land you too often met with snakes and other venomous reptiles. The sting of some of them was very dangerous. One man, who was bitten when I was there, swelled to an enormous size, and bled even at the roots of his hair. The remedy of the natives appeared to be copious bleeding. Before I left Escribanos I made a journey, in company with a gentleman named Little, my maid, and the alcalde's daughter, into the interior of the country, for a short distance, following the course of the Palmilla river. This was for the purpose of prospecting a mine on that river, said to be obtainable at an easy price. Its course was a very winding one; and we often had to leave the canoe and walk through the shallow waters, that every now and then interfered with our progress. As we progressed, Little carefully sounded the channel of the river, with the view of ascertaining to what extent it was navigable. The tropical scenery was very grand; but I am afraid I only marked what was most curious in it--at least, that is foremost in my memory now. I know I wondered much what motive Nature could have had in twisting the roots and branches of the trees into such strange fantastic contortions. I watched with unfailing interest the birds and animals we disturbed in our progress, from the huge peccary or wild boar, that went tearing through the brushwood, to the tiniest bright-hued bird that dashed like a flash of many-coloured fire before our eyes. And very much surprised was I when the Indians stopped before a large tree, and on their making an incision in the bark with a matcheto (hatchet), there exuded a thick creamy liquid, which they wished me to taste, saying that this was the famous milk-tree. I needed some persuasion at first; but when I had tasted some upon a biscuit, I was so charmed with its flavour that I should soon have taken more than was good for me had not Mr. Little interfered with some judicious advice. We reached the mine, and brought back specimens of the quartz, some of which I have now. Soon after this I left Escribanos, and stopping but a short time at Navy Bay, came on direct to England. I had claims on a Mining Company which are still unsatisfied; I had to look after my share in the Palmilla Mine speculation; and, above all, I had long been troubled with a secret desire to embark in a very novel speculation, about which I have as yet said nothing to the reader. But before I finally leave the republic of New Granada, I may be allowed to write a few words on the present aspect of affairs on the Isthmus of Panama. Recent news from America bring the intelligence that the Government of the United States has at length succeeded in finding a reasonable excuse for exercising a protectorate over, or in other words annexing, the Isthmus of Panama. To any one at all acquainted with American policy in Central America, this intelligence can give no surprise; our only wonder being that some such excuse was not made years ago. At this crisis, then, a few remarks from the humblest observer of life in the republic of New Granada must possess some interest for the curious, if not value. I found something to admire in the people of New Granada, but not much; and I found very much more to condemn most unequivocally. Whatever was of any worth in their institutions, such as their comparative freedom, religious toleration, etc., was owing mainly to the negroes who had sought the protection of the republic. I found the Spanish Indians treacherous, passionate, and indolent, with no higher aim or object but simply to enjoy the present after their own torpid, useless fashion. Like most fallen nations, they are very conservative in their habits and principles; while the blacks are enterprising, and in their opinions incline not unnaturally to democracy. But for their old antipathy, there is no doubt that the negroes would lean towards America; but they gladly encourage the prejudice of the New Granadans, and foster it in every way. Hence the ceaseless quarrels which have disturbed Chagres and Panama, until it has become necessary for an American force to garrison those towns. For humanity and civilization's sake, there can be little doubt as to the expediency of this step; but I should not be at all surprised to hear that the republic was preparing to make some show of resistance against its powerful brother; for, as the reader will have perceived, the New Granadans' experiences of American manners have not been favourable; and they do not know, as we do, how little real sympathy the Government of the United States has with the extreme class of its citizens who have made themselves so conspicuous in the great high-road to California. CHAPTER VIII. I LONG TO JOIN THE BRITISH ARMY BEFORE SEBASTOPOL--MY WANDERINGS ABOUT LONDON FOR THAT PURPOSE--HOW I FAIL--ESTABLISHMENT OF THE FIRM OF "DAY AND MARTIN"--I EMBARK FOR TURKEY. Before I left Jamaica for Navy Bay, as narrated in the last chapter, war had been declared against Russia, and we were all anxiously expecting news of a descent upon the Crimea. Now, no sooner had I heard of war somewhere, than I longed to witness it; and when I was told that many of the regiments I had known so well in Jamaica had left England for the scene of action, the desire to join them became stronger than ever. I used to stand for hours in silent thought before an old map of the world, in a little corner of which some one had chalked a red cross, to enable me to distinguish where the Crimea was; and as I traced the route thither, all difficulties would vanish. But when I came to talk over the project with my friends, the best scheme I could devise seemed so wild and improbable, that I was fain to resign my hopes for a time, and so started for Navy Bay. But all the way to England, from Navy Bay, I was turning my old wish over and over in my mind; and when I found myself in London, in the autumn of 1854, just after the battle of Alma had been fought, and my old friends were fairly before the walls of Sebastopol, how to join them there took up far more of my thoughts than that visionary gold-mining speculation on the river Palmilla, which seemed so feasible to us in New Granada, but was considered so wild and unprofitable a speculation in London. And, as time wore on, the inclination to join my old friends of the 97th, 48th, and other regiments, battling with worse foes than yellow fever or cholera, took such exclusive possession of my mind, that I threw over the gold speculation altogether, and devoted all my energies to my new scheme. Heaven knows it was visionary enough! I had no friends who could help me in such a project--nay, who would understand why I desired to go, and what I desired to do when I got there. My funds, although they might, carefully husbanded, carry me over the three thousand miles, and land me at Balaclava, would not support me there long; while to persuade the public that an unknown Creole woman would be useful to their army before Sebastopol was too improbable an achievement to be thought of for an instant. Circumstances, however, assisted me. As the winter wore on, came hints from various quarters of mismanagement, want, and suffering in the Crimea; and after the battles of Balaclava and Inkermann, and the fearful storm of the 14th of November, the worst anticipations were realized. Then we knew that the hospitals were full to suffocation, that scarcity and exposure were the fate of all in the camp, and that the brave fellows for whom any of us at home would have split our last shilling, and shared our last meal, were dying thousands of miles away from the active sympathy of their fellow-countrymen. Fast and thick upon the news of Inkermann, fought by a handful of fasting and enfeebled men against eight times their number of picked Russians, brought fresh and animated to the contest, and while all England was reeling beneath the shock of that fearful victory, came the sad news that hundreds were dying whom the Russian shot and sword had spared, and that the hospitals of Scutari were utterly unable to shelter, or their inadequate staff to attend to, the ship-loads of sick and wounded which were sent to them across the stormy Black Sea. But directly England knew the worst, she set about repairing her past neglect. In every household busy fingers were working for the poor soldier--money flowed in golden streams wherever need was--and Christian ladies, mindful of the sublime example, "I was sick, and ye visited me," hastened to volunteer their services by those sick-beds which only women know how to soothe and bless. Need I be ashamed to confess that I shared in the general enthusiasm, and longed more than ever to carry my busy (and the reader will not hesitate to add experienced) fingers where the sword or bullet had been busiest, and pestilence most rife. I had seen much of sorrow and death elsewhere, but they had never daunted me; and if I could feel happy binding up the wounds of quarrelsome Americans and treacherous Spaniards, what delight should I not experience if I could be useful to my own "sons," suffering for a cause it was so glorious to fight and bleed for! I never stayed to discuss probabilities, or enter into conjectures as to my chances of reaching the scene of action. I made up my mind that if the army wanted nurses, they would be glad of me, and with all the ardour of my nature, which ever carried me where inclination prompted, I decided that I _would_ go to the Crimea; and go I did, as all the world knows. Of course, had it not been for my old strong-mindedness (which has nothing to do with obstinacy, and is in no way related to it--the best term I can think of to express it being "judicious decisiveness"), I should have given up the scheme a score of times in as many days; so regularly did each successive day give birth to a fresh set of rebuffs and disappointments. I shall make no excuse to my readers for giving them a pretty full history of my struggles to become a Crimean _heroine_! My first idea (and knowing that I was well fitted for the work, and would be the right woman in the right place, the reader can fancy my audacity) was to apply to the War Office for the post of hospital nurse. Among the diseases which I understood were most prevalent in the Crimea were cholera, diarrhoea, and dysentery, all of them more or less known in tropical climates; and with which, as the reader will remember, my Panama experience had made me tolerably familiar. Now, no one will accuse me of presumption, if I say that I thought (and so it afterwards proved) that my knowledge of these human ills would not only render my services as a nurse more valuable, but would enable me to be of use to the overworked doctors. That others thought so too, I took with me ample testimony. I cannot resist the temptation of giving my readers one of the testimonials I had, it seems so eminently practical and to the point:-- "I became acquainted with Mrs. Seacole through the instrumentality of T. B. Cowan, Esq., H. B. M. Consul at Colon, on the Isthmus of Panama, and have had many opportunities of witnessing her professional zeal and ability in the treatment of aggravated forms of tropical diseases. "I am myself personally much indebted for her indefatigable kindness and skill at a time when I am apt to believe the advice of a practitioner qualified in the North would have little availed. "Her peculiar fitness, in a constitutional point of view, for the duties of a medical attendant, needs no comment. (Signed) "A. G. M., "Late Medical Officer, West Granada Gold-mining Company." So I made long and unwearied application at the War Office, in blissful ignorance of the labour and time I was throwing away. I have reason to believe that I considerably interfered with the repose of sundry messengers, and disturbed, to an alarming degree, the official gravity of some nice gentlemanly young fellows, who were working out their salaries in an easy, off-hand way. But my ridiculous endeavours to gain an interview with the Secretary-at-War of course failed, and glad at last to oblige a distracted messenger, I transferred my attentions to the Quartermaster-General's department. Here I saw another gentleman, who listened to me with a great deal of polite enjoyment, and--his amusement ended--hinted, had I not better apply to the Medical Department; and accordingly I attached myself to their quarters with the same unwearying ardour. But, of course, I grew tired at last, and then I changed my plans. Now, I am not for a single instant going to blame the authorities who would not listen to the offer of a motherly yellow woman to go to the Crimea and nurse her "sons" there, suffering from cholera, diarrhoea, and a host of lesser ills. In my country, where people know our use, it would have been different; but here it was natural enough--although I had references, and other voices spoke for me--that they should laugh, good-naturedly enough, at my offer. War, I know, is a serious game, but sometimes very humble actors are of great use in it, and if the reader, when he comes in time to peruse the evidence of those who had to do with the Sebastopol drama, of my share in it, will turn back to this chapter, he will confess perhaps that, after all, the impulse which led me to the War Department was not unnatural. My new scheme was, I candidly confess, worse devised than the one which had failed. Miss Nightingale had left England for the Crimea, but other nurses were still to follow, and my new plan was simply to offer myself to Mrs. H---- as a recruit. Feeling that I was one of the very women they most wanted, experienced and fond of the work, I jumped at once to the conclusion that they would gladly enrol me in their number. To go to Cox's, the army agents, who were most obliging to me, and obtain the Secretary-at-War's private address, did not take long; and that done, I laid the same pertinacious siege to his great house in ---- Square, as I had previously done to his place of business. Many a long hour did I wait in his great hall, while scores passed in and out; many of them looking curiously at me. The flunkeys, noble creatures! marvelled exceedingly at the yellow woman whom no excuses could get rid of, nor impertinence dismay, and showed me very clearly that they resented my persisting in remaining there in mute appeal from their sovereign will. At last I gave that up, after a message from Mrs. H. that the full complement of nurses had been secured, and that my offer could not be entertained. Once again I tried, and had an interview this time with one of Miss Nightingale's companions. She gave me the same reply, and I read in her face the fact, that had there been a vacancy, I should not have been chosen to fill it. As a last resort, I applied to the managers of the Crimean Fund to know whether they would give me a passage to the camp--once there I would trust to something turning up. But this failed also, and one cold evening I stood in the twilight, which was fast deepening into wintry night, and looked back upon the ruins of my last castle in the air. The disappointment seemed a cruel one. I was so conscious of the unselfishness of the motives which induced me to leave England--so certain of the service I could render among the sick soldiery, and yet I found it so difficult to convince others of these facts. Doubts and suspicions arose in my heart for the first and last time, thank Heaven. Was it possible that American prejudices against colour had some root here? Did these ladies shrink from accepting my aid because my blood flowed beneath a somewhat duskier skin than theirs? Tears streamed down my foolish cheeks, as I stood in the fast thinning streets; tears of grief that any should doubt my motives--that Heaven should deny me the opportunity that I sought. Then I stood still, and looking upward through and through the dark clouds that shadowed London, prayed aloud for help. I dare say that I was a strange sight to the few passers-by, who hastened homeward through the gloom and mist of that wintry night. I dare say those who read these pages will wonder at me as much as they who saw me did; but you must all remember that I am one of an impulsive people, and find it hard to put that restraint upon my feelings which to you is so easy and natural. The morrow, however, brought fresh hope. A good night's rest had served to strengthen my determination. Let what might happen, to the Crimea I would go. If in no other way, then would I upon my own responsibility and at my own cost. There were those there who had known me in Jamaica, who had been under my care; doctors who would vouch for my skill and willingness to aid them, and a general who had more than once helped me, and would do so still. Why not trust to their welcome and kindness, and start at once? If the authorities had allowed me, I would willingly have given them my services as a nurse; but as they declined them, should I not open an hotel for invalids in the Crimea in my own way? I had no more idea of what the Crimea was than the home authorities themselves perhaps, but having once made up my mind, it was not long before cards were printed and speeding across the Mediterranean to my friends before Sebastopol. Here is one of them:-- "BRITISH HOTEL. Mrs. Mary Seacole (_Late of Kingston, Jamaica_), Respectfully announces to her former kind friends, and to the Officers of the Army and Navy generally, That she has taken her passage in the screw-steamer "Hollander," to start from London on the 25th of January, intending on her arrival at Balaclava to establish a mess table and comfortable quarters for sick and convalescent officers." This bold programme would reach the Crimea in the end of January, at a time when any officer would have considered a stall in an English stable luxurious quarters compared to those he possessed, and had nearly forgotten the comforts of a mess-table. It must have read to them rather like a mockery, and yet, as the reader will see, I succeeded in redeeming my pledge. While this new scheme was maturing, I again met Mr. Day in England. He was bound to Balaclava upon some shipping business, and we came to the understanding that (if it were found desirable) we should together open a store as well as an hotel in the neighbourhood of the camp. So was originated the well-known firm of Seacole and Day (I am sorry to say, the camp wits dubbed it Day and Martin), which, for so many months, did business upon the now deserted high-road from the then busy harbour of Balaclava to the front of the British army before Sebastopol. These new arrangements were not allowed to interfere in any way with the main object of my journey. A great portion of my limited capital was, with the kind aid of a medical friend, invested in medicines which I had reason to believe would be useful; with the remainder I purchased those home comforts which I thought would be most difficult to obtain away from England. I had scarcely set my foot on board the "Hollander," before I met a friend. The supercargo was the brother of the Mr. S----, whose death in Jamaica the reader will not have forgotten, and he gave me a hearty welcome. I thought the meeting augured well, and when I told him my plans he gave me the most cheering encouragement. I was glad, indeed, of any support, for, beyond all doubt, my project was a hazardous one. So cheered at the outset, I watched without a pang the shores of England sink behind the smooth sea, and turned my gaze hopefully to the as yet landless horizon, beyond which lay that little peninsula to which the eyes and hearts of all England were so earnestly directed. So, cheerily! the good ship ploughed its way eastward ho! for Turkey. CHAPTER IX. VOYAGE TO CONSTANTINOPLE--MALTA--GIBRALTAR--CONSTANTINOPLE, AND WHAT I THOUGHT OF IT--VISIT TO SCUTARI HOSPITAL--MISS NIGHTINGALE. I am not going to risk the danger of wearying the reader with a long account of the voyage to Constantinople, already worn threadbare by book-making tourists. It was a very interesting one, and, as I am a good sailor, I had not even the temporary horrors of sea-sickness to mar it. The weather, although cold, was fine, and the sea good-humouredly calm, and I enjoyed the voyage amazingly. And as day by day we drew nearer to the scene of action, my doubts of success grew less and less, until I had a conviction of the rightness of the step I had taken, which would have carried me buoyantly through any difficulties. On the way, of course, I was called up from my berth at an unreasonable hour to gaze upon the Cape of St. Vincent, and expected to feel duly impressed when the long bay where Trafalgar's fight was won came in view, with the white convent walls on the cliffs above bathed in the early sunlight. I never failed to take an almost childish interest in the signals which passed between the "Hollander" and the fleet of vessels whose sails whitened the track to and from the Crimea, trying to puzzle out the language these children of the ocean spoke in their hurried course, and wondering whether any, or what sufficiently important thing _could_ happen which would warrant their stopping on their busy way. We spent a short time at Gibraltar, and you may imagine that I was soon on shore making the best use of the few hours' reprieve granted to the "Hollander's" weary engines. I had an idea that I should do better alone, so I declined all offers of companionship, and selecting a brisk young fellow from the mob of cicerones who offered their services, saw more of the art of fortification in an hour or so than I could understand in as many years. The pleasure was rather fatiguing, and I was not sorry to return to the market-place, where I stood curiously watching its strange and motley population. While so engaged, I heard for the first time an exclamation which became familiar enough to me afterwards. "Why, bless my soul, old fellow, if this is not our good old Mother Seacole!" I turned round, and saw two officers, whose features, set in a broad frame of Crimean beard, I had some difficulty in recognising. But I soon remembered that they were two of the 48th, who had been often in my house at Kingston. Glad were the kind-hearted fellows, and not a little surprised withal, to meet their old hostess in the market-place of Gibraltar, bound for the scene of action which they had left invalided; and it was not long before we were talking old times over some wine--Spanish, I suppose--but it was very nasty. "And you are going to the front, old lady--you, of all people in the world?" "Why not, my sons?--won't they be glad to have me there?" "By Jove! yes, mother," answered one, an Irishman. "It isn't many women--God bless them!--we've had to spoil us out there. But it's not the place even for you, who know what hardship is. You'll never get a roof to cover you at Balaclava, nor on the road either." So they rattled on, telling me of the difficulties that were in store for me. But they could not shake my resolution. "Do you think I shall be of any use to you when I get there?" "Surely." "Then I'll go, were the place a hundred times worse than you describe it. Can't I rig up a hut with the packing-cases, and sleep, if need be, on straw, like Margery Daw?" So they laughed, and drank success to me, and to our next meeting; for, although they were going home invalided, the brave fellows' hearts were with their companions, for all the hardships they had passed through. We stopped at Malta also, where, of course, I landed, and stared about me, and submitted to be robbed by the lazy Maltese with all a traveller's resignation. Here, also, I met friends--some medical officers who had known me in Kingston; and one of them, Dr. F----, lately arrived from Scutari, gave me, when he heard my plans, a letter of introduction to Miss Nightingale, then hard at work, evoking order out of confusion, and bravely resisting the despotism of death, at the hospital of Scutari. So on, past beautiful islands and shores, until we are steaming against a swift current, and an adverse wind, between two tower-crested promontories of rock, which they tell me stand in Europe and in Asia, and are connected with some pretty tale of love in days long gone by. Ah! travel where a woman may, in the New World, or the Old, she meets this old, old tale everywhere. It is the one bond of sympathy which I have found existing in three quarters of the world alike. So on, until the cable rattles over the windlass, as the good ship's anchor plunges down fathoms deep into the blue waters of the Bosphorus--her voyage ended. I do not think that Constantinople impressed me so much as I had expected; and I thought its streets would match those of Navy Bay not unfairly. The caicques, also, of which I had ample experience--for I spent six days here, wandering about Pera and Stamboul in the daytime, and returning to the "Hollander" at nightfall--might be made more safe and commodious for stout ladies, even if the process interfered a little with their ornament. Time and trouble combined have left me with a well-filled-out, portly form--the envy of many an angular Yankee female--and, more than once, it was in no slight danger of becoming too intimately acquainted with the temperature of the Bosphorus. But I will do the Turkish boatmen the justice to say that they were as politely careful of my safety as their astonishment and regard for the well-being of their caicques (which they appear to love as an Arab does his horse, or an Esquimaux his dogs, and for the same reason perhaps) would admit. Somewhat surprised, also, seemed the cunning-eyed Greeks, who throng the streets of Pera, at the unprotected Creole woman, who took Constantinople so coolly (it would require something more to surprise her); while the grave English raised their eyebrows wonderingly, and the more vivacious French shrugged their pliant shoulders into the strangest contortions. I accepted it all as a compliment to a stout female tourist, neatly dressed in a red or yellow dress, a plain shawl of some other colour, and a simple straw wide-awake, with bright red streamers. I flatter myself that I woke up sundry sleepy-eyed Turks, who seemed to think that the great object of life was to avoid showing surprise at anything; while the Turkish women gathered around me, and jabbered about me, in the most flattering manner. How I ever succeeded in getting Mr. Day's letters from the Post-office, Constantinople, puzzles me now; but I did--and I shall ever regard my success as one of the great triumphs of my life. Their contents were not very cheering. He gave a very dreary account of Balaclava and of camp life, and almost dissuaded me from continuing my journey; but his last letter ended by giving me instructions as to the purchases I had best make, if I still determined upon making the adventure; so I forgot all the rest, and busied myself in laying in the stores he recommended. But I found time, before I left the "Hollander," to charter a crazy caicque, to carry me to Scutari, intending to present Dr. F----'s letter to Miss Nightingale. It was afternoon when the boatmen set me down in safety at the landing-place of Scutari, and I walked up the slight ascent, to the great dull-looking hospital. Thinking of the many noble fellows who had been borne, or had painfully crept along this path, only to die within that dreary building, I felt rather dull; and directly I entered the hospital, and came upon the long wards of sufferers, lying there so quiet and still, a rush of tears came to my eyes, and blotted out the sight for a few minutes. But I soon felt at home, and looked about me with great interest. The men were, many of them, very quiet. Some of the convalescent formed themselves into little groups around one who read a newspaper; others had books in their hands, or by their side, where they had fallen when slumber overtook the readers, while hospital orderlies moved to and fro, and now and then the female nurses, in their quiet uniform, passed noiselessly on some mission of kindness. I was fortunate enough to find an old acquaintance, who accompanied me through the wards, and rendered it unnecessary for me to trouble the busy nurses. This was an old 97th man--a Sergeant T----, whom I had known in Kingston, and who was slowly recovering from an attack of dysentery, and making himself of use here until the doctors should let him go back and have another "shy at the Rooshians." He is very glad to meet me, and tells me his history very socially, and takes me to the bedsides of some comrades, who had also known me at Up-Park Camp. My poor fellows! how their eyes glisten when they light upon an old friend's face in these Turkish barracks--put to so sad a use, three thousand miles from home. Here is one of them--"hurt in the trenches," says the Sergeant, with shaven bandaged head, and bright, restless, Irish eyes, who hallooes out, "Mother Seacole! Mother Seacole!" in such an excited tone of voice; and when he has shaken hands a score of times, falls back upon his pillow very wearily. But I sit by his side, and try to cheer him with talk about the future, when he shall grow well, and see home, and hear them all thank him for what he has been helping to do, so that he grows all right in a few minutes; but, hearing that I am on the way to the front, gets excited again; for, you see, illness and weakness make these strong men as children, not least in the patient unmurmuring resignation with which they suffer. I think my Irish friend had an indistinct idea of a "muddle" somewhere, which had kept him for weeks on salt meat and biscuit, until it gave him the "scurvy," for he is very anxious that I should take over plenty of vegetables, of every sort. "And, oh! mother!"--and it is strange to hear his almost plaintive tone as he urges this--"take them plenty of eggs, mother; we never saw eggs over there." At some slight risk of giving offence, I cannot resist the temptation of lending a helping hand here and there--replacing a slipped bandage, or easing a stiff one. But I do not think any one was offended; and one doctor, who had with some surprise and, at first, alarm on his face, watched me replace a bandage, which was giving pain, said, very kindly, when I had finished, "Thank you, ma'am." One thought never left my mind as I walked through the fearful miles of suffering in that great hospital. If it is so here, what must it not be at the scene of war--on the spot where the poor fellows are stricken down by pestilence or Russian bullets, and days and nights of agony must be passed before a woman's hand can dress their wounds. And I felt happy in the conviction that _I must_ be useful three or four days nearer to their pressing wants than this. It was growing late before I felt tired, or thought of leaving Scutari, and Dr. S----, another Jamaica friend, who had kindly borne me company for the last half-hour agreed with me that the caicque was not the safest conveyance by night on the Bosphorus, and recommended me to present my letter to Miss Nightingale, and perhaps a lodging for the night could be found for me. So, still under the Sergeant's patient guidance, we thread our way through passages and corridors, all used as sick-wards, until we reach the corner tower of the building, in which are the nurses' quarters. I think Mrs. B----, who saw me, felt more surprise than she could politely show (I never found women so quick to understand me as the men) when I handed her Dr. F----'s kind letter respecting me, and apologized for troubling Miss Nightingale. There is that in the Doctor's letter (he had been much at Scutari) which prevents my request being refused, and I am asked to wait until Miss Nightingale, whose every moment is valuable, can see me. Meanwhile Mrs. B. questions me very kindly, but with the same look of curiosity and surprise. What object has Mrs. Seacole in coming out? This is the purport of her questions. And I say, frankly, to be of use somewhere; for other considerations I had not, until necessity forced them upon me. Willingly, had they accepted me, I would have worked for the wounded, in return for bread and water. I fancy Mrs. B---- thought that I sought for employment at Scutari, for she said, very kindly-- "Miss Nightingale has the entire management of our hospital staff, but I do not think that any vacancy--" "Excuse me, ma'am," I interrupt her with, "but I am bound for the front in a few days;" and my questioner leaves me, more surprised than ever. The room I waited in was used as a kitchen. Upon the stoves were cans of soup, broth, and arrow-root, while nurses passed in and out with noiseless tread and subdued manner. I thought many of them had that strange expression of the eyes which those who have gazed long on scenes of woe or horror seldom lose. In half an hour's time I am admitted to Miss Nightingale's presence. A slight figure, in the nurses' dress; with a pale, gentle, and withal firm face, resting lightly in the palm of one white hand, while the other supports the elbow--a position which gives to her countenance a keen inquiring expression, which is rather marked. Standing thus in repose, and yet keenly observant--the greatest sign of impatience at any time[B] a slight, perhaps unwitting motion of the firmly planted right foot--was Florence Nightingale--that Englishwoman whose name shall never die, but sound like music on the lips of British men until the hour of doom. She has read Dr. F----'s letter, which lies on the table by her side, and asks, in her gentle but eminently practical and business-like way, "What do you want, Mrs. Seacole--anything that we can do for you? If it lies in my power, I shall be very happy." So I tell her of my dread of the night journey by caicque, and the improbability of my finding the "Hollander" in the dark; and, with some diffidence, threw myself upon the hospitality of Scutari, offering to nurse the sick for the night. Now unfortunately, for many reasons, room even for one in Scutari Hospital was at that time no easy matter to find; but at last a bed was discovered to be unoccupied at the hospital washerwomen's quarters. My experience of washerwomen, all the world over, is the same--that they are kind soft-hearted folks. Possibly the soap-suds they almost live in find their way into their hearts and tempers, and soften them. This Scutari washerwoman is no exception to the rule, and welcomes me most heartily. With her, also, are some invalid nurses; and after they have gone to bed, we spend some hours of the night talking over our adventures, and giving one another scraps of our respective biographies. I hadn't long retired to my couch before I wished most heartily that we had continued our chat; for unbidden and most unwelcome companions took the washerwoman's place, and persisted not only in dividing my bed, but my plump person also. Upon my word, I believe the fleas are the only industrious creatures in all Turkey. Some of their relatives would seem to have migrated into Russia; for I found them in the Crimea equally prosperous and ubiquitous. In the morning, a breakfast is sent to my mangled remains, and a kind message from Mrs. B----, having reference to how I spent the night. And, after an interview with some other medical men, whose acquaintance I had made in Jamaica, I shake hands with the soft-hearted washerwoman, up to her shoulders in soap-suds already, and start for the "Hollander." FOOTNOTE: [B] Subsequently I saw much of Miss Nightingale, at Balaclava. CHAPTER X. "JEW JOHNNY"--I START FOR BALACLAVA--KINDNESS OF MY OLD FRIENDS--ON BOARD THE "MEDORA"--MY LIFE ON SHORE--THE SICK WHARF. During my stay in Constantinople, I was accustomed to employ, as a guide, a young Greek Jew, whose name it is no use my attempting to spell, but whom I called by the one common name there--"Johnny." Wishing, however, to distinguish my Johnny from the legion of other Johnnies, I prefixed the term Jew to his other name, and addressed him as Jew Johnny. How he had picked up his knowledge I cannot tell, but he could talk a little broken English, besides French, which, had I been qualified to criticise it, I should have found, perhaps, as broken as his English. He attached himself very closely to me, and seemed very anxious to share my fortunes; and after he had pleaded hard, many times, to be taken to the Crimea, I gave in, and formally hired him. He was the best and faithfullest servant I had in the Crimea, and, so far from regretting having picked up Jew Johnny from the streets of Pera, I should have been very badly off without him. More letters come from Mr. Day, giving even worse accounts of the state of things at Balaclava; but it is too late for hesitation now. My plans are perfected, my purchases made, and passage secured in the "Albatross"--a transport laden with cattle and commissariat officers for Balaclava. I thought I should never have transported my things from the "Hollander" to the "Albatross." It was a terrible day, and against the strong current and hurricane of wind Turkish and Greek arms seemed of little avail; but at last, after an hour or more of terrible anxiety and fear, the "Albatross's" side was reached, and I clambered on deck, drenched and wretched. My companions are cheerful, pleasant fellows, and the short, although somewhat hazardous, voyage across the Black Sea is safely made, and one morning we become excited at seeing a dark rock-bound coast, on which they tell us is Balaclava. As we steam on we see, away to the right, clouds of light smoke, which the knowing travellers tell us are not altogether natural, but show that Sebastopol is not yet taken, until the "Albatross" lays-to within sight of where the "Prince," with her ill-fated companions, went down in that fearful November storm, four short months ago, while application is made to the harbour-master for leave to enter the port of Balaclava. It does not appear the simplest favour in the world that we are applying for--licence to escape from the hazards of the Black Sea. But at last it comes, and we slowly wind through a narrow channel, and emerge into a small landlocked basin, so filled with shipping that their masts bend in the breeze like a wintry forest. Whatever might have been the case at one time, there is order in Balaclava Harbour now, and the "Albatross," with the aid of her boats, moves along to her appointed moorings. Such a busy scene as that small harbour presented could be rarely met with elsewhere. Crowded with shipping, of every size and variety, from the noble English steamer to the smallest long-shore craft, while between them and the shore passed and repassed innumerable boats; men-of-war's boats, trim and stern; merchant-ship's boats, laden to the gunwales; Greek and Maltese boats, carrying their owners everywhere on their missions of sharp dealing and roguery. Coming from the quiet gloomy sea into this little nook of life and bustle the transition is very sudden and startling, and gives one enough to think about without desiring to go on shore this afternoon. On the following morning, Mr. Day, apprised of my arrival, came on board the "Albatross," and our plans were laid. I must leave the "Albatross," of course, and, until we decide upon our future, I had better take up my quarters on board the "Medora," which is hired by the Government, at a great cost, as an ammunition ship. The proposal was not a very agreeable one, but I have no choice left me. Our stores, too, had to be landed at once. Warehouses were unheard of in Balaclava, and we had to stack them upon the shore and protect them as well as we were able. My first task, directly I had become settled on board the "Medora," was to send word to my friends of my arrival in the Crimea, and solicit their aid. I gave a Greek idler one pound to carry a letter to the camp of the 97th, while I sent another to Captain Peel, who was hard at work battering the defences of Sebastopol about the ears of the Russians, from the batteries of the Royal Naval Brigade. I addressed others to many of the medical men who had known me in other lands; nor did I neglect to send word to my kind patron, Sir John Campbell, then commanding a division: and my old friends answered my letters most kindly. As the various officers came down on duty or business to Balaclava they did not fail to find me out, and welcome me to the Crimea, while Captain Peel and Sir J. Campbell sent the kindest messages; and when they saw me, promised me every assistance, the General adding that he is glad to see me where there is so much to do. Among others, poor H. Vicars, whose kind face had so often lighted up my old house in Kingston, came to take me by the hand in this out-of-the-way corner of the world. I never felt so sure of the success of any step as I did of this, before I had been a week in Balaclava. But I had plenty of difficulties to contend with on every side. Among the first, one of the ships, in which were many of our stores, the "Nonpareil," was ordered out of the harbour before we could land them all, and there was more than a probability that she would carry back to Constantinople many of the things we had most pressing occasion for. It became necessary, therefore, that some one should see Admiral Boxer, and try to interest that mild-spoken and affable officer in our favour. When I mentioned it to Mr. Day, he did not seem inclined to undertake the mission, and nothing was left but for me to face the terrible Port-Admiral. Fortunately, Captain H----, of the "Diamond," was inclined to be my friend, and, not a little amused with his mission, carried me right off to the Admiral. I confess that I was as nearly frightened out of my wits as I ever have been, for the Admiral's kind heart beat under a decidedly rough husk; and when Captain H---- told him that I wanted his permission for the "Nonpareil" to remain in the harbour for a few days, as there were stores on board, he let fly enough hard words to frighten any woman. But when I spoke up, and told him that I had known his son in the West Indies, he relented, and granted my petition. But it was not without more hard words, and much grumbling that a parcel of women should be coming out to a place where they were not wanted. Now, the Admiral did not repeat this remark a few days afterwards, when he saw me attending the sick and wounded upon the sick wharf. I remained six weeks in Balaclava, spending my days on shore, and my nights on board ship. Over our stores, stacked on the shore, a few sheets of rough tarpaulin were suspended; and beneath these--my sole protection against the Crimean rain and wind--I spent some portion of each day, receiving visitors and selling stores. But my chief occupation, and one with which I never allowed any business to interfere, was helping the doctors to transfer the sick and wounded from the mules and ambulances into the transports that had to carry them to the hospitals of Scutari and Buyukdere. I did not forget the main object of my journey, to which I would have devoted myself exclusively had I been allowed; and very familiar did I become before long with the sick wharf of Balaclava. My acquaintance with it began very shortly after I had reached Balaclava. The very first day that I approached the wharf, a party of sick and wounded had just arrived. Here was work for me, I felt sure. With so many patients, the doctors must be glad of all the hands they could get. Indeed, so strong was the old impulse within me, that I waited for no permission, but seeing a poor artilleryman stretched upon a pallet, groaning heavily, I ran up to him at once, and eased the stiff dressings. Lightly my practised fingers ran over the familiar work, and well was I rewarded when the poor fellow's groans subsided into a restless uneasy mutter. God help him! He had been hit in the forehead, and I think his sight was gone. I stooped down, and raised some tea to his baked lips (here and there upon the wharf were rows of little pannikins containing this beverage). Then his hand touched mine, and rested there, and I heard him mutter indistinctly, as though the discovery had arrested his wandering senses-- "Ha! this is surely a woman's hand." I couldn't say much, but I tried to whisper something about hope and trust in God; but all the while I think his thoughts were running on this strange discovery. Perhaps I had brought to his poor mind memories of his home, and the loving ones there, who would ask no greater favour than the privilege of helping him thus; for he continued to hold my hand in his feeble grasp, and whisper "God bless you, _woman_--whoever you are, God bless you!"--over and over again. I do not think that the surgeons noticed me at first, although, as this was my introduction to Balaclava, I had not neglected my personal appearance, and wore my favourite yellow dress, and blue bonnet, with the red ribbons; but I noticed one coming to me, who, I think, would have laughed very merrily had it not been for the poor fellow at my feet. As it was, he came forward, and shook hands very kindly, saying, "How do you do, ma'am? Much obliged to you for looking after my poor fellow; very glad to see you here." And glad they always were, the kind-hearted doctors, to let me help them look after the sick and wounded sufferers brought to that fearful wharf. I wonder if I can ever forget the scenes I witnessed there? Oh! they were heartrending. I declare that I saw rough bearded men stand by and cry like the softest-hearted women at the sights of suffering they saw; while some who scorned comfort for themselves, would fidget about for hours before the long trains of mules and ambulances came in, nervous lest the most trifling thing that could minister to the sufferers' comfort should be neglected. I have often heard men talk and preach very learnedly and conclusively about the great wickedness and selfishness of the human heart; I used to wonder whether they would have modified those opinions if they had been my companions for one day of the six weeks I spent upon that wharf, and seen but one day's experience of the Christian sympathy and brotherly love shown by the strong to the weak. The task was a trying one, and familiarity, you might think, would have worn down their keener feelings of pity and sympathy; but it was not so. I was in the midst of my sad work one day when the Admiral came up, and stood looking on. He vouchsafed no word nor look of recognition in answer to my salute, but stood silently by, his hands behind his back, watching the sick being lifted into the boats. You might have thought that he had little feeling, so stern and expressionless was his face; but once, when they raised a sufferer somewhat awkwardly, and he groaned deeply, that rough man broke out all at once with an oath, that was strangely like a prayer, and bade the men, for God's sake, take more care. And, coming up to me, he clapped me on the shoulder, saying, "I am glad to see you here, old lady, among these poor fellows;" while, I am most strangely deceived if I did not see a tear-drop gathering in his eye. It was on this same day, I think, that bending down over a poor fellow whose senses had quite gone, and, I fear me, would never return to him in this world, he took me for his wife, and calling me "Mary, Mary," many times, asked me how it was he had got home so quickly, and why he did not see the children; and said he felt sure he should soon get better now. Poor fellow! I could not undeceive him. I think the fancy happily caused by the touch of a woman's hand soothed his dying hour; for I do not fancy he could have lived to reach Scutari. I never knew it for certain, but I always felt sure that he would never wake from that dream of home in this world. And here, lest the reader should consider that I am speaking too highly of my own actions, I must have recourse to a plan which I shall frequently adopt in the following pages, and let another voice speak for me in the kind letter received long after Balaclava had been left to its old masters, by one who had not forgotten his old companion on the sick-wharf. The writer, Major (then Captain) R----, had charge of the wharf while I was there. "Glasgow, Sept. 1856. "Dear Mrs. Seacole,--I am very sorry to hear that you have been unfortunate in business; but I am glad to hear that you have found friends in Lord R---- and others, who are ready to help you. No one knows better than I do how much you did to help poor sick and wounded soldiers; and I feel sure you will find in your day of trouble that they have not forgotten it." Major R---- was a brave and experienced officer, but the scenes on the sick-wharf unmanned him often. I have known him nervously restless if the people were behindhand, even for a few minutes, in their preparations for the wounded. But in this feeling all shared alike. Only women could have done more than they did who attended to this melancholy duty; and they, not because their hearts could be softer, but because their hands are moulded for this work. But it must not be supposed that we had no cheerful scenes upon the sick-wharf. Sometimes a light-hearted fellow--generally a sailor--would forget his pain, and do his best to keep the rest in good spirits. Once I heard my name eagerly pronounced, and turning round, recognised a sailor whom I remembered as one of the crew of the "Alarm," stationed at Kingston, a few years back. "Why, as I live, if this ain't Aunty Seacole, of Jamaica! Shiver all that's left of my poor timbers"--and I saw that the left leg was gone--"if this ain't a rum go, mates!" "Ah! my man, I'm sorry to see you in this sad plight." "Never fear for me, Aunty Seacole; I'll make the best of the leg the Rooshians have left me. I'll get at them soon again, never fear. You don't think, messmates"--he never left his wounded comrades alone--"that they'll think less of us at home for coming back with a limb or so short?" "You bear your troubles well, my son." "Eh! do I, Aunty?" and he seemed surprised. "Why, look'ye, when I've seen so many pretty fellows knocked off the ship's roll altogether, don't you think I ought to be thankful if I can answer the bo'swain's call anyhow?" And this was the sailors' philosophy always. And this brave fellow, after he had sipped some lemonade, and laid down, when he heard the men groaning, raised his head and comforted them in the same strain again; and, it may seem strange, but it quieted them. I used to make sponge-cakes on board the "Medora," with eggs brought from Constantinople. Only the other day, Captain S----, who had charge of the "Medora," reminded me of them. These, with some lemonade, were all the doctors would allow me to give to the wounded. They all liked the cake, poor fellows, better than anything else: perhaps because it tasted of "home." CHAPTER XI. ALARMS IN THE HARBOUR--GETTING THE STORES ON SHORE--ROBBERY BY NIGHT AND DAY--THE PREDATORY TRIBES OF BALACLAVA--ACTIVITY OF THE AUTHORITIES--WE OBTAIN LEAVE TO ERECT OUR STORE, AND FIX UPON SPRING HILL AS ITS SITE--THE TURKISH PACHA--THE FLOOD--OUR CARPENTERS--I BECOME AN ENGLISH SCHOOLMISTRESS ABROAD. My life in Balaclava could not but be a rough one. The exposure by day was enough to try any woman's strength; and at night one was not always certain of repose. Nor was it the easiest thing to clamber up the steep sides of the "Medora;" and more than once I narrowly escaped a sousing in the harbour. Why it should be so difficult to climb a ship's side, when a few more staves in the ladder, and those a little broader, would make it so easy, I have never been able to guess. And once on board the "Medora," my berth would not altogether have suited a delicate female with weak nerves. It was an ammunition ship, and we slept over barrels of gunpowder and tons of cartridges, with the by no means impossible contingency of their prematurely igniting, and giving us no time to say our prayers before launching us into eternity. Great care was enjoined, and at eight o'clock every evening Captain S---- would come down, and order all lights out for the night. But I used to put my lantern into a deep basin, behind some boxes, and so evaded the regulation. I felt rather ashamed of this breach of discipline one night, when another ammunition ship caught fire in the crowded harbour, and threatened us all with speedy destruction. We all knew, if they failed in extinguishing the fire pretty quickly, what our chances of life were worth, and I think the bravest drew his breath heavily at the thought of our danger. Fortunately, they succeeded in extinguishing the firebrand before any mischief was done; but I do not think the crew of the "Medora" slept very comfortably that night. It was said that the Russians had employed an incendiary; but it would have been strange if in that densely crowded harbour some accidents had not happened without their agency. Harassing work, indeed, was the getting our stores on shore, with the aid of the Greek and Maltese boatmen, whose profession is thievery. Not only did they demand exorbitant sums for the carriage, but they contrived to rob us by the way in the most ingenious manner. Thus many things of value were lost in the little journey from the "Albatross" and "Nonpareil" to the shore, which had made the long voyage from England safely. Keep as sharp a look out as I might, some package or box would be tipped overboard by the sudden swaying of the boat, or passing by of one of the boatmen--of course, accidentally--and no words could induce the rascals, in their feigned ignorance of my language, to stop; and, looking back at the helpless waif, it was not altogether consolatory to see another boat dart from between some shipping, where it had been waiting, as accidentally, ready to pounce upon any such wind or waterfalls. Still more harassing work was it to keep the things together on the shore: often in the open light of day, while I sat there (after my duties on the sick-wharf were over) selling stores, or administering medicine to the men of the Land Transport and Army Works Corps, and others, who soon found out my skill, valuable things would be abstracted; while there was no limit to the depredations by night. Of course we hired men to watch; but our choice of servants was very limited, and very often those we employed not only shut their eyes to the plunder of their companions, but helped themselves freely. The adage, "set a thief to catch a thief," answered very badly in Balaclava. Sometimes Jew Johnny would volunteer to watch for the night; and glad I was when I knew that the honest lynx-eyed fellow was there. One night he caught a great-limbed Turk making off with a firkin of butter and some other things. The fellow broke away from Johnny's grasp with the butter, but the lad marked him down to his wretched den, behind the engineers' quarters, and, on the following morning, quietly introduced me to the lazy culprit, who was making up for the partial loss of his night's rest among as evil-looking a set of comrades as I have ever seen. There was a great row, and much indignation shown at the purpose of my visit; but I considered myself justified in calling in the aid of one of the Provost marshal's officers, and, in the presence of this most invaluable official, a confession was soon made. Beneath the fellow's dirty bed, the butter was found buried; and, in its company, a two-dozen case of sherry, which the rogue had, in flagrant defiance of the Prophet's injunction, stolen for his own private drinking, a few nights previously. The thievery in this little out-of-the way port was something marvellous; and the skill and ingenuity of the operators would have reflected credit upon the _élite_ of their profession practising in the most civilized city of Europe. Nor was the thievery confined altogether to the professionals, who had crowded to this scene of action from the cities and islands of the Mediterranean. They robbed us, the Turks, and one another; but a stronger hand was sometimes laid on them. The Turk, however, was sure to be the victim, let who might be the oppressor. In this predatory warfare, as in more honourable service, the Zouaves particularly distinguished themselves. These undoubtedly gallant little fellows, always restless for action, of some sort, would, when the luxury of a brash with the Russians was occasionally denied them, come down to Balaclava, in search of opportunities of waging war against society at large. Their complete and utter absence of conscientious scruples as to the rights of property was most amusing. To see a Zouave gravely cheat a Turk, or trip up a Greek street-merchant, or Maltese fruit-seller, and scud away with the spoil, cleverly stowed in his roomy red pantaloons, was an operation, for its coolness, expedition, and perfectness, well worth seeing. And, to a great extent, they escaped scatheless, for the English Provost marshal's department was rather chary of interfering with the eccentricities of our gallant allies; while if the French had taken close cognizance of the Zouaves' amusements out of school, one-half of the regiments would have been always engaged punishing the other half. The poor Turk! it is lamentable to think how he was robbed, abused, and bullied by his friends. Why didn't he show a little pluck? There wasn't a rough sailor, or shrewd boy--the English boy, in all his impudence and prejudice, flourished in Balaclava--who would not gladly have patted him upon the back if he would but have held up his head, and shown ever so little spirit. But the Englishman cannot understand a coward--will scarcely take the trouble to pity him; and even the craven Greek could lord it over the degenerate descendants of the fierce Arabs, who--so they told me on the spot--had wrested Constantinople from the Christians, in those old times of which I know so little. Very often an injured Turk would run up to where I sat, and stand there, wildly telegraphing his complaints against some villainous-looking Greek, or Italian, whom a stout English lad would have shaken out of his dirty skin in five minutes. Once, however, I saw the tables turned. As the anecdote will help to illustrate the relative positions of the predatory tribes of Balaclava, I will narrate it. Hearing one morning a louder hubbub than was usual upon the completion of a bargain, and the inevitable quarrelling that always followed, I went up to where I saw an excited crowd collected around a Turk, in whose hands a Greek was struggling vainly. This Greek had, it seemed, robbed his enemy, but the Turk was master this time, and had, in order to force from the robber a confession of the place where the stolen things were deposited (like dogs, as they were, these fellows were fond of burying their plunder), resorted to torture. This was effected most ingeniously and simply by means of some packthread, which, bound round the Greek's two thumbs, was tightened on the tourniquet principle, until the pain elicited a confession. But the Turk, stimulated to retaliation by his triumph, bagged the Greek's basket, which contained amongst other things two watches, which their present owner had no doubt stolen. Driven to the most ludicrous show of despair, the Greek was about to attempt another desperate struggle for the recovery of his goods, when two Zouaves elbowed their small persons upon the crowded stage, and were eagerly referred to by all the parties concerned in the squabble. How they contrived it, I cannot say, so prompt were their movements; but, in a very few minutes, the watches were in their possession, and going much faster than was agreeable either to Turk or Greek, who both combined to arrest this new movement, and thereby added a sharp thrashing to their other injuries. The Zouaves effected their escape safely, while the Greek, with a despair that had in it an equal share of the ludicrous and the tragic, threw himself upon the dusty ground, and tore his thin hair out by handfuls. I believe that the poor wretch, whom we could not help pitying, journeyed to Kamiesch, to discover his oppressors; but I fear he didn't gain much information there. Had it not been for the unremitting activity of the authorities, no life would have been safe in Balaclava, with its population of villains of every nation. As it was, murder was sometimes added to robbery, and many of the rascals themselves died suspicious deaths, with the particulars of which the authorities did not trouble themselves. But the officials worked hard, both in the harbour and on shore, to keep order; few men could have worked harder. I often saw the old grey-haired Admiral about before the sun had fairly shown itself; and those of his subordinates must have been somewhat heavy sleepers who could play the sluggard then. At length the necessary preparations to establish our store were made. We hit upon a spot about two miles from Balaclava, in advance of Kadikoi, close to where the railway engines were stationed, and within a mile of head-quarters. Leave having been obtained to erect buildings here, we set to work briskly, and soon altered the appearance of Spring Hill--so we christened our new home. Sometimes on horseback, sometimes getting a lift on the commissariat carts, and occasionally on the ammunition railway-waggons, I managed to visit Spring Hill daily, and very soon fitted up a shed sufficiently large to take up my abode in. But the difficulty of building our store was immense. To obtain material was next to impossible; but that collected (not a little was, by leave of the Admiral, gleaned from the floating rubbish in the harbour), to find workmen to make use of it was still more difficult. I spent days going round the shipping, offering great wages, even, for an invalid able to handle saw and hammer, however roughly, and many a long ride through the camps did I take on the same errand. At length, by dint of hard canvassing, we obtained the aid of two English sailors, whom I nicknamed "Big and Little Chips," and some Turks, and set to work in good earnest. I procured the Turks from the Pacha who commanded the division encamped in the neighbourhood of Spring Hill. It was decided that we should apply to him for help, and accordingly I became ambassadress on this delicate mission, and rode over to the Pacha's quarters, Jew Johnny attending me as interpreter. I was received by the Pacha with considerable kindness and no trifling amount of formality, and after taking coffee I proceeded, through Jew Johnny, to explain the object of my visit, while his Excellency, a tall man, with a dark pleasing face, smoked gravely, and took my request into his gracious consideration. On the following day came the answer to my request, in the persons of two curious Turkish carpenters, who were placed at our orders. After a little while, too, a Turkish officer, whom I christened Captain Ali Baba, took so great an interest in our labours that he would work like any carpenter, and with a delight and zeal that were astonishing. To see him fall back, and look smilingly at every piece of his workmanship, was a sight to restore the most severely tried temper. I really think that the good-hearted fellow thought it splendid fun, and never wearied of it. But for him I do not know how we should have managed with our other Turkish "chips"--chips of the true old Turkish block they were--deliberate, slow, and indolent, breaking off into endless interruptions for the sacred duties of eating and praying, and getting into out-of-the-way corners at all times of the day to smoke themselves to sleep. In the midst of our work a calamity occurred, which was very nearly becoming a catastrophe. By the giving way of a dam, after some heavy rains, the little stream which threaded its silvery way past Spring Hill swelled without any warning into a torrent, which, sweeping through my temporary hut, very nearly carried us all away, and destroyed stores of between one and two hundred pounds in value. This calamity might have had a tragical issue for me, for seeing a little box which contained some things, valuable as relics of the past, being carried away, I plunged in after it, and losing my balance, was rolled over and over by the stream, and with some difficulty reached the shore. Some of Lord Raglan's staff passing our wreck on the following day, made inquiries respecting the loss we had sustained, and a messenger was sent from head-quarters, who made many purchases, in token of their sympathy. My visit to the Turkish Pacha laid the foundation of a lasting friendship. He soon found his way to Spring Hill, and before long became one of my best customers and most frequent visitors. It was astonishing to note how completely, now that he was in the land of the Giaours, he adapted himself to the tastes and habits of the infidels. Like a Scotch Presbyterian, on the Continent for a holiday, he threw aside all the prejudices of his education, and drank bottled beer, sherry, and champagne with an appreciation of their qualities that no thirsty-souled Christian could have expressed more gratefully. He was very affable with us all, and would sometimes keep Jew Johnny away from his work for hours, chatting with us or the English officers who would lounge into our as yet unfinished store. Sometimes he would come down to breakfast, and spend the greater part of the day at Spring Hill. Indeed, the wits of Spring Hill used to laugh, and say that the crafty Pacha was throwing his pocket-handkerchief at Madame Seacole, widow; but as the honest fellow candidly confessed he had three wives already at home, I acquit him of any desire to add to their number. The Pacha's great ambition was to be familiar with the English language, and at last nothing would do but he must take lessons of me. So he would come down, and sitting in my store, with a Turk or so at his feet, to attend to his most important pipe, by inserting little red-hot pieces of charcoal at intervals, would try hard to sow a few English sentences in his treacherous memory. He never got beyond half a dozen; and I think if we had continued in the relation of pupil and mistress until now, the number would not have been increased greatly. "Madame Seacole," "Gentlemen, good morning," and "More champagne," with each syllable much dwelt upon, were his favourite sentences. It was capital fun to hear him, when I was called away suddenly to attend to a customer, or to give a sick man medicine, repeating gravely the sentence we had been studying, until I passed him, and started him with another. Very frequently he would compliment me by ordering his band down to Spring Hill for my amusement. They played excellently well, and I used to think that I preferred their music to that of the French and English regimental bands. I laughed heartily one day, when, in compliance with the kind-hearted Anglo-Turkish Pacha's orders, they came out with a grand new tune, in which I with difficulty recognised a very distant resemblance to "God save the Queen." Altogether he was a capital neighbour, and gave such strict orders to his men to respect our property that we rarely lost anything. On the whole, the Turks were the most honest of the nations there (I except the English and the Sardinians), and the most tractable. But the Greeks hated them, and showed their hate in every way. In bringing up things for the Pacha's use they would let the mules down, and smash their loads most relentlessly. Now and then they suffered, as was the case one day when I passed through the camp and saw my friend superintending the correction of a Greek who was being bastinadoed. It seemed a painful punishment. I was sorry, therefore, when my friend's division was ordered to Kamara, and we lost our neighbours. But my pupil did not forget his schoolmistress. A few days after they had left the neighbourhood of Spring Hill came a messenger, with a present of lambs, poultry, and eggs, and a letter, which I could not decipher, as many of the interpreters could speak English far better than they could write it. But we discovered that the letter contained an invitation, to Mr. Day and myself, to go over to Kamara, and select from the spoil of the village anything that might be useful in our new buildings. And a few days later came over a large araba, drawn by four mules, and laden with a pair of glass-doors, and some window-frames, which the thoughtful kind Pacha had judged--and judged rightly--would be a very acceptable present. And very often the good-natured fellow would ride over from Kamara, and resume his acquaintance with myself and my champagne, and practise his English sentences. We felt the loss of our Turkish neighbours in more ways than one. The neighbourhood, after their departure, was left lonely and unprotected, and it was not until a division of the Land Transport Corps came and took up their quarters near us, that I felt at all secure of personal safety. Mr. Day rarely returned to Spring Hill until nightfall relieved him from his many duties, and I depended chiefly upon two sailors, both of questionable character, two black servants, Jew Johnny, and my own reputation for determination and courage--a poor delusion, which I took care to heighten by the judicious display of a double-barrelled pistol, lent me for the purpose by Mr. Day, and which I couldn't have loaded to save my life. CHAPTER XII. THE BRITISH HOTEL--DOMESTIC DIFFICULTIES--OUR ENEMIES--THE RUSSIAN RATS--ADVENTURES IN SEARCH OF A CAT--LIGHT-FINGERED ZOUAVES--CRIMEAN THIEVES--POWDERING A HORSE. Summer was fairly advanced before the British Hotel was anything like finished; indeed, it never was completed, and when we left the Hill, a year later, it still wanted shutters. But long before that time Spring Hill had gained a great reputation. Of course, I have nothing to do with what occurred in the camp, although I could not help hearing a great deal about it. Mismanagement and privation there might have been, but my business was to make things right in my sphere, and whatever confusion, and disorder existed elsewhere, comfort and order were always to be found at Spring Hill. When there was no sun elsewhere, some few gleams--so its grateful visitors said--always seemed to have stayed behind, to cheer the weary soldiers that gathered in the British Hotel. And, perhaps, as my kind friend _Punch_ said, after all these things had become pleasant memories of the past. "The cold without gave a zest, no doubt, To the welcome warmth within; But her smile, good old soul, lent heat to the coal, And power to the pannikin." Let me, in a few words, describe the British Hotel. It was acknowledged by all to be the most complete thing there. It cost no less than £800. The buildings and yards took up at least an acre of ground, and were as perfect as we could make them. The hotel and storehouse consisted of a long iron room, with counters, closets, and shelves; above it was another low room, used by us for storing our goods, and above this floated a large union-jack. Attached to this building was a little kitchen, not unlike a ship's caboose--all stoves and shelves. In addition to the iron house were two wooden houses, with sleeping apartments for myself and Mr. Day, out-houses for our servants, a canteen for the soldiery, and a large enclosed yard for our stock, full of stables, low huts, and sties. Everything, although rough and unpolished, was comfortable and warm; and there was a completeness about the whole which won general admiration. The reader may judge of the manner in which we had stocked the interior of our store from the remark, often repeated by the officers, that you might get everything at Mother Seacole's, from an anchor down to a needle. In addition, we had for our transport service four carts, and as many horses and mules as could be kept from the thieves. To reckon upon being in possession of these, at any future time, was impossible; we have more than once seen a fair stud stabled at night-time, and on the following morning been compelled to borrow cattle from the Land Transport camp, to fetch our things up from Balaclava. But it must not be supposed that my domestic difficulties came to an end with the completion of the hotel. True, I was in a better position to bear the Crimean cold and rain, but my other foes were as busy as ever they had been on the beach at Balaclava. Thieves, biped and quadruped, human and animal, troubled me more than ever; and perhaps the most difficult to deal with were the least dangerous. The Crimean rats, for instance, who had the appetites of London aldermen, and were as little dainty as hungry schoolboys. Whether they had left Sebastopol, guided by the instinct which leads their kindred in other parts of the world to forsake sinking ships, or because the garrison rations offended their palates, or whether they had patriotically emigrated, to make war against the English larders, I do not pretend to guess; but, whatever was their motive, it drew them in great abundance to Spring Hill. They occasionally did us damage, in a single night, to the tune of two or three pounds--wasting what they could not devour. You could keep nothing sacred from their strong teeth. When hard pressed they more than once attacked the live sheep; and at last they went so far as to nibble one of our black cooks, Francis, who slept among the flour barrels. On the following morning he came to me, his eyes rolling angrily, and his white teeth gleaming, to show me a mangled finger, which they had bitten, and ask me to dress it. He made a great fuss; and a few mornings later he came in a violent passion this time, and gave me instant notice to quit my service, although we were paying him two pounds a week, with board and rations. This time the rats had, it appeared, been bolder, and attacked his head, in a spot where its natural armour, the wool, was thinnest, and the silly fellow had a notion that the souls of the slain Russian soldiers had entered the bodies of the rats, and made vengeful war upon their late enemies. Driven to such an extremity, I made up my mind to scour the camp, in search of a cat, and, after a long day's hunt, I came to the conclusion that the tale of Whittington was by no means an improbable one. Indeed, had a brisk young fellow with a cat, of even ordinary skill in its profession, made their appearance at Spring Hill, I would gladly have put them in the way--of laying the foundation, at least--of a fortune. At last I found a benefactor, in the Guards' camp, in Colonel D----, of the Coldstreams, who kindly promised me a great pet, well known in the camp, and perhaps by some who may read these pages, by the name of Pinkie. Pinkie was then helping a brother officer to clear his hut, but on the following day a Guardsman brought the noble fellow down. He lived in clover for a few days, but he had an English cat-like attachment for his old house, and despite the abundance of game, Pinkie soon stole away to his old master's quarters, three miles off. More than once the men brought him back to me, but the attractions of Spring Hill were never strong enough to detain him long with me. From the human thieves that surrounded Spring Hill I had to stand as sharp a siege as the Russians had in that poor city against which we heard the guns thundering daily; while the most cunning and desperate sorties were often made upon the most exposed parts of my defences, and sometimes with success. Scores of the keenest eyes and hundreds of the sharpest fingers in the world were always ready to take advantage of the least oversight. I had to keep two boys, whose chief occupation was to watch the officers' horses, tied up to the doorposts of the British Hotel. Before I adopted this safeguard, more than one officer would leave his horse for a few minutes, and on his return find it gone to the neighbourhood of the Naval Brigade, or the horse-fair at Kamiesch. My old friends, the Zouaves, soon found me out at Spring Hill, and the wiry, light-fingered, fighting-loving gentry spent much of their leisure there. Those confounded trowsers of theirs offered conveniences of stowage-room which they made rare use of. Nothing was too small, and few things too unwieldy, to ride in them; like the pockets of clown in a pantomime, they could accommodate a well-grown baby or a pound of sausages equally well. I have a firm conviction that they stuffed turkeys, geese, and fowls into them, and I positively know that my only respectable teapot travelled off in the same conveyance, while I detected one little fellow, who had tied them down tight at his ankles, stowing away some pounds of tea and coffee mixed. Some officers, who were present, cut the cords, and, holding up the little scamp by the neck, shook his trowsers empty amid shouts of laughter. Our live stock, from the horses and mules down to the geese and fowls, suffered terribly. Although we kept a sharp look-out by day, and paid a man five shillings a night as watchman, our losses were very great. During the time we were in the Crimea we lost over a score of horses, four mules, eighty goats, many sheep, pigs, and poultry, by thieving alone. We missed in a single night forty goats and seven sheep, and on Mr. Day's going to head-quarters with intelligence of the disaster, they told him that Lord Raglan had recently received forty sheep from Asia, all of which had disappeared in the same manner. The geese, turkeys, and fowls vanished by scores. We found out afterwards that the watchman paid to guard the sheep, used to kill a few occasionally. As he represented them to have died a natural death during the night, he got permission to bury them, instead of which he sold them. King Frost claimed his share of our stock too, and on one December night, of the winter of 1855, killed no less than forty sheep. It is all very well to smile at these things now, but at the time they were heartrending enough, and helped, if they did not cause, the ruin which eventually overtook the firm of Seacole and Day. The determination and zeal which besiegers and besieged showed with respect to a poor pig, which was quietly and unconsciously fattening in its sty, are worthy of record. Fresh pork, in the spring of 1855, was certainly one of those luxuries not easily obtainable in that part of the Crimea to which the British army was confined, and when it became known that Mother Seacole had purchased a promising young porker from one of the ships in Balaclava, and that, brave woman! she had formed the courageous resolution of fattening it for her favourites, the excitement among the frequenters of Spring Hill was very great. I could laugh heartily now, when I think of the amount of persuasion and courting I stood out for before I bound myself how its four legs were to be disposed of. I learnt more at that time of the trials and privileges of authority than I am ever likely to experience again. Upon my word, I think if the poor thing had possessed as many legs as my editor tells me somebody called the Hydra (with whom my readers are perhaps more familiar than I am) had heads, I should have found candidates for them. As it was, the contest for those I had to bestow was very keen, and the lucky individuals who were favoured by me looked after their interests most carefully. One of them, to render mistake or misunderstanding impossible, entered my promise in my day-book. The reader will perhaps smile at the following important memorandum in the gallant officer's writing:-- "Memorandum that Mrs. Seacole did this day, in the presence of Major A---- and Lieutenant W----, promise Captain H----, R.A., a leg of _the_ pig." Now it was well known that many greedy eyes and fingers were directed towards the plump fellow, and considerable interest was manifested in the result of the struggle, "Mrs. Seacole _versus_ Thievery." I think they had some confidence in me, and that I was the favourite; but there was a large field against me, which found its backers also; and many a bet was laughingly laid on the ultimate fate of the unconscious porker. I baffled many a knavish trick to gain possession of the fine fellow; but, after all, I lost him in the middle of the day, when I thought the boldest rogues would not have run the risk. The shouts and laughter of some officers who were riding down from the front first informed me of my loss. Up they rode, calling out--"Mother Seacole! old lady! quick!--_the_ pig's gone!" I rushed out, injured woman that I was, and saw it all at a glance. But that my straw wide-awake was in the way, I could have torn my hair in my vexation. I rushed to the sty, found the nest warm, and with prompt decision prepared for speedy pursuit. Back I came to the horsemen, calling out--"Off with you, my sons!--they can't have got very far away yet. Do your best to save my bacon!" Delighted with the fun, the horsemen dispersed, laughing and shouting--"Stole away! hark away!" while I ran indoors, turned out all my available body-guard, and started in pursuit also. Not half a mile off we soon saw a horseman wave his cap; and starting off into a run, came to a little hollow, where the poor panting animal and two Greek thieves had been run down. The Provost-marshal took the latter in hand willingly, and Piggy was brought home in triumph. But those who had pork expectancies, hearing of the adventure, grew so seriously alarmed at the narrow escape, that they petitioned me to run so desperate a hazard no longer; and the poor thing was killed on the following day, and distributed according to promise. A certain portion was reserved for sausages, which, fried with mashed potatoes, were quite the rage at the British Hotel for some days. Some pork was also sent to head-quarters, with an account of the dangers we ran from thieves. It drew the following kind acknowledgment from General B----: "Head-Quarters. "My dear Mrs. Seacole,--I am very much obliged to you indeed for your pork. I have spoken to Colonel P---- as to the police of your neighbourhood, and he will see what arrangement can be made for the general protection of that line of road. When the high-road is finished, you will be better off. Let me know at the time of any depredations that are committed, and we will try and protect you.--I am, faithfully yours, "M. L. B----." For the truth was--although I can laugh at my fears now--I was often most horribly frightened at Spring Hill; and there was cause for it too. My washerwoman, who, with her family, lived not half a mile from us, was with me one day, and carried off some things for the wash. On the following morning I was horrified to learn that she, her father, husband, and children--in all, seven--had been most foully murdered during the night: only one of the whole family recovered from her wounds, and lived to tell the tale. It created a great sensation at the time, and caused me to pass many a sleepless night, for the murderers were never discovered. Whilst I am upon the subject of Crimean thievery, I may as well exhaust it without paying any regard to the chronological order of my reminiscences. I have before mentioned what I suffered from the French. One day I caught one of our allies in my kitchen, robbing me in the most ungrateful manner. He had met with an accident near Spring Hill (I believe he belonged to a French regiment lent to assist the English in road-making), and had been doctored by me; and now I found him filling his pockets, before taking "French" leave of us. My black man, Francis, pulled from his pockets a yet warm fowl, and other provisions. We kicked him off the premises, and he found refuge with some men of the Army Works Corps, who pitied him and gave him shelter. He woke them in the middle of the night, laying hands rather clumsily on everything that was removeable; and in the morning they brought him to me, to ask what they should do with him. Unluckily for him, a French officer of rank happened to be in the store, who, on hearing our tale, packed him off to his regiment. I gathered from the expression of the officer's face, and the dread legible upon the culprit's, that it might be some considerable time before his itch for breaking the eighth commandment could be again indulged in. The trouble I underwent respecting a useful black mare, for which Mr. Day had given thirty guineas, and which carried me beautifully, was immense. Before it had been many weeks in our store it was gone--whither, I failed to discover. Keeping my eyes wide open, however, I saw "Angelina"--so I christened her--coming quietly down the hill, carrying an elderly naval officer. I was ready to receive the unconscious couple, and soon made my claim good. Of course, the officer was not to blame. He had bought it of a sailor, who in his turn had purchased the animal of a messmate, who of course had obtained it from another, and so on; but eventually it returned to its old quarters, where it only remained about a fortnight. I grew tired of looking for Angelina, and had given her up, when one day she turned up, in capital condition, in the possession of a French officer of Chasseurs. But nothing I could say to the Frenchman would induce him to take the view of the matter I wished, but had no right to enforce. He had bought the horse at Kamiesch, and intended to keep it. We grew hot at last; and our dispute drew out so large an audience that the Frenchman took alarm, and tried to make off. I held on to Angelina for a little while; but at last the mare broke away from me, as Tam o' Shanter's Maggie did from the witches (I don't mean that she left me even her tail), and vanished in a cloud of dust. It was the last I ever saw of Angelina. More than once the Crimean thievery reduced us to woeful straits. To a Greek, returning to Constantinople, we entrusted (after the murder of our washerwoman) two trunks, containing "things for the wash," which he was to bring back as soon as possible. But neither upon Greek, trunks, nor their contents did we ever set eyes again. It was a serious loss. The best part of our table-cloths and other domestic linen, all my clothes, except two suits, and all of Mr. Day's linen vanished, and had to be replaced as best we could by fresh purchases from Kamiesch and Kadikoi. Perhaps the most ridiculous shift I was ever put to by the Crimean thieves happened when we rose one morning and found the greater part of our stud missing. I had, in the course of the day, urgent occasion to ride over to the French camp on the Tchernaya; the only animal available for my transport was an old grey mare, who had contracted some equine disease of which I do not know the name, but which gave her considerable resemblance to a dog suffering from the mange. Now, go to the French camp I must; to borrow a horse was impossible, and something must be done with the grey. Suddenly one of those happy thoughts, which sometimes help us over our greatest difficulties, entered into my scheming brains. Could I not conceal the poor mare's worst blemishes. Her colour was grey; would not a thick coating of flour from my dredger make all right? There was no time to be lost; the remedy was administered successfully, and off I started; but, alas! the wind was high and swept the skirts of my riding habit so determinedly against the side of the poor beast, that before long its false coat was transferred to the dark cloth, and my innocent _ruse_ exposed. The French are proverbially and really a polite and considerate nation, but I never heard more hearty peals of laughter from any sides than those which conveyed to me the horrible assurance that my scheme had unhappily failed. CHAPTER XIII. MY WORK IN THE CRIMEA. I hope the reader will give me credit for the assertion that I am about to make, viz., that I enter upon the particulars of this chapter with great reluctance; but I cannot omit them, for the simple reason that they strengthen my one and only claim to interest the public, viz., my services to the brave British army in the Crimea. But, fortunately, I can follow a course which will not only render it unnecessary for me to sound my own trumpet, but will be more satisfactory to the reader. I can put on record the written opinions of those who had ample means of judging and ascertaining how I fulfilled the great object which I had in view in leaving England for the Crimea; and before I do so, I must solicit my readers' attention to the position I held in the camp as doctress, nurse, and "mother." I have never been long in any place before I have found my practical experience in the science of medicine useful. Even in London I have found it of service to others. And in the Crimea, where the doctors were so overworked, and sickness was so prevalent, I could not be long idle; for I never forgot that my intention in seeking the army was to help the kind-hearted doctors, to be useful to whom I have ever looked upon and still regard as so high a privilege. But before very long I found myself surrounded with patients of my own, and this for two simple reasons. In the first place, the men (I am speaking of the "ranks" now) had a very serious objection to going into hospital for any but urgent reasons, and the regimental doctors were rather fond of sending them there; and, in the second place, they could and did get at my store sick-comforts and nourishing food, which the heads of the medical staff would sometimes find it difficult to procure. These reasons, with the additional one that I was very familiar with the diseases which they suffered most from, and successful in their treatment (I say this in no spirit of vanity), were quite sufficient to account for the numbers who came daily to the British Hotel for medical treatment. That the officers were glad of me as a doctress and nurse may be easily understood. When a poor fellow lay sickening in his cheerless hut and sent down to me, he knew very well that I should not ride up in answer to his message empty-handed. And although I did not hesitate to charge him with the value of the necessaries I took him, still he was thankful enough to be able to _purchase_ them. When we lie ill at home surrounded with comfort, we never think of feeling any special gratitude for the sick-room delicacies which we accept as a consequence of our illness; but the poor officer lying ill and weary in his crazy hut, dependent for the merest necessaries of existence upon a clumsy, ignorant soldier-cook, who would almost prefer eating his meat raw to having the trouble of cooking it (our English soldiers are bad campaigners), often finds his greatest troubles in the want of those little delicacies with which a weak stomach must be humoured into retaining nourishment. How often have I felt sad at the sight of poor lads, who in England thought attending early parade a hardship, and felt harassed if their neckcloths set awry, or the natty little boots would not retain their polish, bearing, and bearing so nobly and bravely, trials and hardships to which the veteran campaigner frequently succumbed. Don't you think, reader, if you were lying, with parched lips and fading appetite, thousands of miles from mother, wife, or sister, loathing the rough food by your side, and thinking regretfully of that English home where nothing that could minister to your great need would be left untried--don't you think that you would welcome the familiar figure of the stout lady whose bony horse has just pulled up at the door of your hut, and whose panniers contain some cooling drink, a little broth, some homely cake, or a dish of jelly or blanc-mange--don't you think, under such circumstances, that you would heartily agree with my friend _Punch's_ remark:-- "That berry-brown face, with a kind heart's trace Impressed on each wrinkle sly, Was a sight to behold, through the snow-clouds rolled Across that iron sky." I tell you, reader, I have seen many a bold fellow's eyes moisten at such a season, when a woman's voice and a woman's care have brought to their minds recollections of those happy English homes which some of them never saw again; but many did, who will remember their woman-comrade upon the bleak and barren heights before Sebastopol. Then their calling me "mother" was not, I think, altogether unmeaning. I used to fancy that there was something homely in the word; and, reader, you cannot think how dear to them was the smallest thing that reminded them of home. Some of my Crimean patients, who were glad of me as nurse and doctress, bore names familiar to all England, and perhaps, did I ask them, they would allow me to publish those names. I am proud to think that a gallant sailor, on whose brave breast the order of Victoria rests--a more gallant man can never wear it--sent for the doctress whom he had known in Kingston, when his arm, wounded on the fatal 18th of June, refused to heal, and I think that the application I recommended did it good; but I shall let some of my patients' letters, taken from a large bundle, speak for me. Of course I must suppress most of their names. Here are two from one of my best and kindest sons. "My dear Mamma,--Will you kindly give the bearer the bottle you promised me when you were here this morning, for my jaundice. Please let me know how much I am to take of it. Yours truly, "F. M., _C. E._" You see the medicine does him good, for a few days later comes another from the same writer:-- "My dear Mrs. Seacole,--I have finished the bottle, which has done my jaundice a deal of good. Will you kindly send another by bearer. Truly yours, "F. M." It was a capital prescription which had done his jaundice good. There was so great a demand for it, that I kept it mixed in a large pan, ready to ladle it out to the scores of applicants who came for it. Sometimes they would send for other and no less important medicines. Here is such an application from a sick officer:-- "Mrs. Seacole would confer a favour on the writer, who is very ill, by giving his servant (the bearer) a boiled or roast fowl; if it be impossible to obtain them, some chicken broth would be very acceptable. "I am yours, truly obliged, "J. K., 18th R. S." Doesn't that read like a sick man's letter, glad enough to welcome any woman's face? Here are some gentlemen of the Commissariat anxious to speak for me:-- "Arthur C----, Comm. Staff Officer, having been attacked one evening with a very bad diarrhoea at Mrs. Seacole's, took some of her good medicine. It cured me before the next morning, and I have never been attacked since.--October 17th, 1855." "Archibald R. L----, Comm. Staff, Crimea, was suffering from diarrhoea for a week or more; after taking Mrs. Seacole's good medicines for two days, he became quite well, and remained so to this day.--October 17th, 1855." Here is Mr. M----, paymaster of the Land Transport Corps, ready with a good account of my services:-- "I certify that Madame Seacole twice cured me effectually of dysentery while in the Crimea, and also my clerk and the men of my corps, to my certain knowledge." And some of the men shall speak for themselves:-- "Stationary Engine, December 1, 1855. "I certify that I was severely attacked by diarrhoea after landing in the Crimea. I took a great deal of medicine, but nothing served me until I called on Mrs. Seacole. She gave me her medicine but once, and I was cured effectually. "Wm. Knollys, Sergt., L.T.C." "This is to certify that Wm. Row, L.T.C, had a severe attack of illness, and was in a short time restored to health by the prompt attention and medical skill of Mrs. Seacole, British Hotel, Spring Hill, Crimea." Many of my patients belonged to the Land Transport and Army Works Corps. The former indeed were in my close neighbourhood, and their hospital was nearly opposite to the British Hotel. I did all I could for them, and have many letters expressive of their gratitude. From them I select the following:-- "Head-Quarters, Camp, Crimea, June 30, 1856. "I have much pleasure in bearing testimony to Mrs. Seacole's kindness and attention to the sick of the Railway Labourers' Army Works Corps and Land Transport Corps during the winters of 1854 and 1855. "She not only, from the knowledge she had acquired in the West Indies, was enabled to administer appropriate remedies for their ailments, but, what was of as much or more importance, she charitably furnished them with proper nourishment, which they had no means of obtaining except in the hospital, and most of that class had an objection to go into hospital, particularly the railway labourers and the men of the Army Works Corps. "John Hall, "Inspector-General of Hospitals." I hope that Mr. P----, of the Army Works Corps, will pardon my laying the following letter before the public:-- "Dear Mrs. Seacole,--It is with feelings of great pleasure that I hear you are safely arrived in England, upon which I beg to congratulate you, and return you many thanks for your kindness whilst in the Crimea. "The bitter sherry you kindly made up for me was in truth a great blessing to both myself and my son, and as I expect to go to Bombay shortly, I would feel grateful to you if you would favour me with the receipt for making it, as it appears to be so very grateful a beverage for weakness and bowel complaints in a warm climate. With many kind regards, believe me, dear madam, your obliged servant, "Samuel P----, "Late Superintendent Army Works Corps." Here is a certificate from one of the Army Works' men, to whose case I devoted no little time and trouble:-- "I certify that I was labouring under a severe attack of diarrhoea last August, and that I was restored to health through the instrumentality and kindness of Mrs. Seacole. "I also certify that my fingers were severely jammed whilst at work at Frenchman's Hill, and Mrs. Seacole cured me after three doctors had fruitlessly attempted to cure them. "And I cannot leave the Crimea without testifying to the kindness and skill of Mrs. Seacole, and may God reward her for it. "James Wallen, "5th Division Army Works Corps." Here are three more letters--and the last I shall print--from a sailor, a soldier, and a civilian:-- "This is to certify that Wm. Adams, caulker, of H.M.S. 'Wasp,' and belonging to the Royal Naval Brigade, had a severe attack of cholera, and was cured in a few hours by Mrs. Seacole." "I certify that I was troubled by a severe inflammation of the chest, caused by exposure in the trenches, for about four months, and that Mrs. Seacole's medicine completely cured me in one month, and may God reward her. "Charles Flinn, Sergt. 3rd Co. R.S.M." "Upper Clapton, Middlesex, March 2, 1856. "Dear Madam,--Having been informed by my son, Mr. Edward Gill, of St. George's Store, Crimea, of his recent illness (jaundice), and of your kind attention and advice to him during that illness, and up to the time he was, by the blessing of God and your assistance, restored to health, permit me, on behalf of myself, my wife, and my family, to return you our most grateful thanks, trusting you may be spared for many years to come, in health of body and vigour of mind, to carry out your benevolent intention. Believe me, my dear madam, yours most gratefully, "Edward Gill." And now that I have made this a chapter of testimonials, I may as well finish them right off, and have done with them altogether. I shall trouble the patient reader with four more only, which I have not the heart to omit. "Sebastopol, July 1, 1856. "Mrs. Seacole was with the British army in the Crimea from February, 1855, to this time. This excellent woman has frequently exerted herself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of great danger, and in assisting sick soldiers by all means in her power. In addition, she kept a very good store, and supplied us with many comforts at a time we much required them. "Wm. P----, "Adjutant-General of the British Army in the Crimea." "July 1, 1856. "I have much pleasure in stating that I am acquainted with Mrs. Seacole, and from all that I have seen or heard of her, I believe her to be a useful and good person, kind and charitable. "C. A. W----, "Lt.-Gen. Comm. of Sebastopol." The third is from the pen of one who at that time was more looked to, and better known, than any other man in the Crimea. In the 2nd vol. of Russell's "Letters from the Seat of War," p. 187, is the following entry:-- "In the hour of their illness these men (Army Works Corps), in common with many others, have found a kind and successful physician. Close to the railway, half-way between the Col de Balaclava and Kadikoi, Mrs. Seacole, formerly of Kingston and of several other parts of the world, such as Panama and Chagres, has pitched her abode--an iron storehouse with wooden sheds and outlying tributaries--and here she doctors and cures all manner of men with extraordinary success. She is always in attendance near the battle-field to aid the wounded, and has earned many a poor fellow's blessings." Yes! I cannot--referring to that time--conscientiously charge myself with doing less for the men who had only thanks to give me, than for the officers whose gratitude gave me the necessaries of life. I think I was ever ready to turn from the latter to help the former, humble as they might be; and they were grateful in their way, and as far as they could be. They would buy me apples and other fruit at Balaclava, and leave them at my store. One made me promise, when I returned home, to send word to his Irish mother, who was to send me a cow in token of her gratitude for the help I had been to her son. I have a book filled with hundreds of the names of those who came to me for medicines and other aids; and never a train of sick or wounded men from the front passed the British Hotel but its hostess was awaiting them to offer comforts to the poor fellows, for whose suffering her heart bled. _Punch_, who allowed my poor name to appear in the pages which had welcomed Miss Nightingale home--_Punch_, that whimsical mouthpiece of some of the noblest hearts that ever beat beneath black coats--shall last of all raise its voice, that never yet pleaded an unworthy cause, for the Mother Seacole that takes shame to herself for speaking thus of the poor part she bore of the trials and hardships endured on that distant shore, where Britain's best and bravest wrung hardly Sebastopol from the grasp of Britain's foe:-- "No store she set by the epaulette, Be it worsted or gold lace; For K. C. B. or plain private Smith, She had still one pleasant face. "And not alone was her kindness shown To the hale and hungry lot Who drank her grog and ate her prog, And paid their honest shot. "The sick and sorry can tell the story Of her nursing and dosing deeds; Regimental M.D. never worked as she, In helping sick men's needs. "Of such work, God knows, was as much as she chose That dreary winter-tide, When Death hung o'er the damp and pestilent camp, And his scythe swung far and wide. "She gave her aid to all who prayed, To hungry and sick and cold; Open hand and heart, alike ready to part Kind words and acts, and gold. * * * * * "And--be the right man in the right place who can-- The right woman was Dame Seacole." Reader, now that we have come to the end of this chapter, I can say what I have been all anxiety to tell you from its beginning. Please look back to Chapter VIII., and see how hard the right woman had to struggle to convey herself to the right place. CHAPTER XIV. MY CUSTOMERS AT THE BRITISH HOTEL. I shall proceed in this chapter to make the reader acquainted with some of the customers of the British Hotel, who came there for its creature comforts as well as its hostess's medicines when need was; and if he or she should be inclined to doubt or should hesitate at accepting my experience of Crimean life as entirely credible, I beg that individual to refer to the accounts which were given in the newspapers of the spring of 1855, and I feel sure they will acquit me of any intention to exaggerate. If I were to speak of all the nameless horrors of that spring as plainly as I could, I should really disgust you; but those I shall bring before your notice have all something of the humorous in them--and so it ever is. Time is a great restorer, and changes surely the greatest sorrow into a pleasing memory. The sun shines this spring-time upon green grass that covers the graves of the poor fellows we left behind sadly a few short months ago: bright flowers grow up upon ruins of batteries and crumbling trenches, and cover the sod that presses on many a mouldering token of the old time of battle and death. I dare say that, if I went to the Crimea now, I should see a smiling landscape, instead of the blood-stained scene which I shall ever associate with distress and death; and as it is with nature so it is with human kind. Whenever I meet those who have survived that dreary spring of 1855, we seldom talk about its horrors; but remembering its transient gleams of sunshine, smile at the fun and good nature that varied its long and weary monotony. And now that I am anxious to remember all I can that will interest my readers, my memory prefers to dwell upon what was pleasing and amusing, although the time will never come when it will cease to retain most vividly the pathos and woe of those dreadful months. I have said that the winter had not ended when we began operations at the British Hotel; and very often, after we considered we were fairly under spring's influence, our old enemy would come back with an angry roar of wind and rain, levelling tents, unroofing huts, destroying roads, and handing over May to the command of General Fevrier. But the sun fought bravely for us, and in time always dispersed the leaden clouds and gilded the iron sky, and made us cheerful again. During the end of March, the whole of April, and a considerable portion of May, however, the army was but a little better off for the advent of spring. The military road to the camp was only in progress--the railway only carried ammunition. A few hours' rain rendered the old road all but impassable, and scarcity often existed in the front before Sebastopol, although the frightened and anxious Commissariat toiled hard to avert such a mishap; so that very often to the British Hotel came officers starved out on the heights above us. The dandies of Rotten Row would come down riding on sorry nags, ready to carry back--their servants were on duty in the trenches--anything that would be available for dinner. A single glance at their personal appearance would suffice to show the hardships of the life they were called upon to lead. Before I left London for the seat of war I had been more than once to the United Service Club, seeking to gain the interest of officers whom I had known in Jamaica; and I often thought afterwards of the difference between those I saw there trimly shaven, handsomely dressed, with spotless linen and dandy air, and these their companions, who in England would resemble them. Roughly, warmly dressed, with great fur caps, which met their beards and left nothing exposed but lips and nose, and not much of those; you would easily believe that soap and water were luxuries not readily obtainable, that shirts and socks were often comforts to dream about rather than possess, and that they were familiar with horrors you would shudder to hear named. Tell me, reader, can you fancy what the want of so simple a thing as a pocket-handkerchief is? To put a case--have you ever gone out for the day without one; sat in a draught and caught a sneezing cold in the head? You say the question is an unnecessarily unpleasant one, and yet what I am about to tell you is true, and the sufferer is, I believe, still alive. An officer had ridden down one day to obtain refreshments (this was very early in the spring); some nice fowls had just been taken from the spit, and I offered one to him. Paper was one of the most hardly obtainable luxuries of the Crimea, and I rarely had any to waste upon my customers; so I called out, "Give me your pocket-handkerchief, my son, that I may wrap it up." You see we could not be very particular out there; but he smiled very bitterly as he answered, "Pocket-handkerchief, mother--by Jove! I wish I had one. I tore my last shirt into shreds a fortnight ago, and there's not a bit of it left now." Shortly after, a hundred dozen of these useful articles came to my store, and I sold them all to officers and men very speedily. For some time, and until I found the task beyond my strength, I kept up a capital table at the British Hotel; but at last I gave up doing so professedly, and my hungry customers had to make shift with whatever was on the premises. Fortunately they were not over-dainty, and had few antipathies. My duties increased so rapidly, that sometimes it was with difficulty that I found time to eat and sleep. Could I have obtained good servants, my daily labours would have been lightened greatly; but my staff never consisted of more than a few boys, two black cooks, some Turks--one of whom, Osman, had enough to do to kill and pluck the poultry, while the others looked after the stock and killed our goats and sheep--and as many runaway sailors or good-for-noughts in search of employment as we could from time to time lay our hands upon; but they never found my larder entirely empty. I often used to roast a score or so of fowls daily, besides boiling hams and tongues. Either these or a slice from a joint of beef or mutton you would be pretty sure of finding at your service in the larder of the British Hotel. Would you like, gentle reader, to know what other things suggestive of home and its comforts your relatives and friends in the Crimea could obtain from the hostess of Spring Hill? I do not tell you that the following articles were all obtainable at the commencement, but many were. The time was indeed when, had you asked me for mock turtle and venison, you should have had them, preserved in tins, but that was when the Crimea was flooded with plenty--too late, alas! to save many whom want had killed; but had you been doing your best to batter Sebastopol about the ears of the Russians in the spring and summer of the year before last, the firm of Seacole and Day would have been happy to have served you with (I omit ordinary things) linen and hosiery, saddlery, caps, boots and shoes, for the outer man; and for the inner man, meat and soups of every variety in tins (you can scarcely conceive how disgusted we all became at last with preserved provisions); salmon, lobsters, and oysters, also in tins, which last beaten up into fritters, with onions, butter, eggs, pepper, and salt, were very good; game, wild fowl, vegetables, also preserved, eggs, sardines, curry powder, cigars, tobacco, snuff, cigarette papers, tea, coffee, tooth powder, and currant jelly. When cargoes came in from Constantinople, we bought great supplies of potatoes, carrots, turnips, and greens. Ah! what a rush there used to be for the greens. You might sometimes get hot rolls; but, generally speaking, I bought the Turkish bread (_ekmek_), baked at Balaclava. Or had you felt too ill to partake of your rough camp fare, coarsely cooked by a soldier cook, who, unlike the French, could turn his hand to few things but fighting, and had ridden down that muddy road to the Col, to see what Mother Seacole could give you for dinner, the chances were you would have found a good joint of mutton, not of the fattest, forsooth; for in such miserable condition were the poor beasts landed, that once, when there came an urgent order from head-quarters for twenty-five pounds of mutton, we had to cut up one sheep and a half to provide the quantity; or you would have stumbled upon something curried, or upon a good Irish stew, nice and hot, with plenty of onions and potatoes, or upon some capital meat-pies. I found the preserved meats were better relished cooked in this fashion, and well doctored with stimulants. Before long I grew as familiar with the mysteries of seasoning as any London pieman, and could accommodate myself to the requirements of the seasons as readily. Or had there been nothing better, you might have gone further and fared on worse fare than one of my Welch rabbits, for the manufacture of which I became so famous. And had you been fortunate enough to have visited the British Hotel upon rice-pudding day, I warrant you would have ridden back to your hut with kind thoughts of Mother Seacole's endeavours to give you a taste of home. If I had nothing else to be proud of, I think my rice puddings, made without milk, upon the high road to Sebastopol, would have gained me a reputation. What a shout there used to be when I came out of my little caboose, hot and flurried, and called out, "Rice-pudding day, my sons." Some of them were baked in large shallow pans, for the men and the sick, who always said that it reminded them of home. You would scarcely expect to finish up your dinner with pastry, but very often you would have found a good stock of it in my larder. Whenever I had a few leisure moments, I used to wash my hands, roll up my sleeves and roll out pastry. Very often I was interrupted to dispense medicines; but if the tarts had a flavour of senna, or the puddings tasted of rhubarb, it never interfered with their consumption. I declare I never heard or read of an army so partial to pastry as that British army before Sebastopol; while I had a reputation for my sponge-cakes that any pastry-cook in London, even Gunter, might have been proud of. The officers, full of fun and high spirits, used to crowd into the little kitchen, and, despite all my remonstrances, which were not always confined to words, for they made me frantic sometimes, and an iron spoon is a tempting weapon, would carry off the tarts hot from the oven, while the good-for-nothing black cooks, instead of lending me their aid, would stand by and laugh with all their teeth. And when the hot season commenced, the crowds that came to the British Hotel for my claret and cider cups, and other cooling summer drinks, were very complimentary in their expressions of appreciation of my skill. Now, supposing that you had made a hearty dinner and were thinking of starting homeward--if I can use so pleasant a term in reference to your cheerless quarters--it was very natural that you should be anxious to carry back something to your hut. Perhaps you expected to be sent into the trenches (many a supper cooked by me has been consumed in those fearful trenches by brave men, who could eat it with keen appetites while the messengers of death were speeding around them); or perhaps you had planned a little dinner-party, and wanted to give your friends something better than their ordinary fare. Anyhow, you would in all probability have some good reason for returning laden with comforts and necessaries from Spring Hill. You would not be very particular about carrying them. You might have been a great swell at home, where you would have shuddered if Bond Street had seen you carrying a parcel no larger than your card-case; but those considerations rarely troubled you here. Very likely, your servant was lying crouched in a rifle pit, having "pots" at the Russians, or keeping watch and ward in the long lines of trenches, or, stripped to his shirt, shovelling powder and shot into the great guns, whose steady roar broke the evening's calm. So if you did not wait upon yourself, you would stand a very fair chance of being starved. But you would open your knapsack, if you had brought one, for me to fill it with potatoes, and halloo out, "Never mind, mother!" although the gravy from the fowls on your saddle before you was soaking through the little modicum of paper which was all I could afford you. So laden, you would cheerfully start up the hill of mud hutward; and well for you if you did not come to grief on that treacherous sea of mud that lay swelling between the Col and your destination. Many a mishap, ludicrous but for their consequences, happened on it. I remember a young officer coming down one day just in time to carry off my last fowl and meat pie. Before he had gone far, the horse so floundered in the mud that the saddle-girths broke, and while the pies rolled into the clayey soil in one direction, the fowl flew in another. To make matters worse, the horse, in his efforts to extricate himself, did for them entirely; and in terrible distress, the poor fellow came back for me to set him up again. I shook my head for a long time, but at last, after he had over and over again urged upon me pathetically that he had two fellows coming to dine with him at six, and nothing in the world in his hut but salt pork, I resigned a plump fowl which I had kept back for my own dinner. Off he started again, but soon came back with, "Oh, mother, I forgot all about the potatoes; they've all rolled out upon that ---- road; you must fill my bag again." We all laughed heartily at him, but this state of things _had_ been rather tragical. Before I bring this chapter to a close, I should like, with the reader's permission, to describe one day of my life in the Crimea. They were all pretty much alike, except when there was fighting upon a large scale going on, and duty called me to the field. I was generally up and busy by daybreak, sometimes earlier, for in the summer my bed had no attractions strong enough to bind me to it after four. There was plenty to do before the work of the day began. There was the poultry to pluck and prepare for cooking, which had been killed on the previous night; the joints to be cut up and got ready for the same purpose; the medicines to be mixed; the store to be swept and cleaned. Of very great importance, with all these things to see after, were the few hours of quiet before the road became alive with travellers. By seven o'clock the morning coffee would be ready, hot and refreshing, and eagerly sought for by the officers of the Army Works Corps engaged upon making the great high-road to the front, and the Commissariat and Land Transport men carrying stores from Balaclava to the heights. There was always a great demand for coffee by those who knew its refreshing and strengthening qualities, milk I could not give them (I kept it in tins for special use); but they had it hot and strong, with plenty of sugar and a slice of butter, which I recommend as a capital substitute for milk. From that time until nine, officers on duty in the neighbourhood, or passing by, would look in for breakfast, and about half-past nine my sick patients began to show themselves. In the following hour they came thickly, and sometimes it was past twelve before I had got through this duty. They came with every variety of suffering and disease; the cases I most disliked were the frostbitten fingers and feet in the winter. That over, there was the hospital to visit across the way, which was sometimes overcrowded with patients. I was a good deal there, and as often as possible would take over books and papers, which I used to borrow for that purpose from my friends and the officers I knew. Once, a great packet of tracts was sent to me from Plymouth anonymously, and these I distributed in the same manner. By this time the day's news had come from the front, and perhaps among the casualties over night there would be some one wounded or sick, who would be glad to see me ride up with the comforts he stood most in need of; and during the day, if any accident occurred in the neighbourhood or on the road near the British Hotel, the men generally brought the sufferer there, whence, if the hurt was serious, he would be transferred to the hospital of the Land Transport opposite. I used not always to stand upon too much ceremony when I heard of sick or wounded officers in the front. Sometimes their friends would ask me to go to them, though very often I waited for no hint, but took the chance of meeting with a kind reception. I used to think of their relatives at home, who would have given so much to possess my privilege; and more than one officer have I startled by appearing before him, and telling him abruptly that he must have a mother, wife, or sister at home whom he missed, and that he must therefore be glad of some woman to take their place. Until evening the store would be filled with customers wanting stores, dinners, and luncheons; loungers and idlers seeking conversation and amusement; and at eight o'clock the curtain descended on that day's labour, and I could sit down and eat at leisure. It was no easy thing to clear the store, canteen, and yards; but we determined upon adhering to the rule that nothing should be sold after that hour, and succeeded. Any one who came after that time, came simply as a friend. There could be no necessity for any one, except on extraordinary occasions, when the rule could be relaxed, to purchase things after eight o'clock. And drunkenness or excess were discouraged at Spring Hill in every way; indeed, my few unpleasant scenes arose chiefly from my refusing to sell liquor where I saw it was wanted to be abused. I could appeal with a clear conscience to all who knew me there, to back my assertion that I neither permitted drunkenness among the men nor gambling among the officers. Whatever happened elsewhere, intoxication, cards, and dice were never to be seen, within the precincts of the British Hotel. My regulations were well known, and a kind-hearted officer of the Royals, who was much there, and who permitted me to use a familiarity towards him which I trust I never abused, undertook to be my Provost-marshal, but his duties were very light. At first we kept our store open on Sunday from sheer necessity, but after a little while, when stores in abundance were established at Kadikoi and elsewhere, and the absolute necessity no longer existed, Sunday became a day of most grateful rest at Spring Hill. This step also met with opposition from the men; but again we were determined, and again we triumphed. I am sure we needed rest. I have often wondered since how it was that I never fell ill or came home "on urgent private affairs." I am afraid that I was not sufficiently thankful to the Providence which gave me strength to carry out the work I loved so well, and felt so happy in being engaged upon; but although I never had a week's illness during my campaign, the labour, anxiety, and perhaps the few trials that followed it, have told upon me. I have never felt since that time the strong and hearty woman that I was when I braved with impunity the pestilence of Navy Bay and Cruces. It would kill me easily now. CHAPTER XV. MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF WAR--ADVANCE OF MY TURKISH FRIENDS ON KAMARA--VISITORS TO THE CAMP--MISS NIGHTINGALE--MONS. SOYER AND THE CHOLERA--SUMMER IN THE CRIMEA--"THIRSTY SOULS"--DEATH BUSY IN THE TRENCHES. In the last three chapters, I have attempted, without any consideration of dates, to give my readers some idea of my life in the Crimea. I am fully aware that I have jumbled up events strangely, talking in the same page, and even sentence, of events which occurred at different times; but I have three excuses to offer for my unhistorical inexactness. In the first place, my memory is far from trustworthy, and I kept no written diary; in the second place, the reader must have had more than enough of journals and chronicles of Crimean life, and I am only the historian of Spring Hill; and in the third place, unless I am allowed to tell the story of my life in my own way, I cannot tell it at all. I shall now endeavour to describe my out-of-door life as much as possible, and write of those great events in the field of which I was a humble witness. But I shall continue to speak from my own experience simply; and if the reader should be surprised at my leaving any memorable action of the army unnoticed, he may be sure that it is because I was mixing medicines or making good things in the kitchen of the British Hotel, and first heard the particulars of it, perhaps, from the newspapers which came from home. My readers must know, too, that they were much more familiar with the history of the camp at their own firesides, than we who lived in it. Just as a spectator seeing one of the battles from a hill, as I did the Tchernaya, knows more about it than the combatant in the valley below, who only thinks of the enemy whom it is his immediate duty to repel; so you, through the valuable aid of the cleverest man in the whole camp, read in the _Times'_ columns the details of that great campaign, while we, the actors in it, had enough to do to discharge our own duties well, and rarely concerned ourselves in what seemed of such importance to you. And so very often a desperate skirmish or hard-fought action, the news of which created so much sensation in England, was but little regarded at Spring Hill. My first experience of battle was pleasant enough. Before we had been long at Spring Hill, Omar Pasha got something for his Turks to do, and one fine morning they were marched away towards the Russian outposts on the road to Baidar. I accompanied them on horseback, and enjoyed the sight amazingly. English and French cavalry preceded the Turkish infantry over the plain yet full of memorials of the terrible Light Cavalry charge a few months before; and while one detachment of the Turks made a reconnaissance to the right of the Tchernaya, another pushed their way up the hill, towards Kamara, driving in the Russian outposts, after what seemed but a slight resistance. It was very pretty to see them advance, and to watch how every now and then little clouds of white smoke puffed up from behind bushes and the crests of hills, and were answered by similar puffs from the long line of busy skirmishers that preceded the main body. This was my first experience of actual battle, and I felt that strange excitement which I do not remember on future occasions, coupled with an earnest longing to see more of warfare, and to share in its hazards. It was not long before my wish was gratified. I do not know much of the second bombardment of Sebastopol in the month of April, although I was as assiduous as I could be in my attendance at Cathcart's Hill. I could judge of its severity by the long trains of wounded which passed the British Hotel. I had a stretcher laid near the door, and very often a poor fellow was laid upon it, outwearied by the terrible conveyance from the front. After this unsuccessful bombardment, it seemed to us that there was a sudden lull in the progress of the siege; and other things began to interest us. There were several arrivals to talk over. Miss Nightingale came to supervise the Balaclava hospitals, and, before long, she had practical experience of Crimean fever. After her, came the Duke of Newcastle, and the great high priest of the mysteries of cookery, Mons. Alexis Soyer. He was often at Spring Hill, with the most smiling of faces and in the most gorgeous of irregular uniforms, and never failed to praise my soups and dainties. I always flattered myself that I was his match, and with our West Indian dishes could of course beat him hollow, and more than once I challenged him to a trial of skill; but the gallant Frenchman only shrugged his shoulders, and disclaimed my challenge with many flourishes of his jewelled hands, declaring that Madame proposed a contest where victory would cost him his reputation for gallantry, and be more disastrous than defeat. And all because I was a woman, forsooth. What nonsense to talk like that, when I was doing the work of half a dozen men. Then he would laugh and declare that, when our campaigns were over, we would render rivalry impossible, by combining to open the first restaurant in Europe. There was always fun in the store when the good-natured Frenchman was there. One dark, tempestuous night, I was knocked up by the arrival of other visitors. These were the first regiment of Sardinian Grenadiers, who, benighted on their way to the position assigned them, remained at Spring Hill until the morning. We soon turned out our staff, and lighted up the store, and entertained the officers as well as we could inside, while the soldiers bivouacked in the yards around. Not a single thing was stolen or disturbed that night, although they had many opportunities. We all admired and liked the Sardinians; they were honest, well-disciplined fellows, and I wish there had been no worse men or soldiers in the Crimea. As the season advanced many visitors came to the Crimea from all parts of the world, and many of them were glad to make Spring Hill their head-quarters. We should have been better off if some of them had spared us this compliment. A Captain St. Clair, for instance--who could doubt any one with such a name?--stayed some time with us, had the best of everything, and paid us most honourably with one bill upon his agents, while we cashed another to provide him with money for his homeward route. He was an accomplished fellow, and I really liked him; but, unfortunately for us, he was a swindler. I saw much of another visitor to the camp in the Crimea--an old acquaintance of mine with whom I had had many a hard bout in past times--the cholera. There were many cases in the hospital of the Land Transport Corps opposite, and I prescribed for many others personally. The raki sold in too many of the stores in Balaclava and Kadikoi was most pernicious; and although the authorities forbade the sutlers to sell it, under heavy penalties, it found its way into the camp in large quantities. During May, and while preparations were being made for the third great bombardment of the ill-fated city, summer broke beautifully, and the weather, chequered occasionally by fitful intervals of cold and rain, made us all cheerful. You would scarcely have believed that the happy, good-humoured, and jocular visitors to the British Hotel were the same men who had a few weeks before ridden gloomily through the muddy road to its door. It was a period of relaxation, and they all enjoyed it. Amusement was the order of the day. Races, dog-hunts, cricket-matches, and dinner-parties were eagerly indulged in, and in all I could be of use to provide the good cheer which was so essential a part of these entertainments; and when the warm weather came in all its intensity, and I took to manufacturing cooling beverages for my friends and customers, my store was always full. To please all was somewhat difficult, and occasionally some of them were scarcely so polite as they should have been to a perplexed hostess, who could scarcely be expected to remember that Lieutenant A. had bespoken his sangaree an instant before Captain B. and his friends had ordered their claret cup. In anticipation of the hot weather, I had laid in a large stock of raspberry vinegar, which, properly managed, helps to make a pleasant drink; and there was a great demand for sangaree, claret, and cider cups, the cups being battered pewter pots. Would you like, reader, to know my recipe for the favourite claret cup? It is simple enough. Claret, water, lemon-peel, sugar, nutmeg, and--ice--yes, ice, but not often and not for long, for the eager officers soon made an end of it. Sometimes there were dinner-parties at Spring Hill, but of these more hereafter. At one of the earliest, when the _Times_ correspondent was to be present, I rode down to Kadikoi, bought some calico and cut it up into table napkins. They all laughed very heartily, and thought perhaps of a few weeks previously, when every available piece of linen in the camp would have been snapped up for pocket-handkerchiefs. But the reader must not forget that all this time, although there might be only a few short and sullen roars of the great guns by day, few nights passed without some fighting in the trenches; and very often the news of the morning would be that one or other of those I knew had fallen. These tidings often saddened me, and when I awoke in the night and heard the thunder of the guns fiercer than usual, I have quite dreaded the dawn which might usher in bad news. The deaths in the trenches touched me deeply, perhaps for this reason. It was very usual, when a young officer was ordered into the trenches, for him to ride down to Spring Hill to dine, or obtain something more than his ordinary fare to brighten his weary hours in those fearful ditches. They seldom failed on these occasions to shake me by the hand at parting, and sometimes would say, "You see, Mrs. Seacole, I can't say good-bye to the dear ones at home, so I'll bid you good-bye for them. Perhaps you'll see them some day, and if the Russians should knock me over, mother, just tell them I thought of them all--will you?" And although all this might be said in a light-hearted manner, it was rather solemn. I felt it to be so, for I never failed (although who was I, that I should preach?) to say something about God's providence and relying upon it; and they were very good. No army of parsons could be much better than my sons. They would listen very gravely, and shake me by the hand again, while I felt that there was nothing in the world I would not do for them. Then very often the men would say, "I'm going in with my master to-night, Mrs. Seacole; come and look after him, if he's hit;" and so often as this happened I would pass the night restlessly, awaiting with anxiety the morning, and yet dreading to hear the news it held in store for me. I used to think it was like having a large family of children ill with fever, and dreading to hear which one had passed away in the night. And as often as the bad news came, I thought it my duty to ride up to the hut of the sufferer and do my woman's work. But I felt it deeply. How could it be otherwise? There was one poor boy in the Artillery, with blue eyes and light golden hair, whom I nursed through a long and weary sickness, borne with all a man's spirit, and whom I grew to love like a fond old-fashioned mother. I thought if ever angels watched over any life, they would shelter his; but one day, but a short time after he had left his sick-bed, he was struck down on his battery, working like a young hero. It was a long time before I could banish from my mind the thought of him as I saw him last, the yellow hair, stiff and stained with his life-blood, and the blue eyes closed in the sleep of death. Of course, I saw him buried, as I did poor H---- V----, my old Jamaica friend, whose kind face was so familiar to me of old. Another good friend I mourned bitterly--Captain B----, of the Coldstreams--a great cricketer. He had been with me on the previous evening, had seemed dull, but had supped at my store, and on the following morning a brother officer told me he was shot dead while setting his pickets, which made me ill and unfit for work for the whole day. Mind you, a day was a long time to give to sorrow in the Crimea. I could give many other similar instances, but why should I sadden myself or my readers? Others have described the horrors of those fatal trenches; but their real history has never been written, and perhaps it is as well that so harrowing a tale should be left in oblivion. Such anecdotes as the following were very current in the Camp, but I have no means of answering for its truth. Two sergeants met in the trenches, who had been schoolmates in their youth; years had passed since they set out for the battle of life by different roads, and now they met again under the fire of a common enemy. With one impulse they started forward to exchange the hearty hand-shake and the mutual greetings, and while their hands were still clasped, a chance shot killed both. CHAPTER XVI. UNDER FIRE ON THE FATAL 18TH OF JUNE--BEFORE THE REDAN--AT THE CEMETERY--THE ARMISTICE--DEATHS AT HEAD-QUARTERS--DEPRESSION IN THE CAMP--PLENTY IN THE CRIMEA--THE PLAGUE OF FLIES--UNDER FIRE AT THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA--WORK ON THE FIELD--MY PATIENTS. Before I left the Crimea to return to England, the Adjutant-General of the British Army gave me a testimonial, which the reader has already read in Chapter XIV., in which he stated that I had "frequently exerted myself in the most praiseworthy manner in attending wounded men, even in positions of great danger." The simple meaning of this sentence is that, in the discharge of what I conceived to be my duty, I was frequently "under fire." Now I am far from wishing to speak of this fact with any vanity or pride, because, after all, one soon gets accustomed to it, and it fails at last to create more than temporary uneasiness. Indeed, after Sebastopol was ours, you might often see officers and men strolling coolly, even leisurely, across and along those streets, exposed to the enemy's fire, when a little haste would have carried them beyond the reach of danger. The truth was, I believe, they had grown so habituated to being in peril from shot or shell, that they rather liked the sensation, and found it difficult to get on without a little gratuitous excitement and danger. But putting aside the great engagements, where I underwent considerable peril, one could scarcely move about the various camps without some risk. The Russians had, it seemed, sunk great ships' guns into the earth, from which they fired shot and shell at a very long range, which came tumbling and plunging between, and sometimes into the huts and tents, in a very unwieldy and generally harmless fashion. Once when I was riding through the camp of the Rifles, a round shot came plunging towards me, and before I or the horse had time to be much frightened, the ugly fellow buried itself in the earth, with a heavy "thud," a little distance in front of us. In the first week of June, the third bombardment of Sebastopol opened, and the Spring Hill visitors had plenty to talk about. Many were the surmises as to when the assault would take place, of the success of which nobody entertained a doubt. Somehow or other, important secrets oozed out in various parts of the camp, which the Russians would have given much to know, and one of these places was the British Hotel. Some such whispers were afloat on the evening of Sunday the 17th of June, and excited me strangely. Any stranger not in my secret would have considered that my conduct fully justified my partner, Mr. Day, in sending me home, as better fitted for a cell in Bedlam than the charge of an hotel in the Crimea. I never remember feeling more excited or more restless than upon that day, and no sooner had night fairly closed in upon us than, instead of making preparations for bed, this same stranger would have seen me wrap up--the nights were still cold--and start off for a long walk to Cathcart's Hill, three miles and a half away. I stayed there until past midnight, but when I returned home, there was no rest for me; for I had found out that, in the stillness of the night, many regiments were marching down to the trenches, and that the dawn of day would be the signal that should let them loose upon the Russians. The few hours still left before daybreak, were made the most of at Spring Hill. We were all busily occupied in cutting bread and cheese and sandwiches, packing up fowls, tongues, and ham, wine and spirits, while I carefully filled the large bag, which I always carried into the field slung across my shoulder, with lint, bandages, needles, thread, and medicines; and soon after daybreak everything was ready packed upon two mules, in charge of my steadiest lad, and, I leading the way on horseback, the little cavalcade left the British Hotel before the sun of the fatal 18th of June had been many hours old. It was not long before our progress was arrested by the cavalry pickets closely stationed to stop all stragglers and spectators from reaching the scene of action. But after a Blight parley and when they found out who I was, and how I was prepared for the day's work, the men raised a shout for me, and, with their officer's sanction, allowed me to pass. So I reached Cathcart's Hill crowded with non-combatants, and, leaving there the mules, loaded myself with what provisions I could carry, and--it was a work of no little difficulty and danger--succeeded in reaching the reserves of Sir Henry Barnard's division, which was to have stormed something, I forget what; but when they found the attack upon the Redan was a failure, very wisely abstained. Here I found plenty of officers who soon relieved me of my refreshments, and some wounded men who found the contents of my bag very useful. At length I made my way to the Woronzoff Road, where the temporary hospital had been erected, and there I found the doctors hard enough at work, and hastened to help them as best I could. I bound up the wounds and ministered to the wants of a good many, and stayed there some considerable time. Upon the way, and even here, I was "under fire." More frequently than was agreeable, a shot would come ploughing up the ground and raising clouds of dust, or a shell whizz above us. Upon these occasions those around would cry out, "Lie down, mother, lie down!" and with very undignified and unladylike haste I had to embrace the earth, and remain there until the same voices would laughingly assure me that the danger was over, or one, more thoughtful than the rest, would come to give me a helping hand, and hope that the old lady was neither hit nor frightened. Several times in my wanderings on that eventful day, of which I confess to have a most confused remembrance, only knowing that I looked after many wounded men, I was ordered back, but each time my bag of bandages and comforts for the wounded proved my passport. While at the hospital I was chiefly of use looking after those, who, either from lack of hands or because their hurts were less serious, had to wait, pained and weary, until the kind-hearted doctors--who, however, _looked_ more like murderers--could attend to them. And the grateful words and smile which rewarded me for binding up a wound or giving cooling drink was a pleasure worth risking life for at any time. It was here that I received my only wound during the campaign. I threw myself too hastily on the ground, in obedience to the command of those around me, to escape a threatening shell, and fell heavily on the thumb of my right hand, dislocating it. It was bound up on the spot and did not inconvenience me much, but it has never returned to its proper shape. After this, first washing my hands in some sherry from lack of water, I went back to Cathcart's Hill, where I found my horse, and heard that the good-for-nothing lad, either frightened or tired of waiting, had gone away with the mules. I had to ride three miles after him, and then the only satisfaction I had arose from laying my horse-whip about his shoulders. After that, working my way round, how I can scarcely tell, I got to the extreme left attack, where General Eyre's division had been hotly engaged all day, and had suffered severely. I left my horse in charge of some men, and with no little difficulty, and at no little risk, crept down to where some wounded men lay, with whom I left refreshments. And then--it was growing late--I started for Spring Hill, where I heard all about the events of the luckless day from those who had seen them from posts of safety, while I, who had been in the midst of it all day, knew so little. On the following day some Irishmen of the 8th Royals brought me, in token of my having been among them, a Russian woman's dress and a poor pigeon, which they had brought away from one of the houses in the suburb where their regiment suffered so severely. But that evening of the 18th of June was a sad one, and the news that came in of those that had fallen were most heartrending. Both the leaders, who fell so gloriously before the Redan, had been very good to the mistress of Spring Hill. But a few days before the 18th, Col. Y---- had merrily declared that I should have a silver salver to hand about things upon, instead of the poor shabby one I had been reduced to; while Sir John C---- had been my kind patron for some years. It was in my house in Jamaica that Lady C---- had once lodged when her husband was stationed in that island. And when the recall home came, Lady C----, who, had she been like most women, would have shrunk from any exertion, declared that she was a soldier's wife and would accompany him. Fortunately the "Blenheim" was detained in the roads a few days after the time expected for her departure, and I put into its father's arms a little Scotchman, born within sight of the blue hills of Jamaica. And yet with these at home, the brave general--as I read in the _Times_ a few weeks later--displayed a courage amounting to rashness, and, sending away his aides-de-camp, rushed on to a certain death. On the following day, directly I heard of the armistice, I hastened to the scene of action, anxious to see once more the faces of those who had been so kind to me in life. That battle-field was a fearful sight for a woman to witness, and if I do not pray God that I may never see its like again, it is because I wish to be useful all my life, and it is in scenes of horror and distress that a woman can do so much. It was late in the afternoon, not, I think, until half-past four, that the Russians brought over the bodies of the two leaders of yesterday's assault. They had stripped Sir John of epaulettes, sword, and boots. Ah! how my heart felt for those at home who would so soon hear of this day's fatal work. It was on the following day, I think, that I saw them bury him near Cathcart's Hill, where his tent had been pitched. If I had been in the least humour for what was ludicrous, the looks and curiosity of the Russians who saw me during the armistice would have afforded me considerable amusement. I wonder what rank they assigned me. How true it is, as somebody has said, that misfortunes never come singly. N.B. Pleasures often do. For while we were dull enough at this great trouble, we had cholera raging around us, carrying off its victims of all ranks. There was great distress in the Sardinian camp on this account, and I soon lost another good customer, General E----, carried off by the same terrible plague. Before Mrs. E---- left the Crimea, she sent several useful things, kept back from the sale of the general's effects. At this sale I wanted to buy a useful waggon, but did not like to bid against Lord W----, who purchased it; but (I tell this anecdote to show how kind they all were to me) when his lordship heard of this he sent it over to Spring Hill, with a message that it was mine for a far lower price than he had given for it. And since my return home I have had to thank the same nobleman for still greater favours. But who, indeed, has not been kind to me? Within a week after General E----'s death, a still greater calamity happened. Lord Raglan died--that great soldier who had such iron courage, with the gentle smile and kind word that always show the good man. I was familiar enough with his person; for, although people did not know it in England, he was continually in the saddle looking after his suffering men, and scheming plans for their benefit. And the humblest soldier will remember that, let who might look stern and distant, the first man in the British army ever had a kind word to give him. During the time he was ill I was at head-quarters several times, and once his servants allowed me to peep into the room where their master lay. I do not think they knew that he was dying, but they seemed very sad and low--far more so than he for whom they feared. And on the day of his funeral I was there again. I never saw such heartfelt gloom as that which brooded on the faces of his attendants; but it was good to hear how they all, even the humblest, had some kind memory of the great general whom Providence had called from his post at such a season of danger and distress. And once again they let me into the room in which the coffin lay, and I timidly stretched out my hand and touched a corner of the union-jack which lay upon it; and then I watched it wind its way through the long lines of soldiery towards Kamiesch, while, ever and anon, the guns thundered forth in sorrow, not in anger. And for days after I could not help thinking of the "Caradoc," which was ploughing its way through the sunny sea with its sad burden. It was not in the nature of the British army to remain long dull, and before very long we went on gaily as ever, forgetting the terrible 18th of June, or only remembering it to look forward to the next assault compensating for all. And once more the British Hotel was filled with a busy throng, and laughter and fun re-echoed through its iron rafters. Nothing of consequence was done in the front for weeks, possibly because Mr. Russell was taking holiday, and would not return until August. About this time the stores of the British Hotel were well filled, not only with every conceivable necessary of life, but with many of its most expensive luxuries. It was at this period that you could have asked for few things that I could not have supplied you with on the spot, or obtained for you, if you had a little patience and did not mind a few weeks' delay. Not only Spring Hill and Kadikoi, which--a poor place enough when we came--had grown into a town of stores, and had its market regulations and police, but the whole camp shared in this unusual plenty. Even the men could afford to despise salt meat and pork, and fed as well, if not better, than if they had been in quarters at home. And there were coffee-houses and places of amusement opened at Balaclava, and balls given in some of them, which raised my temper to an unwonted pitch, because I foresaw the dangers which they had for the young and impulsive; and sure enough they cost several officers their commissions. Right glad was I one day when the great purifier, Fire, burnt down the worst of these places and ruined its owner, a bad Frenchwoman. And the railway was in full work, and the great road nearly finished, and the old one passable, and the mules and horses looked in such fair condition, that you would scarcely have believed Farrier C----, of the Land Transport Corps, who would have told you then, and will tell you now, that he superintended, on one bleak morning of February, not six months agone, the task of throwing the corpses of one hundred and eight mules over the cliffs at Karanyi into the Black Sea beneath. Of course the summer introduced its own plagues, and among the worst of these were the flies. I shall never forget those Crimean flies, and most sincerely hope that, like the Patagonians, they are only to be found in one part of the world. Nature must surely have intended them for blackbeetles, and accidentally given them wings. There was no exterminating them--no thinning them--no escaping from them by night or by day. One of my boys confined himself almost entirely to laying baits and traps for their destruction, and used to boast that he destroyed them at the rate of a gallon a day; but I never noticed any perceptible decrease in their powers of mischief and annoyance. The officers in the front suffered terribly from them. One of my kindest customers, a lieutenant serving in the Royal Naval Brigade, who was a close relative of the Queen, whose uniform he wore, came to me in great perplexity. He evidently considered the fly nuisance the most trying portion of the campaign, and of far more consequence than the Russian shot and shell. "Mami," he said (he had been in the West Indies, and so called me by the familiar term used by the Creole children), "Mami, these flies respect nothing. Not content with eating my prog, they set to at night and make a supper of me," and his face showed traces of their attacks. "Confound them, they'll kill me, mami; they're everywhere, even in the trenches, and you'd suppose they wouldn't care to go there from choice. What can you do for me, mami?" Not much; but I rode down to Mr. B----'s store, at Kadikoi, where I was lucky in being able to procure a piece of muslin, which I pinned up (time was too precious to allow me to use needle and thread) into a mosquito net, with which the prince was delighted. He fell ill later in the summer, when I went up to his quarters and did all I could for him. As the summer wore on, busily passed by all of us at the British Hotel, rumours stronger than ever were heard of a great battle soon to be fought by the reinforcements which were known to have joined the Russian army. And I think that no one was much surprised when one pleasant August morning, at early dawn, heavy firing was heard towards the French position on the right, by the Tchernaya, and the stream of troops and on-lookers poured from all quarters in that direction. Prepared and loaded as usual, I was soon riding in the same direction, and saw the chief part of the morning's battle. I saw the Russians cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer and wave them on in the coolest, bravest manner, until they were shot down by scores. I was near enough to hear at times, in the lull of artillery, and above the rattle of the musketry, the excited cheers which told of a daring attack or a successful repulse; and beneath where I stood I could see--what the Russians could not--steadily drawn up, quiet and expectant, the squadrons of English and French cavalry, calmly yet impatiently waiting until the Russians' partial success should bring their sabres into play. But the contingency never happened; and we saw the Russians fall slowly back in good order, while the dark-plumed Sardinians and red-pantalooned French spread out in pursuit, and formed a picture so excitingly beautiful that we forgot the suffering and death they left behind. And then I descended with the rest into the field of battle. It was a fearful scene; but why repeat this remark. All death is trying to witness--even that of the good man who lays down his life hopefully and peacefully; but on the battle-field, when the poor body is torn and rent in hideous ways, and the scared spirit struggles to loose itself from the still strong frame that holds it tightly to the last, death is fearful indeed. It had come peacefully enough to some. They lay with half-opened eyes, and a quiet smile about the lips that showed their end to have been painless; others it had arrested in the heat of passion, and frozen on their pallid faces a glare of hatred and defiance that made your warm blood run cold. But little time had we to think of the dead, whose business it was to see after the dying, who might yet be saved. The ground was thickly cumbered with the wounded, some of them calm and resigned, others impatient and restless, a few filling the air with their cries of pain--all wanting water, and grateful to those who administered it, and more substantial comforts. You might see officers and strangers, visitors to the camp, riding about the field on this errand of mercy. And this, although--surely it could not have been intentional--Russian guns still played upon the scene of action. There were many others there, bent on a more selfish task. The plunderers were busy everywhere. It was marvellous to see how eagerly the French stripped the dead of what was valuable, not always, in their brutal work, paying much regard to the presence of a lady. Some of the officers, when I complained rather angrily, laughed, and said it was spoiling the Egyptians; but I _do_ think the Israelites spared their enemies those garments, which, perhaps, were not so unmentionable in those days as they have since become. I attended to the wounds of many French and Sardinians, and helped to lift them into the ambulances, which came tearing up to the scene of action. I derived no little gratification from being able to dress the wounds of several Russians; indeed, they were as kindly treated as the others. One of them was badly shot in the lower jaw, and was beyond my or any human skill. Incautiously I inserted my finger into his mouth to feel where the ball had lodged, and his teeth closed upon it, in the agonies of death, so tightly that I had to call to those around to release it, which was not done until it had been bitten so deeply that I shall carry the scar with me to my grave. Poor fellow, he meant me no harm, for, as the near approach of death softened his features, a smile spread over his rough inexpressive face, and so he died. I attended another Russian, a handsome fellow, and an officer, shot in the side, who bore his cruel suffering with a firmness that was very noble. In return for the little use I was to him, he took a ring off his finger and gave it to me, and after I had helped to lift him into the ambulance he kissed my hand and smiled far more thanks than I had earned. I do not know whether he survived his wounds, but I fear not. Many others, on that day, gave me thanks in words the meaning of which was lost upon me, and all of them in that one common language of the whole world--smiles. I carried two patients off the field; one a French officer wounded on the hip, who chose to go back to Spring Hill and be attended by me there, and who, on leaving, told us that he was a relative of the Marshal (Pelissier); the other, a poor Cossack colt I found running round its dam, which lay beside its Cossack master dead, with its tongue hanging from its mouth. The colt was already wounded in the ears and fore-foot, and I was only just in time to prevent a French corporal who, perhaps for pity's sake, was preparing to give it it's _coup de grace_. I saved the poor thing by promising to give the Frenchman ten shillings if he would bring it down to the British Hotel, which he did that same evening. I attended to its hurts, and succeeded in rearing it, and it became a great pet at Spring Hill, and accompanied me to England. I picked up some trophies from the battle-field, but not many, and those of little value. I cannot bear the idea of plundering either the living or the dead; but I picked up a Russian metal cross, and took from the bodies of some of the poor fellows nothing of more value than a few buttons, which I severed from their coarse grey coats. So end my reminiscences of the battle of the Tchernaya, fought, as all the world knows, on the 16th of August, 1855. CHAPTER XVII. INSIDE SEBASTOPOL--THE LAST BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL--ON CATHCART'S HILL--RUMOURS IN THE CAMP--THE ATTACK ON THE MALAKHOFF--THE OLD WORK AGAIN--A SUNDAY EXCURSION--INSIDE "OUR" CITY--I AM TAKEN FOR A SPY, AND THEREAT LOSE MY TEMPER--I VISIT THE REDAN, ETC.--MY SHARE OF THE "PLUNDER." The three weeks following the battle of the Tchernaya were, I should think, some of the busiest and most eventful the world has ever seen. There was little doing at Spring Hill. Every one was either at his post, or too anxiously awaiting the issue of the last great bombardment to spend much time at the British Hotel. I think that I lost more of my patients and customers during those few weeks than during the whole previous progress of the siege. Scarce a night passed that I was not lulled to sleep with the heavy continuous roar of the artillery; scarce a morning dawned that the same sound did not usher in my day's work. The ear grew so accustomed during those weeks to the terrible roar, that when Sebastopol fell the sudden quiet seemed unnatural, and made us dull. And during the whole of this time the most perplexing rumours flew about, some having reference to the day of assault, the majority relative to the last great effort which it was supposed the Russians would make to drive us into the sea. I confess these latter rumours now and then caused me temporary uneasiness, Spring Hill being on the direct line of route which the actors in such a tragedy must take. I spent much of my time on Cathcart's Hill, watching, with a curiosity and excitement which became intense, the progress of the terrible bombardment. Now and then a shell would fall among the crowd of on-lookers which covered the hill; but it never disturbed us, so keen and feverish and so deadened to danger had the excitement and expectation made us. In the midst of the bombardment took place the important ceremony of distributing the Order of the Bath to those selected for that honour. I contrived to witness this ceremony very pleasantly; and although it cost me a day, I considered that I had fairly earned the pleasure. I was anxious to have some personal share in the affair, so I made, and forwarded to head-quarters, a cake which Gunter might have been at some loss to manufacture with the materials at my command, and which I adorned gaily with banners, flags, etc. I received great kindness from the officials at the ceremony, and from the officers--some of rank--who recognised me; indeed, I held quite a little _levée_ around my chair. Well, a few days after this ceremony, I thought the end of the world, instead of the war, was at hand, when every battery opened and poured a perfect hail of shot and shell upon the beautiful city which I had left the night before sleeping so calm and peaceful beneath the stars. The firing began at early dawn, and was fearful. Sleep was impossible; so I arose, and set out for my old station on Cathcart's Hill. And here, with refreshments for the anxious lookers-on, I spent most of my time, right glad of any excuse to witness the last scene of the siege. It was from this spot that I saw fire after fire break out in Sebastopol, and watched all night the beautiful yet terrible effect of a great ship blazing in the harbour, and lighting up the adjoining country for miles. The weather changed, as it often did in the Crimea, most capriciously; and the morning of the memorable 8th of September broke cold and wintry. The same little bird which had let me into so many secrets, also gave me a hint of what this day was pregnant with; and very early in the morning I was on horseback, with my bandages and refreshments, ready to repeat the work of the 18th of June last. A line of sentries forbade all strangers passing through without orders, even to Cathcart's Hill; but once more I found that my reputation served as a permit, and the officers relaxed the rule in my favour everywhere. So, early in the day, I was in my old spot, with my old appliances for the wounded and fatigued; little expecting, however, that this day would so closely resemble the day of the last attack in its disastrous results. It was noon before the cannonading suddenly ceased; and we saw, with a strange feeling of excitement, the French tumble out of their advanced trenches, and roll into the Malakhoff like a human flood. Onward they seemed to go into the dust and smoke, swallowed up by hundreds; but they never returned, and before long we saw workmen levelling parapets and filling up ditches, over which they drove, with headlong speed and impetuosity, artillery and ammunition-waggons, until there could be no doubt that the Malakhoff was taken, although the tide of battle still surged around it with violence, and wounded men were borne from it in large numbers. And before this, our men had made their attack, and the fearful assault of the Redan was going on, and failing. But I was soon too busy to see much, for the wounded were borne in even in greater numbers than at the last assault; whilst stragglers, slightly hurt, limped in, in fast-increasing numbers, and engrossed our attention. I now and then found time to ask them rapid questions; but they did not appear to know anything more than that everything had gone wrong. The sailors, as before, showed their gallantry, and even recklessness, conspicuously. The wounded of the ladder and sandbag parties came up even with a laugh, and joked about their hurts in the happiest conceivable manner. I saw many officers of the 97th wounded; and, as far as possible, I reserved my attentions for my old regiment, known so well in my native island. My poor 97th! their loss was terrible. I dressed the wound of one of its officers, seriously hit in the mouth; I attended to another wounded in the throat, and bandaged the hand of a third, terribly crushed by a rifle-bullet. In the midst of this we were often interrupted by those unwelcome and impartial Russian visitors--the shells. One fell so near that I thought my last hour was come; and, although I had sufficient firmness to throw myself upon the ground, I was so seriously frightened that I never thought of rising from my recumbent position until the hearty laugh of those around convinced me that the danger had passed by. Afterwards I picked up a piece of this huge shell, and brought it home with me. It was on this, as on every similar occasion, that I saw the _Times_ correspondent eagerly taking down notes and sketches of the scene, under fire--listening apparently with attention to all the busy little crowd that surrounded him, but without laying down his pencil; and yet finding time, even in his busiest moment, to lend a helping hand to the wounded. It may have been on this occasion that his keen eye noticed me, and his mind, albeit engrossed with far more important memories, found room to remember me. I may well be proud of his testimony, borne so generously only the other day, and may well be excused for transcribing it from the columns of the _Times_:--"I have seen her go down, under fire, with her little store of creature comforts for our wounded men; and a more tender or skilful hand about a wound or broken limb could not be found among our best surgeons. I saw her at the assault on the Redan, at the Tchernaya, at the fall of Sebastopol, laden, not with plunder, good old soul! but with wine, bandages, and food for the wounded or the prisoners." I remained on Cathcart's Hill far into the night, and watched the city blazing beneath us, awe-struck at the terrible sight, until the bitter wind found its way through my thin clothing, and chilled me to the bone; and not till then did I leave for Spring Hill. I had little sleep that night. The night was made a ruddy lurid day with the glare of the blazing town; while every now and then came reports which shook the earth to its centre. And yet I believe very many of the soldiers, wearied with their day's labour, slept soundly throughout that terrible night, and awoke to find their work completed: for in the night, covered by the burning city, Sebastopol was left, a heap of ruins, to its victors; and before noon on the following day, none but dead and dying Russians were in the south side of the once famous and beautiful mistress-city of the Euxine. The good news soon spread through the camp. It gave great pleasure; but I almost think the soldiers would have been better pleased had the Russians delayed their parting twelve hours longer, and given the Highlanders and their comrades a chance of retrieving the disasters of the previous day. Nothing else could wipe away the soreness of defeat, or compensate for the better fortune which had befallen our allies the French. The news of the evacuation of Sebastopol soon carried away all traces of yesterday's fatigue. For weeks past I had been offering bets to every one that I would not only be the first woman to enter Sebastopol from the English lines, but that I would be the first to carry refreshments into the fallen city. And now the time I had longed for had come. I borrowed some mules from the Land Transport Corps--mine were knocked up by yesterday's work--and loading them with good things, started off with my partner and some other friends early on that memorable Sunday morning for Cathcart's Hill. When I found that strict orders had been given to admit no one inside Sebastopol, I became quite excited; and making my way to General Garrett's quarters, I made such an earnest representation of what I considered my right that I soon obtained a pass, of which the following is a copy:-- "Pass Mrs. Seacole and her attendants, with refreshments for officers and soldiers in the Redan and in Sebastopol. "Garrett, M.G. "Cathcart's Hill, Sept. 9, 1855." So many attached themselves to my staff, becoming for the nonce my attendants, that I had some difficulty at starting; but at last I passed all the sentries safely, much to the annoyance of many officers, who were trying every conceivable scheme to evade them, and entered the city. I can give you no very clear description of its condition on that Sunday morning, a year and a half ago. Many parts of it were still blazing furiously--explosions were taking place in all directions--every step had a score of dangers; and yet curiosity and excitement carried us on and on. I was often stopped to give refreshments to officers and men, who had been fasting for hours. Some, on the other hand, had found their way to Russian cellars; and one body of men were most ingloriously drunk, and playing the wildest pranks. They were dancing, yelling, and singing--some of them with Russian women's dresses fastened round their waists, and old bonnets stuck upon their heads. I was offered many trophies. All plunder was stopped by the sentries, and confiscated, so that the soldiers could afford to be liberal. By one I was offered a great velvet sofa; another pressed a huge arm-chair, which had graced some Sebastopol study, upon me; while a third begged my acceptance of a portion of a grand piano. What I did carry away was very unimportant: a gaily-decorated altar-candle, studded with gold and silver stars, which the present Commander-in-Chief condescended to accept as a Sebastopol memorial; an old cracked China teapot, which in happier times had very likely dispensed pleasure to many a small tea-party; a cracked bell, which had rung many to prayers during the siege, and which I bore away on my saddle; and a parasol, given me by a drunken soldier. He had a silk skirt on, and torn lace upon his wrists, and he came mincingly up, holding the parasol above his head, and imitating the walk of an affected lady, to the vociferous delight of his comrades. And all this, and much more, in that fearful charnel city, with death and suffering on every side. It was very hazardous to pass along some of the streets exposed to the fire of the Russians on the north side of the harbour. We had to wait and watch our opportunity, and then gallop for it. Some of us had close shaves of being hit. More than this, fires still kept breaking out around; while mines and fougasses not unfrequently exploded from unknown causes. We saw two officers emerge from a heap of ruins, covered and almost blinded with smoke and dust, from some such unlooked-for explosion. With considerable difficulty we succeeded in getting into the quarter of the town held by the French, where I was nearly getting into serious trouble. I had loitered somewhat behind my party, watching, with pardonable curiosity, the adroitness with which a party of French were plundering a house; and by the time my curiosity had been satisfied, I found myself quite alone, my retinue having preceded me by some few hundred yards. This would have been of little consequence, had not an American sailor lad, actuated either by mischief or folly, whispered to the Frenchmen that I was a Russian spy; and had they not, instead of laughing at him, credited his assertion, and proceeded to arrest me. Now, such a charge was enough to make a lion of a lamb; so I refused positively to dismount, and made matters worse by knocking in the cap of the first soldier who laid hands upon me, with the bell that hung at my saddle. Upon this, six or seven tried to force me to the guard-house in rather a rough manner, while I resisted with all my force, screaming out for Mr. Day, and using the bell for a weapon. How I longed for a better one I need not tell the reader. In the midst of this scene came up a French officer, whom I recognised as the patient I had taken to Spring Hill after the battle of the Tchernaya, and who took my part at once, and ordered them to release me. Although I rather weakened my cause, it was most natural that, directly I was released, I should fly at the varlet who had caused me this trouble; and I did so, using my bell most effectually, and aided, when my party returned, by their riding-whips. This little adventure took up altogether so much time that, when the French soldiers had made their apologies to me, and I had returned the compliment to the one whose head had been dented by my bell, it was growing late, and we made our way back to Cathcart's Hill. On the way, a little French soldier begged hard of me to buy a picture, which had been cut from above the altar of some church in Sebastopol. It was too dark to see much of his prize, but I ultimately became its possessor, and brought it home with me. It is some eight or ten feet in length, and represents, I should think, the Madonna. I am no judge of such things, but I think, although the painting is rather coarse, that the face of the Virgin, and the heads of Cherubim that fill the cloud from which she is descending, are soft and beautiful. There is a look of divine calmness and heavenly love in the Madonna's face which is very striking; and, perhaps, during the long and awful siege many a knee was bent in worship before it, and many a heart found comfort in its soft loving gaze. On the following day I again entered Sebastopol, and saw still more of its horrors. But I have refrained from describing so many scenes of woe, that I am loth to dwell much on these. The very recollection of that woeful hospital, where thousands of dead and dying had been left by the retreating Russians, is enough to unnerve the strongest and sicken the most experienced. I would give much if I had never seen that harrowing sight. I believe some Englishmen were found in it alive; but it was as well that they did not live to tell their fearful experience. I made my way into the Redan also, although every step was dangerous, and took from it some brown bread, which seemed to have been left in the oven by the baker when he fled. Before many days were passed, some Frenchwomen opened houses in Sebastopol; but in that quarter of the town held by the English the prospect was not sufficiently tempting for me to follow their example, and so I saw out the remainder of the campaign from my old quarters at Spring Hill. CHAPTER XVIII. HOLIDAY IN THE CAMP--A NEW ENEMY, TIME--AMUSEMENTS IN THE CRIMEA--MY SHARE IN THEM--DINNER AT SPRING HILL--AT THE RACES--CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE BRITISH HOTEL--NEW YEAR'S DAY IN THE HOSPITAL. Well, the great work was accomplished--Sebastopol was taken. The Russians had retired sullenly to their stronghold on the north side of the harbour, from which, every now and then, they sent a few vain shot and shell, which sent the amateurs in the streets of Sebastopol scampering, but gave the experienced no concern. In a few days the camp could find plenty to talk about in their novel position--and what then? What was to be done? More fighting? Another equally terrible and lengthy siege of the north? That was the business of a few at head-quarters and in council at home, between whom the electric wires flashed many a message. In the meanwhile, the real workers applied themselves to plan amusements, and the same energy and activity which had made Sebastopol a heap of ruins and a well-filled cemetery--which had dug the miles of trenches, and held them when made against a desperate foe--which had manned the many guns, and worked them so well, set to work as eager to kill their present enemy, Time, as they had lately been to destroy their fled enemies, the Russians. All who were before Sebastopol will long remember the beautiful autumn which succeeded to so eventful a summer, and ushered in so pleasantly the second winter of the campaign. It was appreciated as only those who earn the right to enjoyment can enjoy relaxation. The camp was full of visitors of every rank. They thronged the streets of Sebastopol, sketching its ruins and setting up photographic apparatus, in contemptuous indifference of the shot with which the Russians generally favoured every conspicuous group. Pleasure was hunted keenly. Cricket matches, pic-nics, dinner parties, races, theatricals, all found their admirers. My restaurant was always full, and once more merry laughter was heard, and many a dinner party was held, beneath the iron roof of the British Hotel. Several were given in compliment to our allies, and many distinguished Frenchmen have tested my powers of cooking. You might have seen at one party some of their most famous officers. At once were present a Prince of the Imperial family of France, the Duc de Rouchefoucault, and a certain corporal in the French service, who was perhaps the best known man in the whole army, the Viscount Talon. They expressed themselves highly gratified at the _carte_, and perhaps were not a little surprised as course after course made its appearance, and to soup and fish succeeded turkeys, saddle of mutton, fowls, ham, tongue, curry, pastry of many sorts, custards, jelly, blanc-mange, and olives. I took a peculiar pride in doing my best when they were present, for I knew a little of the secrets of the French commissariat. I wonder if the world will ever know more. I wonder if the system of secresy which has so long kept veiled the sufferings of the French army before Sebastopol will ever yield to truth. I used to guess something of those sufferings when I saw, even after the fall of Sebastopol, half-starved French soldiers prowling about my store, taking eagerly even what the Turks rejected as unfit for human food; and no one could accuse _them_ of squeamishness. I cannot but believe that in some desks or bureaux lie notes or diaries which shall one day be given to the world; and when this happens, the terrible distresses of the English army will pall before the unheard-of sufferings of the French. It is true that they carried from Sebastopol the lion's share of glory. My belief is that they deserved it, having borne by far a larger proportion of suffering. There were few dinners at Spring Hill at which the guests did not show their appreciation of their hostess's labour by drinking her health; and at the dinner I have above alluded to, the toast was responded to with such enthusiasm that I felt compelled to put my acknowledgments into the form of a little speech, which Talon interpreted to his countrymen. The French Prince was, after this occasion, several times at the British Hotel. He was there once when some Americans were received by me with scarcely that cordiality which I have been told distinguished my reception of guests; and upon their leaving I told him--quite forgetting his own connection with America--of my prejudice against the Yankees. He heard me for a little while, and then he interrupted me. "Tenez! Madame Seacole, I too am American a little." What a pity I was not born a countess! I am sure I should have made a capital courtier. Witness my impromptu answer:-- "I should never have guessed it, Prince."--And he seemed amused. With the theatricals directly I had nothing to do. Had I been a little younger the companies would very likely have been glad of me, for no one liked to sacrifice their beards to become Miss Julia or plain Mary Ann; and even the beardless subalterns had voices which no coaxing could soften down. But I lent them plenty of dresses; indeed, it was the only airing which a great many gay-coloured muslins had in the Crimea. How was I to know when I brought them what camp-life was? And in addition to this, I found it necessary to convert my kitchen into a temporary green-room, where, to the wonderment, and perhaps scandal, of the black cook, the ladies of the company of the 1st Royals were taught to manage their petticoats with becoming grace, and neither to show their awkward booted ankles, nor trip themselves up over their trains. It was a difficult task in many respects. Although I laced them in until they grew blue in the face, their waists were a disgrace to the sex; while--crinoline being unknown then--my struggles to give them becoming _embonpoint_ may be imagined. It was not until a year later that _Punch_ thought of using a clothes-basket; and I would have given much for such a hint when I was dresser to the theatrical company of the 1st Royals. The hair was another difficulty. To be sure, there was plenty in the camp, only it was in the wrong place, and many an application was made to me for a set of curls. However, I am happy to say I am not become a customer of the wigmakers yet. My recollections of hunting in the Crimea are confined to seeing troops of horsemen sweep by with shouts and yells after some wretched dog. Once I was very nearly frightened out of my wits--my first impression being that the Russians had carried into effect their old threat of driving us into the sea--by the startling appearance of a large body of horsemen tearing down the hill after, apparently, nothing. However I discovered in good time that, in default of vermin, they were chasing a brother officer with a paper bag. My experience of Crimean races are perfect, for I was present, in the character of cantiniere, at all the more important meetings. Some of them took place before Christmas, and some after; but I shall exhaust the subject at once. I had no little difficulty to get the things on to the course; and in particular, after I had sat up the whole night making preparations for the December races, at the Monastery of St. George, I could not get my poor mules over the rough country, and found myself, in the middle of the day, some miles from the course. At last I gave it up as hopeless, and, dismounting, sat down by the roadside to consider how I could possibly dispose of the piles of sandwiches, bread, cheese, pies, and tarts, which had been prepared for the hungry spectators. At last, some officers, who expected me long before, came to look after me, and by their aid we reached the course. I was better off at the next meeting, for a kind-hearted Major of Artillery provided me with a small bell-tent that was very useful, and enabled me to keep my stores out of reach of the light-fingered gentry, who were as busy in the Crimea as at Epsom or Hampton Court. Over this tent waved the flag of the British Hotel, but, during the day, it was struck, for an accident happening to one Captain D----, he was brought to my tent insensible, where I quickly improvised a couch of some straw, covered with the Union Jack, and brought him round. I mention this trifle to show how ready of contrivance a little campaigning causes one to become. I had several patients in consequence of accidents at the races. Nor was I altogether free from accidents myself. On the occasion of the races by the Tchernaya, after the armistice, my cart, on turning a sudden bend in the steep track, upset, and the crates, containing plates and dishes, rolled over and over until their contents were completely broken up; so that I was reduced to hand about sandwiches, etc., on broken pieces of earthenware and scraps of paper. I saved some glasses, but not many, and some of the officers were obliged to drink out of stiff paper twisted into funnel-shaped glasses. It was astonishing how well the managers of these Crimean races had contrived to imitate the old familiar scenes at home. You might well wonder where the racing saddles and boots, and silk caps and jackets had come from; but our connection with England was very different to what it had been when I first came to the Crimea, and many a wife and sister's fingers had been busy making the racing gear for the Crimea meetings. And in order that the course should still more closely resemble Ascot or Epsom, some soldiers blackened their faces and came out as Ethiopian serenaders admirably, although it would puzzle the most ingenious to guess where they got their wigs and banjoes from. I caught one of them behind my tent in the act of knocking off the neck of a bottle of champagne, and, paralysed by the wine's hasty exit, the only excuse he offered was, that he wanted to know if the officers' luxury was better than rum. A few weeks before Christmas, happened that fearful explosion, in the French ammunition park, which destroyed so many lives. We had experienced nothing at all like it before. The earth beneath us, even at the distance of three miles, reeled and trembled with the shock; and so great was the force of the explosion, that a piece of stone was hurled with some violence against the door of the British Hotel. We all felt for the French very much, although I do not think that the armies agreed quite so well after the taking of the Malakhoff, and the unsuccessful assault upon the Redan, as they had done previously. I saw several instances of unpleasantness and collision, arising from allusions to sore points. One, in particular, occurred in my store. The French, when they wanted--it was very seldom--to wound the pride of the English soldiery, used to say significantly, in that jargon by which the various nations in the Crimea endeavoured to obviate the consequences of what occurred at the Tower of Babel, some time ago, "Malakhoff bono--Redan no bono." And this, of course, usually led to recriminatory statements, and history was ransacked to find something consolatory to English pride. Once I noticed a brawny man, of the Army Works Corps, bringing a small French Zouave to my canteen, evidently with the view of standing treat. The Frenchman seemed mischievously inclined, and, probably relying upon the good humour on the countenance of his gigantic companion, began a little playful badinage, ending with the taunt of "Redan, no bono--Redan, no bono." I never saw any man look so helplessly angry as the Englishman did. For a few minutes he seemed absolutely rooted to the ground. Of course he could have crushed his mocking friend with ease, but how could he answer his taunt. All at once, however, a happy thought struck him, and rushing up to the Zouave, he caught him round the waist and threw him down, roaring out, "Waterloo was bono--Waterloo was bono." It was as much as the people on the premises could do to part them, so convulsed were we all with laughter. And before Christmas, occurred my first and last attack of illness in the Crimea. It was not of much consequence, nor should I mention it but to show the kindness of my soldier-friends. I think it arose from the sudden commencement of winter, for which I was but poorly provided. However, I soon received much sympathy and many presents of warm clothing, etc.; but the most delicate piece of attention was shown me by one of the Sappers and Miners, who, hearing the report that I was dead, positively came down to Spring Hill to take my measure for a coffin. This may seem a questionable compliment, but I really felt flattered and touched with such a mark of thoughtful attention. Very few in the Crimea had the luxury of any better coffin than a blanket-shroud, and it was very good of the grateful fellow to determine that his old friend, the mistress of Spring Hill, should have an honour conceded to so very few of the illustrious dead before Sebastopol. So Christmas came, and with it pleasant memories of home and of home comforts. With it came also news of home--some not of the most pleasant description--and kind wishes from absent friends. "A merry Christmas to you," writes one, "and many of them. Although you will not write to us, we see your name frequently in the newspapers, from which we judge that you are strong and hearty. All your old Jamaica friends are delighted to hear of you, and say that you are an honour to the Isle of Springs." I wonder if the people of other countries are as fond of carrying with them everywhere their home habits as the English. I think not. I think there was something purely and essentially English in the determination of the camp to spend the Christmas-day of 1855 after the good old "home" fashion. It showed itself weeks before the eventful day. In the dinner parties which were got up--in the orders sent to England--in the supplies which came out, and in the many applications made to the hostess of the British Hotel for plum-puddings and mince-pies. The demand for them, and the material necessary to manufacture them, was marvellous. I can fancy that if returns could be got at of the flour, plums, currants, and eggs consumed on Christmas-day in the out-of-the-way Crimean peninsula, they would astonish us. One determination appeared to have taken possession of every mind--to spend the festive day with the mirth and jollity which the changed prospect of affairs warranted; and the recollection of a year ago, when death and misery were the camp's chief guests, only served to heighten this resolve. For three weeks previous to Christmas-day, my time was fully occupied in making preparations for it. Pages of my books are filled with orders for plum-puddings and mince-pies, besides which I sold an immense quantity of raw material to those who were too far off to send down for the manufactured article on Christmas-day, and to such purchasers I gave a plain recipe for their guidance. Will the reader take any interest in my Crimean Christmas-pudding? It was plain, but decidedly good. However, you shall judge for yourself:--"One pound of flour, three-quarters of a pound of raisins, three-quarters of a pound of fat pork, chopped fine, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, a little cinnamon or chopped lemon, half-pint of milk or water; mix these well together, and boil four hours." From an early hour in the morning until long after the night had set in, were I and my cooks busy endeavouring to supply the great demand for Christmas fare. We had considerable difficulty in keeping our engagements, but by substituting mince-pies for plum-puddings, in a few cases, we succeeded. The scene in the crowded store, and even in the little over-heated kitchen, with the officers' servants, who came in for their masters' dinners, cannot well be described. Some were impatient themselves, others dreaded their masters' impatience as the appointed dinner hour passed by--all combined by entreaties, threats, cajolery, and fun to drive me distracted. Angry cries for the major's plum-pudding, which was to have been ready an hour ago, alternated with an entreaty that I should cook the captain's mince-pies to a turn--"Sure, he likes them well done, ma'am. Bake 'em as brown as your own purty face, darlint." I did not get my dinner until eight o'clock, and then I dined in peace off a fine wild turkey or bustard, shot for me on the marshes by the Tchernaya. It weighed twenty-two pounds, and, although somewhat coarse in colour, had a capital flavour. Upon New Year's-day I had another large cooking of plum-puddings and mince-pies; this time upon my own account. I took them to the hospital of the Land Transport Corps, to remind the patients of the home comforts they longed so much for. It was a sad sight to see the once fine fellows, in their blue gowns, lying quiet and still, and reduced to such a level of weakness and helplessness. They all seemed glad for the little home tokens I took them. There was one patient who had been a most industrious and honest fellow, and who did not go into the hospital until long and wearing illness compelled him. I was particularly anxious to look after him, but I found him very weak and ill. I stayed with him until evening, and before I left him, kind fancy had brought to his bedside his wife and children from his village-home in England, and I could hear him talking to them in a low and joyful tone. Poor, poor fellow! the New Year so full of hope and happiness had dawned upon him, but he did not live to see the wild flowers spring up peacefully through the war-trodden sod before Sebastopol. CHAPTER XIX. NEW YEAR IN THE CRIMEA--GOOD NEWS--THE ARMISTICE--BARTER WITH THE RUSSIANS--WAR AND PEACE--TIDINGS OF PEACE--EXCURSIONS INTO THE INTERIOR OF THE CRIMEA--TO SIMPHEROPOL, BAKTCHISERAI, ETC.--THE TROOPS BEGIN TO LEAVE THE CRIMEA--FRIENDS' FAREWELLS--THE CEMETERIES--WE REMOVE FROM SPRING HILL TO BALACLAVA--ALARMING SACRIFICE OF OUR STOCK--A LAST GLIMPSE OF SEBASTOPOL--HOME! Before the New Year was far advanced we all began to think of going home, making sure that peace would soon be concluded. And never did more welcome message come anywhere than that which brought us intelligence of the armistice, and the firing, which had grown more and more slack lately, ceased altogether. Of course the army did not desire peace because they had any distaste for fighting; so far from it, I believe the only more welcome intelligence would have been news of a campaign in the field, but they were most heartily weary of sieges, and the prospect of another year before the gloomy north of Sebastopol damped the ardour of the most sanguine. Before the armistice was signed, the Russians and their old foes made advances of friendship, and the banks of the Tchernaya used to be thronged with strangers, and many strange acquaintances were thus began. I was one of the first to ride down to the Tchernaya, and very much delighted seemed the Russians to see an English woman. I wonder if they thought they all had my complexion. I soon entered heartily into the then current amusement--that of exchanging coin, etc., with the Russians. I stole a march upon my companions by making the sign of the cross upon my bosom, upon which a Russian threw me, in exchange for some pence, a little metal figure of some ugly saint. Then we wrapped up halfpence in clay, and received coins of less value in exchange. Seeing a soldier eating some white bread, I made signs of wanting some, and threw over a piece of money. I had great difficulty in making the man understand me, but after considerable pantomime, with surprise in his round bullet eyes, he wrapped up his bread in some paper, then coated it with clay and sent it over to me. I thought it would look well beside my brown bread taken from the strange oven in the terrible Redan, and that the two would typify war and peace. There was a great traffic going on in such things, and a wag of an officer, who could talk Russian imperfectly, set himself to work to persuade an innocent Russian that I was his wife, and having succeeded in doing so promptly offered to dispose of me for the medal hanging at his breast. The last firing of any consequence was the salutes with which the good tidings of peace were received by army and navy. After this soon began the home-going with happy faces and light hearts, and some kind thoughts and warm tears for the comrades left behind. I was very glad to hear of peace, also, although it must have been apparent to every one that it would cause our ruin. We had lately made extensive additions to our store and out-houses--our shelves were filled with articles laid in at a great cost, and which were now unsaleable, and which it would be equally impossible to carry home. Everything, from our stud of horses and mules down to our latest consignments from home, must be sold for any price; and, as it happened, for many things, worth a year ago their weight in gold, no purchaser could now be found. However, more of this hereafter. Before leaving the Crimea, I made various excursions into the interior, visiting Simpheropol and Baktchiserai. I travelled to Simpheropol with a pretty large party, and had a very amusing journey. My companions were young and full of fun, and tried hard to persuade the Russians that I was Queen Victoria, by paying me the most absurd reverence. When this failed they fell back a little, and declared that I was the Queen's first cousin. Anyhow, they attracted crowds about me, and I became quite a lioness in the streets of Simpheropol, until the arrival of some Highlanders in their uniform cut me out. My excursion to Baktchiserai was still more amusing and pleasant. I found it necessary to go to beat up a Russian merchant, who, after the declaration of peace, had purchased stores of us, and some young officers made up a party for the purpose. We hired an araba, filled it with straw, and some boxes to sit upon, and set out very early, with two old umbrellas to shield us from the mid-day sun and the night dews. We had with us a hamper carefully packed, before parting, with a cold duck, some cold meat, a tart, etc. The Tartar's two horses were soon knocked up, and the fellow obtained a third at a little village, and so we rolled on until mid-day, when, thoroughly exhausted, we left our clumsy vehicle and carried our hamper beneath the shade of a beautiful cherry-tree, and determined to lunch. Upon opening it the first thing that met our eyes was a fine rat, who made a speedy escape. Somewhat gravely, we proceeded to unpack its contents, without caring to express our fears to one another, and quite soon enough we found them realized. How or where the rat had gained access to our hamper it was impossible to say, but he had made no bad use of his time, and both wings of the cold duck had flown, while the tart was considerably mangled. Sad discovery this for people who, although, hungry, were still squeamish. We made out as well as we could with the cold beef, and gave the rest to our Tartar driver, who had apparently no disinclination to eating after the rat, and would very likely have despised us heartily for such weakness. After dinner we went on more briskly, and succeeded in reaching Baktchiserai. My journey was perfectly unavailing. I could not find my debtor at home, and if I had I was told it would take three weeks before the Russian law would assist me to recover my claim. Determined, however, to have some compensation, I carried off a raven, who had been croaking angrily at my intrusion. Before we had been long on our homeward journey, however, Lieut. C---- sat upon it, of course accidentally, and we threw it to its relatives--the crows. As the spring advanced, the troops began to move away at a brisk pace. As they passed the Iron House upon the Col--old for the Crimea, where so much of life's action had been compressed into so short a space of time--they would stop and give us a parting cheer, while very often the band struck up some familiar tune of that home they were so gladly seeking. And very often the kind-hearted officers would find time to run into the British Hotel to bid us good-bye, and give us a farewell shake of the hand; for you see war, like death, is a great leveller, and mutual suffering and endurance had made us all friends. "My dear Mrs. Seacole, and my dear Mr. Day," wrote one on a scrap of paper left on the counter, "I have called here four times this day, to wish you good-bye. I am so sorry I was not fortunate enough to see you. I shall still hope to see you to-morrow morning. We march at seven a.m." And yet all this going home seemed strange and somewhat sad, and sometimes I felt that I could not sympathise with the glad faces and happy hearts of those who were looking forward to the delights of home, and the joy of seeing once more the old familiar faces remembered so fondly in the fearful trenches and the hard-fought battle-fields. Now and then we would see a lounger with a blank face, taking no interest in the bustle of departure, and with him I acknowledged to have more fellow-feeling than with the others, for he, as well as I, clearly had no home to go to. He was a soldier by choice and necessity, as well as by profession. He had no home, no loved friends; the peace would bring no particular pleasure to him, whereas war and action were necessary to his existence, gave him excitement, occupation, the chance of promotion. Now and then, but seldom, however, you came across such a disappointed one. Was it not so with me? Had I not been happy through the months of toil and danger, never knowing what fear or depression was, finding every moment of the day mortgaged hours in advance, and earning sound sleep and contentment by sheer hard work? What better or happier lot could possibly befall me? And, alas! how likely was it that my present occupation gone, I might long in vain for another so stirring and so useful. Besides which, it was pretty sure that I should go to England poorer than I left it, and although I was not ashamed of poverty, beginning life again in the autumn--I mean late in the summer of life--is hard up-hill work. Peace concluded, the little jealousies which may have sprung up between the French and their allies seemed forgotten, and every one was anxious, ere the parting came, to make the most of the time yet left in improving old friendships and founding new. Among others, the 47th, encamped near the Woronzoff Road, gave a grand parting entertainment to a large company of their French neighbours, at which many officers of high rank were present. I was applied to by the committee of management to superintend the affair, and, for the last time in the Crimea, the health of Madame Seacole was proposed and duly honoured. I had grown so accustomed to the honour that I had no difficulty in returning thanks in a speech which Colonel B---- interpreted amid roars of laughter to the French guests. As the various regiments moved off, I received many acknowledgments from those who thought they owed me gratitude. Little presents, warm farewell words, kind letters full of grateful acknowledgments for services so small that I had forgotten them long, long ago--how easy it is to reach warm hearts!--little thoughtful acts of kindness, even from the humblest. And these touched me the most. I value the letters received from the working men far more than the testimonials of their officers. I had nothing to gain from the former, and can point to their testimony fearlessly. I am strongly tempted to insert some of these acknowledgments, but I will confine myself to one:-- "Camp, near Karani, June 16, 1856. "My dear Mrs. Seacole,--As you are about to leave the Crimea, I avail myself of the only opportunity which may occur for some time, to acknowledge my gratitude to you, and to thank you for the kindness which I, in common with many others, received at your hands, when attacked with cholera in the spring of 1855. But I have no language to do it suitably. "I am truly sensible that your kindness far exceeded my claims upon your sympathy. It is said by some of your friends, I hope truly, that you are going to England. There can be none from the Crimea more welcome there, for your kindness in the sick-tent, and your heroism in the battle-field, have endeared you to the whole army. "I am sure when her most gracious Majesty the Queen shall have become acquainted with the service you have gratuitously rendered to so many of her brave soldiers, her generous heart will thank you. For you have been an instrument in the hands of the Almighty to preserve many a gallant heart to the empire, to fight and win her battles, if ever again war may become a necessity. Please to accept this from your most grateful humble servant, "W. J. Tynan." But I had other friends in the Crimea--friends who could never thank me. Some of them lay in their last sleep, beneath indistinguishable mounds of earth; some in the half-filled trenches, a few beneath the blue waters of the Euxine. I might in vain attempt to gather the wild flowers which sprung up above many of their graves, but I knew where some lay, and could visit their last homes on earth. And to all the cemeteries where friends rested so calmly, sleeping well after a life's work nobly done, I went many times, lingering long over many a mound that bore the names of those whom I had been familiar with in life, thinking of what they had been, and what I had known of them. Over some I planted shrubs and flowers, little lilac trees, obtained with no small trouble, and flowering evergreens, which looked quite gay and pretty ere I left, and may in time become great trees, and witness strange scenes, or be cut down as fuel for another besieging army--who can tell? And from many graves I picked up pebbles, and plucked simple wild-flowers, or tufts of grass, as memorials for relatives at home. How pretty the cemeteries used to look beneath the blue peaceful sky; neatly enclosed with stone walls, and full of the grave-stones reared by friends over friends. I met many here, thoughtfully taking their last look of the resting-places of those they knew and loved. I saw many a proud head bowed down above them. I knew that many a proud heart laid aside its pride here, and stood in the presence of death, humble and childlike. And by the clasped hand and moistened eye, I knew that from many a heart sped upward a grateful prayer to the Providence which had thought fit in his judgment to take some, and in his mercy to spare the rest. Some three weeks before the Crimea was finally evacuated, we moved from our old quarters to Balaclava, where we had obtained permission to fit up a store for the short time which would elapse before the last red coat left Russian soil. The poor old British Hotel! We could do nothing with it. The iron house was pulled down, and packed up for conveyance home, but the Russians got all of the out-houses and sheds which was not used as fuel. All the kitchen fittings and stoves, that had cost us so much, fell also into their hands. I only wish some cook worthy to possess them has them now. We could sell nothing. Our horses were almost given away, our large stores of provisions, etc., were at any one's service. It makes my heart sick to talk of the really alarming sacrifices we made. The Russians crowded down ostensibly to purchase, in reality to plunder. Prime cheeses, which had cost us tenpence a pound, were sold to them for less than a penny a pound; for wine, for which we had paid forty-eight shillings a dozen, they bid four shillings. I could not stand this, and in a fit of desperation, I snatched up a hammer and broke up case after case, while the bystanders held out their hands and caught the ruby stream. It may have been wrong, but I was too excited to think. There was no more of my own people to give it to, and I would rather not present it to our old foes. We were among the last to leave the Crimea. Before going I borrowed a horse, easy enough now, and rode up the old well-known road--how unfamiliar in its loneliness and quiet--to Cathcart's Hill. I wished once more to impress the scene upon my mind. It was a beautifully clear evening, and we could see miles away across the darkening sea. I spent some time there with my companions, pointing out to each other the sites of scenes we all remembered so well. There were the trenches, already becoming indistinguishable, out of which, on the 8th of September, we had seen the storming parties tumble in confused and scattered bodies, before they ran up the broken height of the Redan. There the Malakhoff, into which we had also seen the luckier French pour in one unbroken stream; below lay the crumbling city and the quiet harbour, with scarce a ripple on its surface, while around stretched away the deserted huts for miles. It was with something like regret that we said to one another that the play was fairly over, that peace had rung the curtain down, and that we, humble actors in some of its most stirring scenes, must seek engagements elsewhere. I lingered behind, and stooping down, once more gathered little tufts of grass, and some simple blossoms from above the graves of some who in life had been very kind to me, and I left behind, in exchange, a few tears which were sincere. A few days latter, and I stood on board a crowded steamer, taking my last look of the shores of the Crimea. CONCLUSION. I did not return to England by the most direct route, but took the opportunity of seeing more of men and manners in yet other lands. Arrived in England at last, we set to work bravely at Aldershott to retrieve our fallen fortunes, and stem off the ruin originated in the Crimea, but all in vain; and at last defeated by fortune, but not I think disgraced, we were obliged to capitulate on very honourable conditions. In plain truth, the old Crimean firm of Seacole and Day was dissolved finally, and its partners had to recommence the world anew. And so ended _our_ campaign. One of us started only the other day for the Antipodes, while the other is ready to take any journey to any place where a stout heart and two experienced hands may be of use. Perhaps it would be right if I were to express more shame and annoyance than I really feel at the pecuniarily disastrous issue of my Crimean adventures, but I cannot--I really cannot. When I would try and feel ashamed of myself for being poor and helpless, I only experience a glow of pride at the other and more pleasing events of my career; when I think of the few whom I failed to pay in full (and so far from blaming me some of them are now my firmest friends), I cannot help remembering also the many who profess themselves indebted to me. Let me, in as few words as possible, state the results of my Crimean campaign. To be sure, I returned from it shaken in health. I came home wounded, as many others did. Few constitutions, indeed, were the better for those winters before Sebastopol, and I was too hard worked not to feel their effects; for a little labour fatigues me now--I cannot watch by sick-beds as I could--a week's want of rest quite knocks me up now. Then I returned bankrupt in fortune. Whereas others in my position may have come back to England rich and prosperous, I found myself poor--beggared. So few words can tell what I have lost. But what have I gained? I should need a volume to describe that fairly; so much is it, and so cheaply purchased by suffering ten times worse than what I have experienced. I have more than once heard people say that they would gladly suffer illness to enjoy the delights of convalescence, and so, by enduring a few days' pain, gain the tender love of relatives and sympathy of friends. And on this principle I rejoice in the trials which have borne me such pleasures as those I now enjoy, for wherever I go I am sure to meet some smiling face; every step I take in the crowded London streets may bring me in contact with some friend, forgotten by me, perhaps, but who soon reminds me of our old life before Sebastopol; it seems very long ago now, when I was of use to him and he to me. Where, indeed, do I not find friends. In omnibuses, in river steamboats, in places of public amusement, in quiet streets and courts, where taking short cuts I lose my way oft-times, spring up old familiar faces to remind me of the months spent on Spring Hill. The sentries at Whitehall relax from the discharge of their important duty of guarding nothing to give me a smile of recognition; the very newspaper offices look friendly as I pass them by; busy Printing-house Yard puts on a cheering smile, and the _Punch_ office in Fleet Street sometimes laughs outright. Now, would all this have happened if I had returned to England a rich woman? Surely not. A few words more ere I bring these egotistical remarks to a close. It is naturally with feelings of pride and pleasure that I allude to the committee recently organized to aid me; and if I indulge in the vanity of placing their names before my readers, it is simply because every one of the following noblemen and gentlemen knew me in the Crimea, and by consenting to assist me now record publicly their opinion of my services there. And yet I may reasonably on other grounds be proud of the fact, that it has been stated publicly that my present embarrassments originated in my charities and incessant labours among the army, by Major-General Lord Rokeby, K.C.B. H.S.H. Prince Edward of Saxe Weimar, C.B. His Grace the Duke of Wellington. His Grace the Duke of Newcastle. The Right Hon. Lord Ward. General Sir John Burgoyne, K.C.B. Major-General Sir Richard Airey, K.C.B. Rear-Admiral Sir Stephen Lushington, K.C.B. Colonel M'Murdo, C.B. Colonel Chapman, C.B. Lieutenant-Colonel Ridley, C.B. Major the Hon. F. Keane. W. H. Russell, Esq. (_Times_ Correspondent). W. T. Doyne, Esq. THE END. London: Printed by Thomas Harrild, 11, Salisbury Square, Fleet Street. Transcriber's Note Minor typographic errors have been corrected without note. Page 42--omitted 'I' added--"I must do them credit to say, that they were never loath ..." Page 94--omitted 'the' added--"... which is hired by the Government, at great cost ..." There are also a few Scots words in this text. These include 'waesome', meaning sorrowful, woeful; and 'brash', meaning attack. Some archaic spelling is also used (for example, secresy), which has been retained. The few oe ligatures have not been retained in this version. 
11058	----	JACK ARCHER A Tale of the Crimea By G. A. HENTY Author of "The Boy Knight," "With Clive in India," "True to the Old Flag," Etc., Etc. CONTENTS Chapter I. The Midshipman Chapter II. An Adventure at Gib Chapter III. The Escape Chapter IV. Gallipoli Chapter V. A Brush with the Enemy Chapter VI. The Alma Chapter VII. Before Sebastopol Chapter VIII. Balaklava Chapter IX. Inkerman Chapter X. The Great Storm Chapter XI. Taken Prisoners Chapter XII. Prisoners on Parole Chapter XIII. A Nominal Imprisonment Chapter XIV. A Suspected Household Chapter XV. A Struggle for Life Chapter XVI. An Escape from Prison Chapter XVII. A Journey in Disguise Chapter XVIII. The Polish Insurgents Chapter XIX. To the Rescue Chapter XX. In a Lion's Den Chapter XXI. Back at the Front Chapter XXII. The Repulse at the Redan Chapter XXIII. The Battle of the Tchernaya Chapter XXIV. A Fortunate Storm Chapter XXV. The Capture of Sebastopol Chapter XXVI. Conclusion CHAPTER I. THE MIDSHIPMAN The first day of term cannot be considered a cheerful occasion. As the boys arrive on the previous evening, they have so much to tell each other, are so full of what they have been doing, that the chatter and laughter are as great as upon the night preceding the breaking-up. In the morning, however, all this is changed. As they take their places at their desks and open their books, a dull, heavy feeling takes possession of the boys, and the full consciousness that they are at the beginning of another half year's work weighs heavily on their minds. It is true enough that the half year will have its play, too, its matches, with their rivalry and excitement. But at present it is the long routine of lessons which is most prominent in the minds of the lads who are sitting on the long benches of the King's School, Canterbury. As a whole, however, these have not great reason for sadness. Not more than a third of them are boarders, and the rest, who have in truth, for the last week, begun to be tired of their holidays, will, when they once get out of school, and begin to choose sides for football, be really glad that the term has again commenced. "So your brother is not coming back again, Archer?" one of the boys said to a lad of some fifteen years old, a merry, curly-haired fellow, somewhat short for his age, but square-shouldered and sturdy. "No. He is expecting in another six months to get his commission, and is going up to town to study with a coach. My father has lodged the money for him, and hopes to get him gazetted to his old regiment, the 33d." "What is he going to a coach for? There is no examination, is there? And if there was, I should think he could pass it. He has been in the sixth for the last year." "Oh, he is all right enough," Archer said. "But my father is sending him to an army man to get up military drawing and fortification. Dad says it is of no use his going on grinding here at Greek and Latin, and that he had much better spend the time, till he gets his commission, in learning something that may be of use to him. I wish I had done with Latin and Greek too, I'm sure they'll never be of any use to me, and I hate them." At this moment the conversation between the boys was abruptly broken off by Archer being called up by the class master. "Archer," he said, looking up from the papers on the desk before him, "these verses are disgraceful. Of all in the holiday tasks sent in, yours appears to me to be the worst." "I'm very sorry, sir," Jack Archer said, "I really tried hard to do them, but somehow or other the quantities never will come right." "I don't know what you call trying hard, Archer, but it's utterly impossible, if you had taken the trouble to look the words out in the Gradus, that you could have made such mistakes as those here." "I don't know, sir," Jack answered. "I can do exercises and translations and all that sort of thing well enough, but I always break down with verses, and I don't see what good they are, except for fellows who want to write Latin verses for tombstones." "That has nothing to do with it," the master said; "and I am not going to discuss the utility of verses with you. I shall report you to Dr. Wallace, and if you will not work in your holidays, you will have to do so in your play-hours." Jack retired to his seat, and for the next ten minutes indulged in a diatribe against classical learning in general, and hexameters and pentameters in particular. Presently one of the sixth form came down to where Jack was sitting,-- "Archer, Dr. Wallace wants you." "Oh, lord," Jack groaned, "now I'm in for it! I haven't seen Marshall get out of his seat. I suppose he has written a report about those beastly verses." The greeting of Dr. Wallace was, however, of a different nature from that which he had anticipated. "Archer," he said, "I have just received a note from your father. You are to go home at once." Jack Archer opened his eyes in astonishment. It was but an hour and a half since he had started from Harbledown, a mile or so distant from the school. His father had said nothing at breakfast, and what on earth could he want him home again for? With a mechanical "Yes, sir," he returned to his place, gathered up his books hastily together, fastening them with a strap, and was soon on his way home at a rapid trot. He overtook ere long the servant who had brought the note--an old soldier, who had been Major Archer's servant in the army. "What is the matter, Jones? Is any one ill at home?" "No, sir; no one is ill as I knows of. The major called me into his study, and told me to take a note to Dr. Wallace, and, of course, I asked the master no questions." "No," Jack said, "I don't suppose you did, Jones. I don't suppose you'd ask any questions if you were told to take a letter straight to the man in the moon. I wonder what it can mean." And continuing his run, he soon left the steady-going old soldier far behind. Up High Street, under the great gate, along through the wide, straggling street beyond, into the open country, and then across through the fields to Harbledown. Jack never paused till, hot and panting, he entered the gate. His father and his elder brother, who had seen him coming across the fields, were standing in the porch. "Hurrah! Jack," the latter shouted; "you're going to be first out after all." "Going to be first out?" Jack gasped. "What on earth do you mean, Harry?" "Come into the parlor, Jack," his father said, "and you shall hear all about it." Here his mother and two sisters were sitting. "My dear boy," the former said, rising and throwing her arms round his neck, "this is sudden indeed." "What is sudden, mother? What is sudden?" Jack asked. "What is it all about?" and noticing a tear on his mother's cheek, he went on, "It can't be those beastly verses, is it?" the subject most upon his mind being prominent. "But no, it couldn't be that. Even if Wallace took it into his head to make a row about them, there would not be time. But what is it, mother?" "Sit down, Jack," his father said. "You know, my boy, you have always said that you would like to go to sea. I had no interest that way, but six months ago I wrote to my nephew Charles, who is, as you know, a first lieutenant in the navy, and asked him if he thought he could get you a midshipman's berth. He wrote back to say that he was at present on half pay, and feared it would be a long time before he was afloat again, as there were but few ships in commission, and he had not much interest. But if he were appointed he might be able to get you a berth on board the ship. As that didn't seem very hopeful, I thought it better to say nothing to you about it. However, this morning, just after you had started for school, the postman brought a letter from him, saying that, owing to the threatening state of affairs in the East, a number of ships were being rapidly put in commission, and that he had been appointed to the 'Falcon,' and had seen the captain, and as the latter, who happened to be an old friend of his, had no one in particular whom he wished to oblige, he had kindly asked the Admiralty for a midshipman's appointment for you. This he had, of course, obtained. The 'Falcon' is being fitted out with all haste, and you are to join at once. So I shall take you to Portsmouth to-morrow." Jack was too much delighted and surprised to be able to speak at first. But after a minute or two he recovered his breath, uttered a loud hurrah of delight, and then gave vent to his feelings by exuberantly kissing his mother and sisters. "This is glorious," he said. "Only to think that I, who have just been blown up for my verses, am a midshipman in her Majesty's service. I can hardly believe that it is true. Oh, father, I have so wished to go to sea, but I have never said much about it because I thought you did not like it, and now to think of my getting it when I had quite given up all hope, and just at a time, too, when there seems to be a chance of a row. What is it all about, father? I have heard you say something about a dispute with Russia, but I never gave much attention to it." "The cause of the dispute is trumpery enough, and in itself wholly insufficient to cause a war between two great nations. It began by a squabble about the holy places at Jerusalem, as to the rights of the Greek and Latin pilgrims respectively." "But what have we got to do with either the Latin or the Greek pilgrims?" Jack asked. "I should have thought that we were quite bothered enough with Latin and Greek verses, without having anything to do with pilgrims. Besides, I didn't know there were any Latins now, and the Greeks ain't much." Major Archer smiled. "The Latin pilgrims are the members of the countries which profess the Roman Catholic religion, while the Greeks are those who profess the religion of the Greek Church. That is to say, in the present case, principally Russians. There have for years been squabbles, swelling sometimes into serious tumults, between the pilgrims of these creeds, the matter being generally complicated by the interference of the Turkish authorities with them. The Russian government has been endeavoring to obtain from Turkey the protectorate of all Christians in her dominions, which France, as the leading Catholic country, naturally objects to. All this, however, is only a pretext. The real fact is that Russia, who has for centuries been casting a longing eye upon Turkey, thinks that the time has arrived when she can carry out her ambitious designs. It has always been our policy, upon the other hand, to sustain Turkey. We have large interests in the Mediterranean, and a considerable trade with the Levant, and were Russia to extend her dominion to Constantinople, our position would be seriously menaced. Moreover, and this perhaps is the principal point, it is absolutely necessary for us in the future to be dominant in the east of the Mediterranean. Egypt is rapidly becoming our highway to India, and many men think that in the future our trade with that great dependency will flow down the valley of the Euphrates. Consequently, it is necessary to prevent Russia, at any cost, obtaining a footing south of the Black Sea." "And do you think, father, that there will really be a war?" "I'm inclined to think that there will be, Jack, although this is not the popular opinion. We have so long, in England, been talking about the iniquity of war that I believe that the Emperor Nicholas has persuaded himself that we will not fight at any price. In this I am sure that he is wholly mistaken. So long as there was no probability of war, the people of England have quietly permitted the cheese-paring politicians who govern us to cut down the army and navy to a point when we can hardly be said to have an army at all. But I am convinced that the people of England are at heart as warlike as of old. Few nations have done more fighting than we, and, roughly speaking, the wars have always been popular. If the people at large once become convinced that the honor and interest of England are at stake, they will go to war, and the politicians in power will have to follow the popular current, or give way to men who will do so. At present, however, the general idea is that a demonstration upon the part of England and France, will be sufficient to prevent Russia from taking any further steps. I think myself that Russia has gone too far to draw back. Russia is a country where the czars are nominally all-powerful, but where, in point of fact, they are as much bound as other sovereigns to follow the wishes of the country. The conquest of Constantinople has long been the dream of every Russian, and now that the Czar has held out hopes that this dream is about to be realized, he will scarcely like to draw back." "But surely, father," Harry Archer said, "Russia cannot think herself a match for England and France united." "I don't know that, my boy. Russia has an enormous population, far larger than that of England and France united. Every man, from the highest to the lowest, is at the disposal of the Czar, and there is scarcely any limit to the force which he is capable of putting into the field. Russia has not fought since the days of Napoleon, and in those days the Russian troops showed themselves to be as good as any in Europe. At Borodino and Smolensko they were barely defeated after inflicting enormous losses on the emperor's army, and, as in the end, they annihilated the largest army even Napoleon had ever got together, they may well think that, fighting close to their own borders, while England and France have to take their troops across Europe, they will be more than a match for us. And now, Jack, we must go down to the town. There is much to do and to think about. The principal part of your outfit I shall, of course, get at Portsmouth, where the tailors are accustomed to work at high pressure. But your underclothes we can get here. Now, my dear, if you will go upstairs and look through Jack's things, and let me know exactly how he stands, I will go down with him to the town, and get anything he requires." "And will you be able to spare me for a quarter-of-an-hour, father? I should like to be outside the school when they come out at one o'clock, to say good-bye to them. Won't they be surprised, and jolly envious? Oh no, I should think not! They would give their ears, some of them, I know, to be in my place. I should like to say good-bye, too, to old Marshall. His face will be a picture when he finds that he is not going to drop on me for those verses, after all." It was a day of bustle and business, and Jack, until the very moment when he was embracing his weeping mother and sisters, while his father stood at the door, in front of which was the pony-chaise, which was waiting to take him down to the station, could hardly realize that it was all true, that his school-days were over, and that he was really a midshipman in her Majesty's service. Harry had already gone to the station on foot, as the back seat in the pony-chaise was occupied by Jack's luggage, and the last words that he said, as he shook hands with his brother, were,-- "I shouldn't be surprised, old boy, if we were to meet in the East before long. If anything comes of it, they will have to increase the strength of the army as well as of the navy, and it will be bad luck indeed if the 33d is left behind." On arriving at Portsmouth, Major Archer took up his quarters at the famous George Inn, and, leaving their luggage there, was soon on his way down to the Hard. Half a century had gone by since Portsmouth had exhibited such a scene of life and bustle. Large numbers of extra hands had been taken on at the dockyards, and the fitters and riggers labored night and day, hastening on the vessels just put into commission. The bakeries were at work turning out biscuits as fast as they could be made, and the stores were crammed to repletion with commissariat and other stores. In addition to the ships of war, several large merchant steamers, taken up as transports, lay alongside the wharves, and an unusual force of military were concentrated in the town, ready for departure. By the Hard were a number of boats from the various men-of-war lying in the harbor or off Spithead, whose officers were ashore upon various duties. Huge dockyard barges, piled with casks and stores, were being towed alongside the ships of war, and the bustle and life of the scene were delightful indeed to Jack, accustomed only to the quiet sleepiness of a cathedral town like Canterbury. Inquiring which was the "Falcon," a paddle steamer moored in the stream was pointed out to them by a boatman. "Oh dear," Jack said, "she looks small in comparison with those big men-of-war." "She is none the worse, Jack, for that," his father said. "If there should be fighting, it will scarcely be at sea. The Russian fleet will not venture to engage the fleets of England and France united, and you are likely to see much more active work in a vessel like the 'Falcon' than in one of those floating castles. Hullo, Charles, is that you?" he broke off, lying his hand upon the shoulder of a naval officer, who was pushing his way though the crowd of boatmen and sailors to a man-of-war gig, which, with many others, was lying by the Hard. "Hullo, uncle, is that you?" he replied. "I am glad to see you. I was expecting you here in a day or so. I thought you would run down with the youngster. Well, Jack, how are you? Why, it must be eight years since I saw you. You were quite a little chap then. Well, are you thinking of thrashing the Russians?" "The boy is half out of his mind with pleasure, Charles," Major Archer said, "and he and all of us are greatly obliged to you for your kindness in getting him his berth. I think you will find him active and intelligent, though I fear he has not shone greatly at school, especially," he said smiling, "in his Latin verses." "He will make none the worse sailor for that," Charles Hethcote said with a laugh. "But I must be going on board. I have a message from the admiral to the captain and every moment is precious, for things are terribly behindhand. The dockyard people are wellnigh out of their wits with the pressure put upon them, and we are ordered to be ready to sail in a week. How it's all to be done, goodness only knows. You need not come on board, Jack. I will tell the captain that you have arrived, and he would not thank me for bringing any live lumber on board just at present. You had better get him his outfit, uncle, at once, and then he can report himself in full trim to-morrow." Giving the major the address of the tailor who could be trusted to supply Jack's uniform without loss of time, and accepting an invitation to dine at the "George" that evening, if he could possibly get away from the ship, Lieutenant Hethcote stepped into the gig, and made his way to the "Falcon." Major Archer and Jack first paid a visit to the tailor, where all the articles necessary for the outfit were ordered and promised for next day. They then visited the dockyard, and Jack was immensely impressed at the magnitude of the preparations which were being made for the war. Then they strolled down the ramparts, and stood for some time watching the batches of recruits being drilled, and then, as the short winter day was drawing to a close, they returned to the "George." CHAPTER II. AN ADVENTURE AT GIB It was on the 1st of February, 1854, that the "Falcon" sailed from Portsmouth for the East, and ten days later she dropped her anchor at Gibraltar harbor. Jack Archer was by this time thoroughly at home. In the week's hard work during the preparation for sea at Portsmouth, he had learned as much of the names of the ropes, and the various parts of the ship, as he would have done in a couple of months at sea, and had become acquainted with his new ship-mates. So great had been the pressure of work, that he had escaped much of the practical joking to which a new-comer on board ship, as at school, is generally subject. He had for comrades four midshipmen; one of these, Simmons, had already nearly served his time, and was looking forward to the war as giving him a sure promotion; two others, Delafield and Hawtry, had already served for two or three years at sea, although only a year or so older than Jack, while the fourth, Herbert Coveney, was a year younger, and was, like Jack, a new hand. There were also in the berth two master's mates, young men of from twenty to two-and-twenty. With all of these Jack, with his high spirits, good-tempered face, merry laugh, soon became a favorite. During the first two days at sea he had suffered the usual agonies from sea-sickness. But before reaching Gibraltar he had got his sea-legs and was regularly doing duty, being on the watch of the second lieutenant, Mr. Pierson. The wind, which had blown strongly across the Bay of Biscay and down the coast of Portugal, moderated as the "Falcon" steamed past Cape St. Vincent with its picturesque monastery, and the straits were calm as a mill-pond as she slowly made her way along the Spanish coast and passed Tarifa. Up to the time when she dropped her anchor in the Bay of Gibraltar, the only incident which had happened on the way was that, as they steamed up the straits, they passed close by a homeward-bound P. and O. steamer, whose passengers crowded the sides, and cheered and waved their handkerchiefs to the eastward-bound ship. The "Falcon" was not a fast vessel, seldom making, under favorable circumstances, more than eight knots an hour. She carried sixteen guns, twelve of which were eighteen-pounders. It had been intended that the "Falcon" should only stay a few hours at Gibraltar, proceeding immediately she had taken in a fresh supply of coal. The engineers, however, reported several defects in her machinery, which would take three or four days to put in order. Jack was pleased at the delay, as he was anxious to set his foot for the first time ashore in a foreign country, and to visit the famous fortifications of the Rock. The first day he did not ask for leave, as he did not wish to presume upon his being the first lieutenant's relation. Charles Hethcote differed widely from the typical first lieutenant of fiction, a being as stiff as a ramrod, and as dangerous to approach as a polar bear. He was, indeed, a bright, cheery fellow, and although he was obliged to surround himself with a certain amount of official stiffness, he was a great favorite among officers and crew. It was not till the third day of his stay that Jack, his seniors having all been ashore, asked for leave, which was at once granted. Young Coveney, too, had landed on the previous day, and Hawtry, whom Jack was inclined to like most of his shipmates, now accompanied him. They had leave for the whole day, and, as soon as breakfast was over, they went ashore. "What a rum old place!" Hawtry said, as they wandered along the principal street. "It looks as Spanish as ever. Who would have thought that it had been an English town for goodness knows how long?" "I wish I had paid a little more attention to history," Jack said. "It makes one feel like a fool not to know such things as that when one comes to a famous place like this. Look at that tall fellow with the two little donkeys. Poor little brutes, they can scarcely stagger under their loads. There is a pretty girl with that black thing over her head, a mantilla don't they call it? There is a woman with oranges, let's get some. Now, I suppose, the first thing is to climb up to the top of the Rock." With their pockets full of oranges, the boys started on their climb, which was accomplished in capital time. From the flagstaff they enjoyed the magnificent view of the African coast across the straits, of Spain stretching away to their right, of the broad expanse of the blue Mediterranean, and of the bay with its ships, and the "Falcon" dwarfed to the dimensions of a toy vessel, at their feet. Then they came down, paid a flying visit to the various fortifications and to the galleries, whence the guns peer out threateningly across the low, sandy spit, known as the neutral ground. When all this was finished, it was only natural that they should go to the principal hotel and eat a prodigious luncheon, and then Hawtry proposed that they should sally out for a ramble into Spain. They had been disappointed in the oranges, which they found in no way better than those which they had bought in England. But they thought that if they could pick them off the trees, they must somehow have a superior flavor. Accordingly they sallied out by the land gate, passed unquestioned through the line of British sentries, and were soon in the little village inside the Spanish lines. "It's awfully hot," Hawtry said, mopping his forehead. "Who would have thought that it would have been so hot as this in any place in Europe in the middle of February? Just fancy what it must be here in July! Look, there is a fellow with two mules. I expect he would let them. I vote we go for a ride. It's too hot for walking altogether. "I say, old boy," he said, approaching a tall and powerfully-built man, who was smoking a cigar, and leaning lazily against one of his mules; "you let mules, we hire them, eh?" The Spaniard opened his eyes somewhat, but made no reply, and continued to smoke tranquilly. "Oh, nonsense," Hawtry said. "Look here." And he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out some silver. Then he made signs of mounting one of the mules, and waved his hand over the surrounding country to signify that he wanted a general ride. The Spaniard nodded, held up five fingers, and touched one of the mules, and did the same with the other. "He wants five shillings a head," Hawtry said. "I don't know," Jack said doubtfully. "I don't suppose he knows much about shillings. It may be five dollars or five anything else. We'd better show him five shillings, and come to an understanding that that is what he means before we get on." The Spaniard, on being shown the five shillings, shook his head, and pointing to a dollar which they had obtained in change on shore, signified that these were the coins he desired. "Oh, nonsense!" Hawtry said indignantly. "You don't suppose we're such fools as to give you a pound apiece for two or three hours' ride on those mules of yours. Come on, Jack. We won't put up with being swindled like that." So saying the two lads turned away, and started on their walk. While they were speaking to the Spaniard, he had been joined by one of his countrymen, and when they turned away, these entered into a rapid conversation together. The result was, that before the boys had gone thirty yards, the Spaniard with the mules called them back again, and intimated that he accepted their terms. They were about to jump up at once, but the man signed to them to stop, and his companion in a minute or two had brought out two rough rugs which were secured with some cords over the wooden saddles. "That's an improvement," Jack said. "I was just wondering how we were going to sit on those things, which are not saddles at all, but only things for boxes and barrels to be fastened to." "I wonder which way we'd better go," Hawtry said, as he climbed up with some difficulty, aided by the Spaniard, on to one of the mules. "My goodness, Jack, this is horribly uncomfortable. I never can stand this. Hi, there! help me down. It would be better a hundred times to ride barebacked." Accordingly the saddles were taken off, the rugs folded and secured on the animals' backs by a rope passed round them, and then the boys again took their seats. "I hope the brutes are quiet," Jack said, "for I am nothing of a rider at the best of times, and one feels an awful height at the top of these great mules, with one's legs dangling without stirrups." "If you find yourself going, Jack," Hawtry said, "the best thing is to catch hold of his ears. Come on, let's get out of this. All the village is staring at us." The mules, upon the reins being jerked, and boys' heels briskly applied to their ribs, moved on at a fast walk. "We shall have to stop under a tree and cut a stick presently," Hawtry said. "It will not do to get down, for I should never be able to climb up again. Mind, we must take our bearings carefully, else we shall never get back again. We have neither chart nor compass. Hallo! here comes the mules' master." They had by this time gone two or three hundred yards from the village, and, behind them, at a brisk trot, seated on a diminutive donkey, was the Spaniard. "Perhaps it's best he should come," Jack said. "There will be no fear of being lost then, and if one of us gets capsized, he can help him up again." Upon the Spaniard coming up to them, he gave a sharp shout to the mules, at the same time striking the donkey on which he rode with a stick. Instantly the mules, recognizing the signal, started into a sharp trot, the first effect of which was to tumble Hawtry from his seat into the road, Jack with difficulty saving himself by clutching wildly at the mane. "Confound it!" Hawtry exclaimed furiously, as he regained his feet, to the Spaniard. "Why didn't you say what you were going to be up to? Starting the ship ahead at full speed without notice! I believe I've broken some of my ribs. Don't you laugh too soon, Jack. It will be your turn next." The Spaniard helped Hawtry to regain his seat, and they were soon clattering along the dusty road at a brisk rate, the boys quickly getting accustomed to the pace, which, indeed, was smooth and easy. For hours they rode on, sometimes trotting, sometimes walking, taking no heed whither they were going, and enjoying the novelty of the ride, the high cactus hedges, the strange vegetation, little villages here and there, sometimes embowered in orange trees, and paying no heed to time. Presently Jack exclaimed,-- "I say, Hawtry, it must be getting late. We have been winding and turning about, and I have not an idea how far we are now from Gib. We must be through the gates by gun-fire, you know." They stopped, and by pantomime explained to the Spaniard that they wanted to get back again as soon as possible. He nodded, made a circle with his arm, and, as they understood, explained that they were making a circuit, and would arrive ere long at their starting-place. For another hour and a half they rode along, chatting gayly. "I say, Jack," Hawtry exclaimed suddenly, "why, there's the sun pretty nearly down, and here we are among the hills, in a lonelier looking place than we have come to yet. I don't believe we're anywhere near Gib. I say, old fellow, it strikes me we're getting into a beastly mess. What on earth's to be done?" They checked their mules, and looked at each other. "What can the Spaniard's game be, Hawtry? We've had a good five shillings' worth." "Let us take our own bearings," Hawtry said. "The sun now is nearly on our left. Well, of course, that is somewhere about west-sou-west, so we must be going northward. I don't think that can be right. I'm sure it can't. Look here, you fellow, there is the sun setting there"--and he pointed to it--"Gibraltar must lie somewhere over there, and that's the way we mean to go." The Spaniard looked surly, then he pointed to the road ahead, and indicated that it bent round the next spur of the hill, and made a detour in the direction in which Hawtry indicated that Gibraltar must lie. "What on earth shall we do, Jack? If this fellow means mischief, we are in an awkward fix. I don't suppose he intends to attack us, because we with our dirks would be a match for him with that long knife of his. But if he means anything, he has probably got some other fellows with him." "Then hadn't we better go in for him at once," Jack said, "before he gets any one to help him?" Hawtry laughed. "We can hardly jump off our mules and attack him without any specific reason. We might get the worst of it, and even if we didn't how should we get back again, and how should we account for having killed our mule-driver? No. Whatever we are in for, we must go through with it now, Jack. Let us look as though we trusted him." So saying, they continued on the road by which they had previously travelled. "I don't believe," Hawtry said, after a short silence, "that they can have any idea of cutting our throats. Midshipmen are not in the habit of carrying much money about with them, but I have heard of Guerillas carrying people off to the mountains and getting ransoms. There, we are at the place where that fellow said the road turned. It doesn't turn. Now, I vote we both get off our mules and decline to go a step farther." "All right," Jack said. "I shall know a good deal better what I am doing on my feet than I shall perched up here!" The two boys at once slid off their mules to the ground. "There is no turning there," Hawtry said, turning to the hill. "You have deceived us, and we won't go a foot farther," and turning, the lads started to walk back along the road they had come. The Spaniard leapt from his donkey, and with angry gesticulation endeavored to arrest them. Finding that they heeded not his orders, he put his hand on his knife, but in a moment the boys' dirks flashed in the air. "Now, my lad," Hawtry said. "Two can play at that game, and if you draw that knife, we'll let daylight into you." The Spaniard hesitated, then drew back and gave a loud, shrill whistle which was, the boys fancied, answered in the distance. "Come on, Jack. We must run for it. We can leave this lumbering Spaniard behind, I have no doubt," and sheathing their dirks, the boys set off at full speed. The Spaniard appeared inclined to follow them, but distrusting his powers, he paused, gave a long, shrill whistle, twice repeated, and then mounted his donkey and driving the mules before him, he followed the boys at a hand gallop. They had, however, a good start, and maintained their advantage. "I don't think," Jack said, "we have passed a village for the last hour. When we get to one, we'd better rush into a house, and ask for shelter. These fellows will hardly dare to touch us there." Had the race been simply between the boys and their immediate pursuer, it is probable that they would have won it, for they were light, active, and in good condition, while the animals behind them had already been travelling for five hours, at a rate considerably above the speed to which they were accustomed. The road, however, was an exceedingly winding one, which gave time to the confederates of the mule-driver to make a short cut, and, as the boys turned a sharp corner, they saw three men barring the road in front. "It's all up, Jack," Hawtry said, pausing in his run. "It's no use making any resistance. We should only get our throats cut straight off." Jack agreed, and they walked up to the men in front just as the muleteer came galloping up with his troupe. "What do you want with us?" Hawtry said, advancing to the men. There was a volley of maledictions at the run they had given them. The boys were seized by the collar, their dirks, watches, and money roughly taken from them, their arms tied to their sides by the ropes taken from the mules, and they were motioned to accompany their captors. These at once left the road and struck up the hill, the muleteer proceeding along the road with the animals. With their arms tied, the boys found it hard work to keep up with their captors, who strode along with long steps. The sun had by this time sunk, and presently they heard the distant boom of the sunset gun from Gibraltar. "That gun must be fifteen miles away," Hawtry said. "What fools we have been, Jack, to be sure!" In one of the three men who accompanied them they recognized the peasant who had spoken to the muleteer when he refused to accept their first offer, and they had no doubt that he had arranged with the man to lead them to a certain spot, to which he had proceeded direct, while their guide had conducted them by a circuitous route. They walked for four hours without a pause, ever ascending among the hills, until they at last reached a sort of plateau, upon which some six or eight men were gathered round a fire. Upon three sides the hill rose abruptly, on the fourth the ground sloped away, and in front, seemingly almost at their feet, some 2000 feet below them stretched away the waters of the Mediterranean, sparkling in the moonlight. "They have got something to eat that smells nice," Jack said, as they approached the fire. "I hope to goodness they are going to give us some. I feel awfully peckish." The men gathered round the fire rose at the approach of the new-comers, and an animated conversation took place. Then the boys were motioned to sit down, and the rest threw themselves round the fire. Some meat which was roasting on a rough spit over it was taken off, and one of the men undid the cords which tied their arms, and a share of the meat was given them. "This is stunning," Jack said. "What on earth is it? It does not taste to me like mutton, or beef, or pork, or veal." "I fancy it's kid," Hawtry said. "Well, it is evident they have no idea of cutting our throats. If they had been going to do that, they would have done it a quarter of a mile after we left the road. I suppose they are going to try to get a ransom for us. Where it's coming from as far as I'm concerned, I don't know, for my father is a clergyman, and has as much as he can do to make ends meet, for there are eight of us and I'm the eldest." "It's an awful fix altogether," Jack said. "And anyhow, we shall lose our ship and get into a frightful row, and, if somebody won't pay our ransom, I suppose they will knock us on the head finally. The best thing, you know, will be for us to make our escape." "But how on earth are we to do that?" Hawtry said. "There are ten of them, and I see a lot of guns piled there." "Oh, I daresay we shall see some chance," Jack said cheerfully. "We must think it over. Jack Easy, Peter Simple, and all those fellows used to get into worse scrapes than this, and they always managed to get out of them somehow; so why shouldn't we? The best thing is, just to think what one of them would have done if he had been in our place. I wish to goodness that we had Mesty prowling about somewhere; he would get us out in no time." Hawtry answered with a grunt, and devoted himself to his kid. Presently Jack spoke again. "Look here, Hawtry, I vote that to begin with we both pretend to be in an awful funk. If they think that we are only two frightened boys, they won't keep as sharp a watch over us as if they thought we were determined fellows, likely to attempt our escape. There is the sea down there in front of us, and there are sure to be villages on the coast. Therefore we shall know which way to go if we once manage to escape, and, if we can get down there, we can either claim the protection of the head man in the village, or we can take a boat and make off to sea." When the meal was over, one of the men, who appeared to be the leader, rose and come to the boys. Pointing to himself, he said, "Pedro," to another "Sancho," to a third "Garcia." "He wants to know our names," Jack said, and pointing to his companion, he said, "Hawtry," and to himself "Archer." The Spaniard nodded and resumed his seat, when an animated conversation took place. Jack, in the meantime, began to enact the part which he had arranged, turning over upon his face, and at times making a loud, sobbing noise. Hawtry, after hesitating for some time, seconded his efforts by burying his face in his hands, and appearing also to give way to violent grief. CHAPTER III. THE ESCAPE Shortly after the meal was over, the brigands rose. The boys were again bound, and were laid down on the ground near the fire. One of the brigands then took his seat beside them, and the others, rolling themselves in their cloaks, were soon asleep at the fire. The boys, tired as they were by the long and fatiguing day through which they had passed, were some time getting off to sleep. Indeed, with their arms bound by their side, the only way of doing so was by lying flat upon their backs. With the early dawn they were awake. "I expect they are getting up steam on board the 'Falcon,'" Hawtry said, "and no doubt there is a nice row over our being missing. I'd give a good sum, if I had it to give, to be back on her decks again." The band was soon astir, but for some hours nothing was done. They were evidently waiting for the arrival of some one, as one or other of the bandits went frequently to the edge of the plateau and looked down. At last one of them announced to his comrades that the person expected was in sight, and shortly afterwards the muleteer of the previous day appeared. Over his shoulder hung a heavy skin of wine. In his hand he carried a large basket, in which were several loaves of coarse bread. His arrival was hailed with a shout. A fresh supply of meat had been placed on the fire immediately his coming was reported, and in a short time the meal was prepared, the meat being washed down by horns of the rough wine of the country. The lads had been again unbound when the band awoke, and were, as before, invited to share the meal. They continued to maintain their forlorn and downcast attitude. The rascally guide of the day before gave the company an account of the proceedings, and roars of laughter were excited by his tragic imitation of the defiant way in which the boys had drawn their dirks, a proceeding which was rendered the more ludicrous from its contrast with their present forlorn attitude. "But mind," he continued, "they can run like hares. Going up a hill, no doubt, any of you would soon overtake them, but along a straight road, I would back them against the best of us." "There is no fear of their trying that," the chief said, pointing to the rifles. "They would soon be stopped if they tried it on. However, they are not likely to make any such mad attempt. They are, after all, only young boys, and their spirit has speedily evaporated." However, as a measure of precaution, he ordered that the man who was acting as sentry over the boys should always keep his rifle in hand. The meal over, the muleteer produced from his pocket some writing-paper and a pencil. The chief then wrote on a piece of paper the figures 5000, followed by the word "dollars." Then he said to the boys, "Capitan," giving them a pencil and a sheet of note-paper. He pointed to the figures he had written down, then to the sun, marked with his hand its course twice through the sky, and then drew it significantly across his throat. "Well," Hawtry said, "that's clear enough. We are to write to the captain to say that unless 5000 dollars are paid in two days we are to have our throats cut. Well, I may as well write,-- "Dear Captain Stuart,--We are in an awful mess. We took some mules in the Spanish lines for a ride yesterday, and the fellow who owned them steered us into the middle of a lot of brigands. They were too strong for us to show fight, and here we are. As far as we can make out, they say that, unless 5000 dollars are paid in two days, we are to have our throats cut. We don't expect that you will get this note, as by this time the 'Falcon' was to have sailed. In that case we suppose it will be all up with us. We intend to try to slip our anchors, and make a bolt for it. We are awfully sorry that we have got into this scrape." To this epistle the boys both signed their names, and as the muleteer had not provided himself with envelopes, the letter was roughly folded and directed,-- "Captain Stuart, H.M.S. 'Falcon.'" Another letter, embodying the same in the form of a demand, was then written, after much consultation, by the brigands, with postscript stating that if the bearer were in any way molested, the prisoners would at once be put to death. The youngest of the party, a peasant of some twenty years old, was then selected, and to him the letters were given, with full instructions as to his conduct. During the next two days, the boys maintained their appearance of extreme despondency. They lay on the ground with their faces buried in their arms, and at times strolled listlessly about. They could see that this conduct had lulled to rest any suspicion of their captors that they might attempt an escape. The sentry no longer kept in their immediate vicinity, and although he retained his gun in his hand, did so as a mere form. The others went about their business, several of them absenting themselves for hours together; and at one time but three men, including the guard, remained at the encampment. The boys kept every faculty on the alert, and were ready to seize the first opportunity, however slight, which might offer itself. They agreed, that however much their guard might be reduced, it would be unsafe to make the attempt in the daytime, as they were wholly ignorant of the way down to the sea, and the shouts of their pursuers would be sure to attract the attention of any of the party who might have gone in that direction. As to the two days assigned for payment, they did not anticipate that the crisis would arrive at the end of that time, as they felt sure that the "Falcon" would have sailed before the messenger could have arrived, in which case fresh negotiations would probably be set on foot. So it proved. On the evening of the day after his departure, the messenger returned, and the news that he brought was greeted with an outburst of ejaculations of anger and disappointment on the part of the brigands. They crowded round the boys, shook their fists at them, cuffed and kicked them. When they had somewhat recovered their equanimity, they made signs that the ship had departed. By using the word "Governor," they made the boys understand that a fresh letter must be written to that officer. This was done at once, and another of the party started immediately with it. Late on into the night the boys talked in low voices as to their best plan of attempting an escape. Although free in the daytime, they were tightly bound at night, and the guards, who were changed every two hours, never for a moment relaxed their vigilance. Finally, they concluded that their only chance was to endeavor to slip away on the following evening, just as it became dusk, when all the party generally reassembled, and were busy cooking their food, or relating what had happened during the day. Immediately in front of the encampment the slope was extremely steep. The brigands, in going or coming, always turned to the right or left, and kept along the brow for some distance to points where, as the boys supposed, the slope became more gradual, and paths existed by which they could make their way down to the shore. At one time the boys thought of rolling down the steep slope, and taking their chance, but this they agreed would be a last resource, as it was probable that the slope ended in an absolute precipice. "I have an idea," Jack said suddenly in the middle of the day. "What is it, Jack?" "You see that heap of rugs in which they wrap themselves when they go to sleep? Now I vote that when it gets dusk, we stand for some time at the edge, looking down into the sea; then, when we see our guard chatting with one of the men who have just arrived, and the others busy round the fire, we will quietly move back towards it. If our guard notices us at all, he won't pay any special attention, as we are going that way. We will steal up to the rear of the blankets, within a few feet of where they are standing, and will crawl quietly under them. When we are missed, they are sure to suppose that we have either made down the slope, or along the brow, and will at once set off in pursuit. The betting is they'll all go, but if only one or two are left, we may take them by surprise. At any rate it seems our best chance." Hawtry agreed, and it was decided that they should attempt to put the plan into execution that evening. Late in the afternoon, the brigands, as usual, came dropping in, in twos and threes. One brought in a kid, and two others exhibited to their admiring friends a purse containing some ten or twelve dollars in silver. They related, amid the uproarious laughter of their comrades, the manner in which they had threatened the worthy farmer, its late possessor, into surrendering the proceeds of his day's marketing without resistance. It was already dusk. Jack and Hawtry had a minute before been standing near the edge of the slope. The guard was chatting with the last comer, and keeping one ear open to the narrative told by the fire. Suddenly he glanced round, and perceived that the figures he had, as he believed, scarcely taken his eye off were missing. "Madre de Dios!" he exclaimed. "Where are the prisoners?" At his exclamation, all round the fire started into activity. A hasty glance round the encampment showed that their captives were not within its circle. With an exclamation of fury, the captain seized his gun, and with the butt-end struck the sentry to the ground. Then in furious tones he ordered every man off in instant pursuit. Snatching up their arms, some hurried off one way, some another, shouting threats of vengeance as they went. As their voices receded, there was a slight movement among the rugs, and the boys' heads peered out from below their hiding-place. The encampment was deserted, save that on the ground lay the form of the prostrate sentinel, while the captain stood, gun in hand, on the edge of the slope, peering down into the gathering darkness. The boys rose stealthily to their feet, and keeping along by the side of the hill, so as to be out of the direct line of sight should the brigand turn towards the fire, they noiselessly approached him. He did not look round until they were within five paces, and it was then too late. He turned and threw up his gun, but before he could level it, they both threw themselves upon him. Taken wholly by surprise, he staggered backwards. He was but a pace from the edge of the steep declivity, and in another moment he fell backward, his gun exploding in the air as he went. The boys heard his body as it rolled and crashed through the slight brushwood on the slope. Fainter and fainter became the sound, and then it suddenly ceased. As long as it continued the boys stood motionless, and were turning to go, when there was the crack of a rifle, and a ball whizzed between them. Leaping round, they saw the guard, whom they had supposed to be insensible, had risen to his feet. Throwing down the rifle which he had just discharged, and drawing his long knife, he rushed at them. "Dodge him, Hawtry, dodge him. Get hold of the rifle. I will get a stick from the fire." The boys separated, one going each way. The Spaniard, still bewildered by the stunning blow he had received, hesitated a moment, and then rushed at Jack, who darted round the fire. Hawtry seized the rifle, and with the butt-end attacked the Spaniard, who turned to defend himself. Jack snatched up a heavy brand from the fire, and coming behind the Spaniard, who was waiting, knife in hand, for an opportunity to rush in between the sweeping blows which Hawtry was dealing at him with the butt-end of the rifle, smote him with all his force across the side of the head. With a scream of agony the Spaniard fell prostrate and Jack, snatching up his knife, while Hawtry still retained the rifle, they darted off at full speed along the brow. Presently they heard footsteps of men hastily returning, and drawing aside, threw themselves down among some low bushes. The men were talking eagerly. They had heard the two reports of the guns, and had no doubt that the captain had discovered the fugitives. When the Spaniards had passed, the boys rose to their feet, and continued their flight at the top of their speed. The men had come from below, and the boys soon discovered traces of a path descending the slope. This they at once took, proceeding with caution now, for the descent was an extremely steep one, and the path little more than a goat track. Fortunately the moon was shining brightly, and by its light they were enabled to follow its windings. After half an hour's descent, they found themselves in a rough road, along the face of the hill. This they doubted not was the road from one of the coast villages into the interior. They now went more cautiously, for the road was extremely rough, with large stones lying here and there upon it, and a heavy fall or a sprained ankle would be disastrous. They had no fear of pursuit. Once or twice they fancied that they heard shouts far above them, but they considered it likely that the band would be too far paralyzed by the loss of their captain to again take up the pursuit. Three hours later, they stood by the sea shore, near a tiny fishing village, composed of three or four houses only. They held a consultation as to whether it would be better to rouse the villagers and explain the circumstances, but they had become suspicious of Spaniards, and thought it likely that there would be a close relationship between the people here and the band in their neighborhood. No lights were visible in the village, and it was probable that the inhabitants were already in bed. They sat down for another hour to avoid the chance of their being surprised by any straggler. Then, proceeding to the shore, they launched a small boat. Hawtry stepped the mast and hoisted the sail, and they were soon making their way off the land. The wind was light, and their progress slow. For a time they kept straight out to sea, and then turned the boat's head towards Gibraltar. The wind presently died quite away, and, lowering the sails, they got out the oars, and set to work. Beyond trying once or twice upon the Stour, Jack had had no experience in rowing, and his clumsiness excited considerable indignation on the part of Hawtry. The boat was heavy, and their progress, in consequence, very slow. They calculated that they must have twenty-five miles to row, as the point at which they were captured was, Hawtry had judged by the sound of the gun, fully fifteen miles distant from it, and they had walked another ten before arriving at the brigands' encampment. All night they rowed, until the moon sank, this being, as they were aware, about three o'clock. They then lay down in the boat for a nap, and when they awoke it was daylight. They found that the wind had got up, and was blowing steadily off shore, and that they were now distant some five miles from land, the Rock of Gibraltar rising steeply from the sea some ten miles from them in a straight line. Hawtry at once set the sail again, and the boat was soon slipping fast through the water. "What a nuisance!" Hawtry said. "The wind is hauling farther round, and we shall not make into the Rock this tack. This tub of a boat makes no end of leeway. We shall have to make right across towards the African shore, and then tack back again." They were, as Hawtry anticipated, fully three miles to leeward of Europa Point, as they passed the Rock. The wind was now blowing strongly from the west. "Upon my word," Hawtry said, "I question whether we shall ever be able to make the Rock in this beast of a boat. She won't sail anywhere near the wind, and makes awful leeway. Hurrah! there's a big steamer coming out. We will hail her." Hawtry now steered the boat till he had placed her as near as possible in the line which the steamer was pursuing, and then lowered the sail, and waited for her to come up. When she came within a quarter of a mile the sail was again hoisted, and Hawtry so steered the boat that for a moment Jack thought he would put her under the bows of the steamer. This, however, had the effect which Hawtry had intended, of drawing attention to them. The steamer passed within thirty feet of them. Hawtry lowered the sail, and standing up, shouted,-- "Throw us a rope!" A number of persons had been attracted to the side, and one of the officers, seeing two young midshipmen in the boat, at once threw a rope to them, while the officer on duty ordered the engines to be stopped. In another two minutes the boat was hauled alongside. The two lads scrambled up the rope, the boat was cast adrift, and the steamer was again ploughing her way eastward. The boys found that they were on board the transport "Ripon," having the Coldstream Guards on board, the first detachment of the army on its way east. Considerable excitement was caused by the sudden and unexpected boarding of the ship by the two young officers, and great curiosity was expressed as to how they had got into such a position. As Hawtry said, however, that they had been twenty-four hours without food, they were at once taken to the saloon, where breakfast was on the point of being served. No questions were put to them until they had satisfied their hunger; then they told the story of their adventures, which caused quite an excitement among the officers. The "Ripon" had sailed from Southampton docks on the 23d of February, in company with the "Manilla" and "Orinoco." The next four days passed pleasantly, the boys being made a good deal of by the officers of the Coldstream Guards, but they were not sorry when, on Saturday evening, the lights of Malta were seen, and soon after midnight they dropped anchor in Valetta Harbor. The next morning they were delighted at seeing the "Falcon" lying a few cables' length distant, and, bidding good-bye to their new friends, they hailed a shore boat, and were soon alongside the "Falcon." The first lieutenant was on deck. "Young gentlemen," he said sternly, "you have committed a very serious offence, and are liable to be tried by court-martial for having deserted your ship. I expected better things of you both. Go below immediately, and consider yourselves under arrest. I shall report your coming on board to the captain." The boys saluted without a word, and went below to the midshipmen's berth where the tale of their adventures was soon related to their comrades, who were at first inclined to believe that the whole story was an invention got up to screen themselves for breaking leave. However, they soon saw that the boys were in earnest, and the truth of the story as to their being picked up at sea by the "Ripon" could, of course, at once be tested. Presently they were summoned to the captain's cabin, and there Hawtry again recited the story. The captain told them that they had erred greatly in going away in such a reckless manner, without taking proper precautions to secure their return before gun-fire. But he said they had already been punished so severely for their thoughtlessness that he should overlook the offence, and that he complimented them on the courage and coolness they had displayed in extricating themselves from the dangerous position into which they had fallen. He then invited them to breakfast, at which meal the first lieutenant was also present, and here they gave much fuller details of their escape than Hawtry had done in his first narration of it. At ten o'clock, when the boys were below, they heard a loud cheering, and found that the "Orinoco," with the Grenadiers, had just come into harbor, and were being cheered by their comrades on board the "Ripon" and by the blue jackets of the men-of-war. All through the day the harbor was alive with boats. Before nightfall the Coldstreams were all ashore, and by Monday evening the last of the Grenadiers had also disembarked. CHAPTER IV. GALLIPOLI Every day brought fresh troops to Malta, until the brigade of Guards and eleven regiments of infantry of the line were gathered there. The streets of Valetta were like a fair, crowded with soldiery chattering with the vendors of oranges, dates, olives, and apples. Cigars, too, are nowhere cheaper than in Malta, and as, unfortunately, spirits were equally low in price, the British soldier, small as was his daily rate of pay, found but little difficulty in intoxicating himself. In a few days the French began to put in an appearance, and the crowd in the streets was even more lively and picturesque than before. All this time the great topic of discussion was whether matters would or would not come to the arbitration of war. During their stay Jack Archer and his comrades enjoyed themselves heartily, but it was by no means all play. The sailors had an immense deal to do in moving stores, preparing fittings, and getting matters ready for the forward despatch of the troops, should war be finally decided upon. A month after the arrival at Malta, the doubt was put an end to, for upon the 28th of March war was formally declared, and on the 29th the French sailed for Gallipoli, followed, the next day, by Sir George Brown with the advance party of the light division. The same day the "Falcon" steamed out of harbor, and, although the stay at Malta had been enjoyed, all hands were delighted at the advance towards the scene of future action. Gallipoli stands near the upper end of the Dardanelles, and is an important military position. "It looks a nice little town," Delafield said, on returning after his first visit in the captain's gig, to his comrades. "But I can't say much for it when you see it at close quarters. One got tired of Malta, but Malta was a paradise to this place. The confusion seems to be tremendous. But those jolly old Turks are sitting at their doors, smoking like so many old owls, and do not seem to interest themselves in the slightest." "And did you see any lovely houris?" Simmonds asked, laughing. "That I did not," Delafield said. "I saw some bundles looking like rolls of dirty white sheets ready for the wash, with a pair of big, yellow shoes underneath them, and I believe that they were women. I did not see any of their faces. I didn't want to, for I'm sure no decently pretty woman would allow herself to be made such an object as that." The same work of unloading and transporting goods to the shore, which had gone on at Malta, was continued here. Every day fresh troops arrived, English and French, and the whole of the undulating plain round Gallipoli was dotted with their camps. By the end of the month 22,000 French and some 10,000 English were gathered there. After the day's work was done, the midshipmen often got leave ashore, and enjoyed the scene of bustle and confusion which reigned there. Enormous numbers of pack animals and bullock-carts were at work, and even at this early period of the campaign the immense superiority of the French arrangements over the English was manifest. This was but natural, as the French, like other European nations, had been in the habit in time of peace of regarding the army as a machine which might be required for war, and had therefore kept the commissariat, transport, and other arrangements in a state of efficiency. In England, upon the other hand, the army had been entirely neglected, and had been made the subject of miserable, petty economy in all its branches, and the consequence was that war found us wholly unprepared, except that we possessed an army of seasoned soldiers such as, in the nature of things under the new regulations, England will never see again. On going ashore the midshipmen would sometimes ramble away to the camp, sometimes stroll through the town, and amuse themselves by chaffing the grave Turkish shopkeepers, by watching the English and French soldiers staggering along with drunken gravity, sometimes with their arms round each other's necks, or by kissing their hands airily to the veiled figures, of whom they got dim glimpses through the closely-latticed windows. The upper part of the town was inhabited principally by Greeks, whose sympathies were, for the most part, with the Russians, and who were as quarrelsome and turbulent as the Turks were placid and good-natured. One evening Hawtry and Jack had obtained leave to be out later than usual, as they had been asked to dine with some of the officers of the Coldstreams whom they had met on board the "Ripon." The meal was a rough one, for the country had been completely eaten up by this immense accession of strangers. Still, the caterer had succeeded in procuring some tough fowls in addition to the ration beef, and as these were washed down by champagne, there was no reason to grumble. The boys spent a merry evening, and started at half-past ten for the town. This was already quiet, and for the most part asleep, when they reached it. A few officers, who had been dining with the various generals who had their headquarters there, or with friends on board ship, were the sole people in the streets, although from some of the closed windows of the drinking-shops in the Greek quarter came sounds of singing and noise, for every one was earning high wages, and the place was full of Maltese, Alexandrians, Smyrniotes, and, indeed, the riff-raff of all the Mediterranean cities, who had flocked to the scene of action to make money as petty traders, hucksters, camp-followers, mule-drivers, or commissariat-laborers. As they were passing through a dark and silent street they suddenly heard a sound of shouting and the clash of weapons, the fall of heavy bodies, and the tramping of feet. Then a window was dashed open, a voice shouted, "Help!" and then the strife continued as before. "Come on, Archer," Hawtry exclaimed. "There are some of our fellows in a row with these Greeks." The door was fastened, but the boys burst in a window next to it, leapt into the room, groped their way to the door, and then finding the stairs, hurried up. On the landing a dim oil light was burning, but it needed no light to indicate the room in which the struggle was still proceeding. The door stood ajar, and the boys, with drawn dirks, dashed into the room. It was a large one. In the centre was a table on which were strewn several packs of cards; some chairs lay on the ground; the oil from an overturned lamp was forming a great black stain on the green table-cloth. In the corner by the window, three officers with drawn swords, were defending themselves against the attacks of some twenty Greeks, armed with knives. In the confusion, none had noticed the entry of the boys. "Pick up a chair, Jack," Hawtry said, recoiling from the idea of rushing with his dirk upon unprepared men. The two lads each seized one of the strong, but light, chairs scattered on the floor, and, with a sudden hurrah, flung themselves upon the Greeks. Two or three of these were knocked down and the rest, taken by surprise by the sudden attack, recoiled, and the boys were speedily by the side of the assailed officers. The Greeks drew back, but seeing how slight was the reinforcement, again advanced to the attack. Three of their number lay upon the ground, and several of the others were bleeding freely. Upon the other hand, one of the officers leant against the wall, badly wounded, while both of the others had received nasty cuts. They would, before this, have been overpowered, had they not hastily pulled a small table and a chair or two, so as to form a sort of barricade, across the angle, and so prevented the Greeks from closing upon them. One of the officers was an Englishman, the others were French. All were quite young men. There was scarcely time for the exchange of a word before the Greeks were upon them again. The boys had again drawn their dirks, but these formed but a poor weapon against the chairs with which several of the Greeks, seeing the inferiority of their knives, had now armed themselves. Hawtry received a crashing blow on the head which sent him staggering back against the wall, and Jack one on his arm which rendered it useless. "This will never do," the English officer shouted. "Let us make a rush at the scoundrels, and fight our way to the door. It's our only chance." "Wait a moment," Jack said, a thought striking him. Stooping down behind the others, he pulled out a matchbox from his pocket, struck a light, and applied it to the muslin curtains which hung before the window. In a moment a broad sheet of flame leaped up. The Greeks uttered a shout of terror and surprise. "Now!" Jack shouted. "All together." In a moment the five dashed down the table, and flung themselves upon the Greeks. These, taken by surprise, and paralyzed by the great sheet of flame which was already licking the wooden ceiling, recoiled. Some were cut down as they stood. Others were hurled aside. Two or three fell before the dirks of the midshipmen, and in a few seconds the little party had burst through the crowd of their assailants, and had gained the door of the room. Here the Englishman and one of the French officers turned and made a stand, in order to give the midshipmen time to assist their badly-wounded comrade down the narrow stairs, and to open the door of the house. As they flung this open, Jack shouted up that the way was free, and then, half carrying the wounded Frenchman, they hurried down the street, uttering shouts for assistance. The lattice work of the window had already caught fire, and a sheet of flame lit up the street. Before they had gone fifty yards, they heard a noise behind them, as the two officers, followed by the Greeks, issued from the house. Fortunately, at this moment a party of English officers, who had been dining at the general's, ran up at full speed, attracted by the shouts of the boys and the glare of fire. Upon seeing this accession of strength, the Greeks at once desisted from the attack, and made off. By this time the windows of the various houses were opening, and shouts of affright arose at the sight of the conflagration; for the houses were, for the most part, constructed of wood, and, once begun, there was no saying where a fire would end. "What is all this about, gentlemen?" one of the officers, a colonel, asked. "Give me your names, for there must be an inquiry into the matter. I see you are all wounded, and 'tis best to get back to camp at once. I fear this will be a serious matter." In five minutes the street was full of people, and the flames had obtained entire possession of the house, and were rushing high into the air. The wind was blowing briskly, and it was evident that the safety of the whole quarter of the town was menaced. The French officer succeeded in getting four Maltese to carry his comrade to the camp. A door was taken off its hinges, and they were soon upon their way. Jack and Hawtry, who had only received one or two slight slashes of knives, remained to see what came of it. The Turkish guards were speedily on the spot, but these could do nothing beyond trying to prevent the rabble from commencing a general pillage. From every house the people were throwing out their goods of all descriptions. Every minute the fire spread, and six or seven houses were already in flames when, but a quarter of an hour after the outbreak of the fire, a heavy tramp was heard, and a battalion of French infantry from their nearest camp came up at a double. There was no water, no means whatever of extinguishing the flames, but the active little Frenchmen did not lose a minute. At the word of command, they broke their ranks, and swarmed into the houses, and in a minute a perfect avalanche of goods was thrown from the windows. Some stood along outside the houses, others climbed upon their shoulders, on these again others took their places, and so on until living ladders were formed, up which a score of men climbed the roofs. These set to work with axe and hatchet, tearing off the tiles and hacking down rafters, while their comrades in the houses hewed away at floors and staircases. In less than a quarter of an hour four houses on either side of those in flames were completely gutted, and the fire, thus cut off, speedily burnt itself out, fifteen houses having been consumed. By this time large numbers of troops, together with sailors from the fleet, had arrived, but the work was fortunately done, and had it not been for the early appearance of the French battalion, and the energetic measures which they adopted, a great portion of the Greek quarter would have been destroyed. Among those who had landed was a strong party of seamen from the "Falcon," under Mr. Hethcote. The boys joined these, and returned with them on board ship. They reported to the lieutenant the share which they had had in the affair. "It is an unpleasant business," he said, "but I do not blame you for going to the assistance of those attacked when you heard an Englishman call for help. Still, Mr. Archer, it is clear that you have pretty nearly burnt down the town of Gallipoli, and I don't know the light in which the admiral and Sir George Brown may view the affair. As you say that no one took any notice of you at the time that the names of the military officers were taken, it is possible that no inquiry will be made about you. I shall, of course, report the matter to Captain Stuart, and he must act as he thinks fit. But, in the meantime, I should advise you to say nothing of the share which you have had in the matter to any one. You must have those gashes you have got plastered up. But I will speak to the surgeon. Do you know the name of the English officer concerned?" "Yes, sir, he was Lieutenant Tewson of the Grenadier Guards. We only exchanged a few words before he went away, but he begged us to go and see him." "I should advise you to keep away from him altogether, until the matter has blown over," Mr. Hethcote said. "Did you give him your names?" "No, sir, we had no time." "All the better," Mr. Hethcote said. "It will, of course, come out in the course of the inquiry that two midshipmen were concerned, and it is just as well that he cannot give your names. I expect the ship to be ordered up to Constantinople in a day or two, and I hope we may be off before any inquiries are made. One can never say how these big-wigs may take things. Sir George Brown is a tremendous martinet, and he may consider that it would have been far better that five officers, who chose to go to a gambling-house, should be killed, than that Gallipoli, full as it is of valuable stores, and munitions of war, should run the risk of being destroyed by fire. There, now, go off to the surgeon, and get your faces strapped up, and then ask him to come to me at once. If you two young gentlemen go on as you have begun, you are not likely to live to obtain eminence in your profession. It is but two months since we left England, and we have not yet seen an enemy, yet you have had two as narrow escapes for your lives as one could wish to have." Very severe was the cross-questioning which the lads had to undergo in the midshipmen's berth as to the manner in which they came by their cut faces, and they were obliged to take refuge under the strict order of the first lieutenant that they were to say nothing about it. Fortunately the next day the "Falcon" received orders to proceed to the Bosphorus, and got up her anchor and steamed up the Dardanelles before dark. Presently Mr. Hethcote came up to Jack, who was on duty on the quarter-deck. "I tell you what, Jack," he said quietly, "it is very lucky for you that we are away. The French officer died during the night. I hear that his lungs were pierced. Sir George Brown is said to be furious, and threatens to try Tewson by court-martial, for entering a gambling-house in spite of strict orders to the contrary. Of course it is well known that scores of other officers have done the same, but it is only when a thing is found out that there is a row about it. Tewson had been dining on board a French ship, and was going home with the two French officers, who were also there. None of them had been in a gambling-house before, but it seems they had heard of this place, which was one of the most notorious dens in the town, and agreed to look in for a few minutes to see what it was like. They began to play and had an extraordinary run of luck, winning something like four hundred pounds. The bank was broken, and the Greeks wanted them to stop till some more money was procured. This they would not do, and the Greeks then attacked them. Tewson has strong interest, and the affair will probably, in his case, blow over. The Greeks have made a complaint against them for wilfully setting fire to the house, and this is the most serious part of the affair. I am told that both Tewson and the French officer deny having done so. They say that it was done in order to effect a diversion, by two officers who came in to their assistance in the middle of the fight, and both declare that they do not know who they were or anything about them, as they only saw them for a minute in the middle of the confusion. Some one has said that two young naval officers were seen just at the beginning of the fire, and no doubt inquiries will be set on foot. But now that we are fairly off, they will find out nothing at Gallipoli, and it's likely that it will all blow over. The authorities have plenty to think about at present without troubling themselves very much in following up a clue of this kind." In all the world there is no more lovely scene than that which greeted Jack Archer's eyes as he went on deck the following morning. The "Falcon" was anchored about mid-channel. On the left was Constantinople with its embattled wall, its palaces, its green foliage down to the water's edge, its domes and minarets rising thickly. Separated from it by the Golden Horn, crossed by a bridge of boats, are Pera and Galatta, street rising above street. Straight over the bows of the ship was the Bosphorus, with its wooded banks dotted with villas and palaces. To the right was Scutari, with the great barrack standing on the edge of a cliff some fifty feet in height. Little did those who looked at the great square pile of building dream that ere many months it would be crowded from top to bottom with British sick and wounded, and that even its ample corridors would prove wholly insufficient to contain them. The water itself was thronged with shipping of all nations: men-of-war, merchant steamers crowded with stores, troop-ships thronged with red-coats; great barges, laden to the water's edge, slowly made their way between the ships and the shore. The boats of the shipping, filled with soldiers, rowed in the same direction. Men-of-war boats, with their regular, steady swing, went hither and thither, while among all crossed and re-crossed from Constantinople to Scutari, the light caicques with their one or two white-shirted rowers. No boats in the world are more elegant in appearance, none except those built specially for racing can vie with them in speed. The passenger sits comfortably on a cushion in the bottom of the boat, and smokes the long pipe which the boatman, as a matter of course, fills and hands to him as he takes his seat, while the boatmen themselves, generally Albanians, and singularly handsome and athletic men, lay themselves down to their work with a vigor and a heartiness which would astound the boatmen of an English watering-place. A scene so varied, so beautiful, and so busy could not be equalled elsewhere. CHAPTER V. A BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY Two days later Jack obtained leave to go on shore. He hesitated for a moment whether to choose the right or left bank. The plateau of Scutari was covered with the tents of the British army, which were daily being added to, as scarce an hour passed without a transport coming in laden with troops. After a little hesitation, however, Jack determined to land at Constantinople. The camps at Scutari would differ but little from those at Gallipoli, while in the Turkish capital were innumerable wonders to be investigated. Hailing a caicque which was passing, he took his seat with young Coveney, who had also got leave ashore, and accepted with dignity the offer of a long pipe. This, however, by no means answered his expectations; the mouthpiece being formed of a large piece of amber of a bulbous shape, and too large to be put into the mouth. It was consequently necessary to suck the smoke through the end, a practice very difficult at first to those accustomed to hold a pipe between the teeth. In ten minutes the boat landed them at Pera, close to the bridge of boats across the Golden Horn. For a time the lads made no motion to advance, so astonished were they at the crowd which surged across the bridge: Turkish, English, and French soldiers, Turks in turbans and fezes, Turkish women wrapped up to the eyes in white or blue clothes; hamals or porters staggered past under weights which seemed to the boys stupendous; pachas and other dignitaries riding on gayly-trapped little horses; carriages, with three or four veiled figures inside and black guards standing on the steps, carried the ladies of one harem to visit those of another. The lads observed that for the most part these dames, instead of completely hiding their faces with thick wrappings as did their sisters in the streets, covered them merely with a fold of thin muslin, permitting their features to be plainly seen. These ladies evidently took a lively interest in what was going on, and in no way took it amiss when some English or French officer stared unceremoniously at their pretty faces; although their black guards gesticulated angrily on these occasions, and were clearly far more indignant concerning the admiration which their mistresses excited than were those ladies themselves. At last the boys moved forward across the bridge, and Jack presently found himself next to two young English officers proceeding in the same direction. One of these turned sharply round as Jack addressed his companion. "Hallo, Jack!" "Hallo, Harry! What! you here? I had no idea you had got your commission yet. How are you, old fellow, and how are they all at home?" "Every one is all right, Jack. I thought you would have known all about it. I was gazetted three days after you started, and was ordered to join at once. We wrote to tell you it." "I have never had a letter since I left home," Jack said. "I suppose they are all knocking about somewhere. Every one is complaining about the post. Well, this is jolly; and I see you are in the 33d too, the regiment you wanted to get into. When did you arrive?" "We came in two days ago in the 'Himalaya.' We are encamped with the rest of the light division who have come up. Sir George Brown commands us, and will be here from Gallipoli in a day or two with the rest of the division." The boys now introduced their respective friends to each other, and the four wandered together through Constantinople, visited the bazaars, fixed upon lots of pretty things as presents to be bought and taken home at the end of the war, and then crossed the bridge again to Pera, and had dinner at Missouri's, the principal hotel there, and the great rendezvous of the officers of the British army and navy. Then they took a boat and rowed across to Scutari, where Harry did the honors of the camp, and at sundown Jack and his messmate returned on board the "Falcon." The next three weeks passed pleasantly, Jack spending all his time, when he could get leave, with his brother, and the latter often coming off for an hour or two to the "Falcon." Early in May the news arrived that the Russians had advanced through the Dobrudscha and had commenced the siege of Silistria. A few hours later the "Falcon" and several other ships of war were on their way up the Dardanelles, convoying numerous store-ships bound to Varna. Shortly afterwards the generals of the allied armies determined that Varna should be the base for the campaign against the Russians, and accordingly towards the end of May the troops were again embarked. Varna is a seaport, surrounded by an undulating country of park-like appearance, and the troops were upon their arrival delighted with their new quarters. Here some 22,000 English and 50,000 French were encamped, together with 8,000 or 10,000 Turks. A few days after their arrival Jack obtained leave for a day on shore, and rowed out to Alladyn, nine miles and a half from Varna, where the light division, consisting of the 7th, 19th, 23d, 33d, 77th, and 88th regiments, was encamped. Close by was a fresh-water lake, and the undulated ground was finely wooded with clumps of forest timber, and covered with short, crisp grass. No more charming site for a camp could be conceived. Game abounded, and the officers who had brought guns with them found for a time capital sport. Everyone was in the highest spirits, and the hopes that the campaign would soon open in earnest were general. In this, however, they were destined to be disappointed, for on the 24th of June the news came that the Turks had unaided beaten off the Russians with such heavy loss in their attack upon Silistria that the latter had broken up the siege, and were retreating northward. A weary delay then occurred while the English and French home authorities, and the English and French generals in the field were settling the point at which the attack should be made upon Russia. The delay was a disastrous one, for it allowed an enemy more dangerous than the Russians to make his insidious approaches. The heat was very great; water bad, indeed almost undrinkable, the climate was notoriously an unhealthy one, and fruit of all kinds, together with cucumbers and melons, extremely cheap, and the soldiers consequently consumed very large quantities of these. Through June and up to the middle of July, however, no very evil consequences were apparent. On the 21st of July two divisions of French troops under General Canrobert marched into the Dobrudscha, in search of some bodies of Russians who were said to be there. On the night of the 28th cholera broke out, and before morning, in one division no less than 600 men lay dead. The other divisions, although situated at considerable distances, were simultaneously attacked with equal violence, and three days later the expedition returned, having lost over 7000 men. Scarcely less sudden or less fatal was the attack among the English lines, and for some time the English camps were ravaged by cholera. Jack was extremely anxious about his brother, for the light division suffered even more severely than did the others. But he was not able to go himself to see as to the state of things, for the naval officers were not allowed to go on shore more than was absolutely necessary. And as the camp of the light division had been moved some ten miles farther away on to the slopes of the Balkans, it would have been impossible to go and return in one day. Such precautions as were taken, however, were insufficient to keep the cholera from on board ship. In a short time the fleet was attacked with a severity almost equal to that on shore, and although the fleet put out to sea, the flagship in two days lost seventy men. Fortunately the "Falcon" had left Varna before the outbreak extended to the ships. The Crimea had now been definitely determined upon as the point of assault. Turkish vessels with heavy siege guns were on their way to Varna, and the "Falcon" was ordered to cross to the Crimea and report upon the advantages of several places for the landing of the allied army. The mission was an exciting one, as beside the chance of a brush with shore batteries, there was the possibility that they might run against some of the Russian men-of-war, who still held that part of the Black Sea, and whose headquarters were at Sebastopol, the great fortress which was the main object of the expedition to the Crimea. The "Falcon" started at night, and in the morning of the second day the hills of the Crimea were visible in the distance. The fires were then banked up and she lay-to. With nightfall she steamed on until within a mile or two of the coast, and here again anchored. With the early dawn steam was turned on, and the "Falcon" steamed along as close to the shore as she dare go, the lead being constantly kept going, as but little was known of the depth of water on these shores. Presently they came to a bay with a smooth beach. The ground rose but gradually behind, and a small village stood close to the shore. "This looks a good place," Captain Stuart said to the first lieutenant. "We will anchor here and lower the boats. You, Mr. Hethcote, with three boats, had better land at that village, get any information that you can, and see that there are no troops about. If attacked by a small force, you will of course repel it; if by a strong one, fall back to your boats, and I will cover your retreat with the guns of the ship. The other two boats will be employed in sounding. Let the master have charge of these, and make out, as far as he can, a perfect chart of the bay." In a few minutes the boats were lowered, and the men in the highest glee took their places. Jack was in the gig with the first lieutenant. The order was given, and the boats started together towards the shore. They had not gone fifty yards before there was a roar of cannon, succeeded by the whistle of shot. Two masked batteries, one upon each side of the bay, and mounting each six guns, had opened upon them. The cutter, commanded by the second lieutenant, was smashed by a round shot and instantly sunk. A ball struck close to the stroke-oar of the gig, deluging its occupants with water and ricochetting over the gunwale of the boat, between the stroke-oar and Mr. Hethcote. Two shot hulled the "Falcon," and others whistled through her rigging. "Pick up the crew of the cutter, Mr. Hethcote, and return on board at once," Captain Stuart shouted; the engines of the "Falcon" at once began to move, and the captain interposed the ship between the nearest battery and the boats, and a few seconds later her heavy guns, which had previously been got ready for action, opened upon the forts. In two minutes the boats were alongside with all hands, save one of the cutter's crew who had been cut in two by the round shot. The men, leaving the boats towing alongside, rushed to the guns, and the heavy fire of the "Falcon" speedily silenced her opponents. Then, as his object was to reconnoitre, not to fight, Captain Stuart steamed out to sea. He was determined, however, to obtain further information respecting the bay, which appeared to him one adapted for the purpose of landing. "I will keep off till nightfall, Mr. Hethcote. We will then run in as close as we dare, showing no lights, and I will then ask you to take a boat with muffled oars to row to the village. Make your way among the houses as quietly as possible, and seize a couple of fishermen and bring them off with you. Our interpreter will be able to find out from them at any rate, general details as to the depth of water and the nature of the anchorage." "Who shall I take with me, sir?" "The regular gig's crew and Mr. Simmonds. He has passed, and it may give him a chance of promotion. I think, by the way, you may as well take the launch also; it carries a gun. Do not let the men from it land, but keep her lying a few yards off shore to cover your retreat if necessary. Mr. Pascoe will command it." There was a deep but quiet excitement among the men when at nightfall the vessel's head was again turned towards shore, and the crews of the gig and launch told to hold themselves in readiness. Cutlasses were sharpened and pistols cleaned. Not less was the excitement in the midshipmen's berth, where it was known that Simmonds was to go in the gig; but no one knew who was to accompany the launch. However, Jack turned out to be the lucky one, Mr. Pascoe being probably glad to please the first lieutenant by selecting his relation, although that officer would not himself have shown favoritism on his behalf. It was about eleven o'clock when the "Falcon" approached her former position, or rather to a point a mile seaward of it as nearly as the master could bring her, for the night was extremely dark and the land scarcely visible. Not a light was shown, not a voice raised on board, and the only sound heard was the gentle splash of the paddles as they revolved at their slowest rate of speed. The falls had been greased, the rowlocks muffled, and the crew took their places in perfect silence. "You understand, Mr. Hethcote," were Captain Stuart's last words, "that you are not to attempt a landing if there is the slightest opposition." Very quietly the boats left the "Falcon's" side. They rowed abreast and close to each other, in order that the first lieutenant could give orders to Mr. Pascoe in a low tone. The men were ordered to row quietly, and to avoid any splashing or throwing up of water. It was a longer row than they had expected, and it was evident that the master, deceived by the uncertain light, had brought the vessel up at a point considerably farther from the shore than he had intended. As they got well in the bay they could see no lights in the village ahead; but an occasional gleam near the points at either side showed that the men in the batteries were awake and active. As the boat neared the shore the men rowed, according to the first lieutenant's orders, more and more gently, and at last, when the line of beach ahead became distinctly visible, the order was given to lie upon their oars. All listened intently, and then Mr. Hethcote put on his helm so that the boat which had still some way on it drifted even closer to the launch. "Do you hear anything, Mr. Pascoe?" "I don't know, sir. I don't seem to make out any distinct sound, but there certainly appears to be some sort of murmur in the air." "So I think, too." Again they listened. "I don't know, sir," Jack whispered in Mr. Pascoe's ear, "but I fancy that at times I see a faint light right along behind those trees. It is very faint, but sometimes their outline seems clearer than at others." Mr. Pascoe repeated in a low voice to Mr. Hethcote what Jack had remarked. "I fancied so once or twice myself," he said. "There," he added suddenly, "that is the neigh of a horse. However, there may be horses anywhere. Now we will paddle slowly on. Lay within a boat's length of the shore, Mr. Pascoe, keep the gun trained on the village, and let the men hold their arms in readiness." In another minute the gig's bow grated on the beach. "Quietly, lads," the first lieutenant said. "Step into the water without splashing. Then follow me as quickly as you can." The beach was a sandy one, and the footsteps of the sailors were almost noiseless as they stole towards the village. The place seemed hushed in quiet, but just as they entered the little street a figure standing in the shade of a house rather larger than the rest, stepped forward and challenged, bringing, as he did so, his musket to the present. An instant later he fired, just as the words, "A Russian sentry," broke from the first lieutenant's lips. Almost simultaneously three or four other shots were fired at points along the beach. A rocket whizzed high in the air from each side of the bay, a bugle sounded the alarm, voices of command were heard, and, as if by enchantment, a chaos of sounds followed the deep silence which had before reigned, and from every house armed men poured out. "Steady, lads, steady!" Mr. Hethcote shouted. "Fall back steadily. Keep together, don't fire a shot till you get to the boat; then give them a volley and jump on board. Now, retire at the double." For a moment the Russians, as they poured from the houses, paused in ignorance of the direction of their foes, but a shout from the sentry indicated this, and a scattering fire was opened. This, however, was at once checked by the shout of the officer to dash forward with all speed after the enemy. As the mass of Russians rushed from the village, the howitzer in the bows of the launch poured a volley of grape into them, and checked their advance. However, from along the bushes on either side fresh assailants poured out. "Jump on board, lads, jump on board!" Mr. Hethcote shouted, and each sailor, discharging his musket at the enemy, leapt into his place. "Give them a volley, Mr. Pascoe. Get your head round and row. Don't let the men waste time in firing." The volley from the launch again momentarily checked the enemy, and just as she got round, another discharge from the gun further arrested them. The boats were not, however, thirty yards from the shore before this was lined with dark figures who opened a tremendous fire of musketry. "Row, lads, row!" Mr. Pascoe shouted to his men. "We shall be out of their sight in another hundred yards." CHAPTER VI. THE ALMA Desperately the men bent to their oars, and the heavy boat surged through the water. Around them swept a storm of musket balls, and although the darkness and their haste rendered the fire of the Russians wild and uncertain, many of the shot took effect. With a sigh, Mr. Pascoe fell against Jack, who was sitting next to him, just at the moment when Jack himself experienced a sensation as if a hot iron had passed across his arm. Several of the men dropped their oars and fell back, but the boats still held rapidly on their way, and in two or three minutes were safe from anything but random shot. At this moment, however, three field pieces opened with grape, and the iron hail tore up the water near them. Fortunately they were now almost out of sight, and although the forts threw up rockets to light the bay, and joined their fire to that of the field guns, the boat escaped untouched. "Thank God we are out of that!" Mr. Hethcote said, as the fire ceased and the boats headed for a light hung up to direct then. "Have you many hurt, Mr. Pascoe?" "I'm afraid, sir, Mr. Pascoe is either killed or badly wounded. He is lying against me, and gives no answer when I speak to him." "Any one else hurt?" Mr. Hethcote asked in a moment. The men exchanged a few words among themselves. "There are five down in the bottom of the boat, sir, and six or seven of us have been hit more or less." "It's a bad business," Mr. Hethcote said. "I have two killed and three wounded here. Are you hit yourself, Mr. Archer?" "I've got a queer sensation in my arm, sir, and don't seem able to use it, so I suppose I am, but I don't think it's much." "Pull away, lads," Mr. Hethcote said shortly. "Show a light there in the bow to the steamer." The light was answered by a sharp whistle, and they heard the beat of the paddles of the "Falcon" as she came down towards them, and five minutes later the boats were hoisted to the davits. "No casualties, I hope, Mr. Hethcote?" Captain Stuart said, as the first lieutenant stepped on board. "You seem to have got into a nest of hornets." "Yes, indeed, sir. There was a strong garrison in the village, and we have suffered, I fear heavily. Some eight or ten killed and as many wounded." "Dear me, dear me!" Captain Stuart said. "This is an unfortunate circumstance, indeed. Mr. Manders, do you get the wounded on board and carried below. Will you step into my cabin, Mr. Hethcote, and give me full details of this unfortunate affair?" Upon mustering the men, it was found that the total casualties in the two boats of the "Falcon" amounted to, Lieutenant Pascoe killed, Midshipman Archer wounded; ten seamen killed, and nine wounded. Jack's wound was more severe than he had at first thought. The ball had gone through the upper part of the arm, and had grazed and badly bruised the bone in its passage. The doctor said he would probably be some weeks before he would have his arm out of a sling. The "Falcon" spent another week in examining the Crimean coast, and then ran across again to Varna. Here everything was being pushed forward for the start. Over six hundred vessels were assembled, with a tonnage vastly exceeding that of any fleet that had ever sailed the seas. Twenty-seven thousand English and twenty-three thousand French were to be carried in this huge flotilla; for although the French army was considerably larger than the English, the means of sea-transport of the latter were vastly superior, and they were able to take across the whole of their army in a single trip; whereas, the French could convey but half of their force. Unfortunately, between Lord Raglan, the English Commander-in-Chief, and Marshal Saint Arnaud, the French commander, there was little concert or agreement. The French, whose arrangements were far better, and whose movements were prompter than our own, were always complaining of British procrastination; while the English General went quietly on his own way, and certainly tried sorely the patience of our allies. Even when the whole of the allied armies were embarked, nothing had been settled beyond the fact that they were going to invade the Crimea, and the enormous fleet of men-of-war and transports, steamers with sailing vessels in tow, extending in lines farther than the eye could reach, and covering many square miles of the sea, sailed eastward without any fixed destination. The consequence was, as might be expected, a lamentable waste of time. Halts were called, councils were held, reconnaissances sent forward, and the vast fleet steamed aimlessly north, south, east, and west, until, when at last a landing-place was fixed upon, near Eupatoria, and the disembarkation was effected, fourteen precious days had been wasted over a journey which is generally performed in twenty-four hours, and which even the slowly moving transports might have easily accomplished in three days. The consequence was the Russians had time to march round large bodies of troops from the other side, and the object of the expedition--the capture of Sebastopol by a _coup de main_--was altogether thwarted. No more imposing sight was ever seen than that witnessed by the bands of Cossacks on the low shores of the Crimea, when the allied fleets anchored a few miles south of Eupatoria. The front extended nine miles in length, and behind this came line after line of transports until the very topmasts of those in the rear scarce appeared above the horizon. The place selected for the landing-place was known as the Old Fort, a low strip of bush and shingle forming a causeway between the sea and a stagnant fresh-water lake, known as Lake Saki. At eight o'clock in the morning of the 14th of September, the French admiral fired a gun, and in a little more than an hour six thousand of their troops were ashore, while the landing of the English did not commence till an hour after. The boats of the men-of-war and transports had already been told off for the ships carrying the light division, which was to be the first to land, and in a wonderfully short time the sea between the first line of ships and the shore was covered with a multitude of boats crowded with soldiers. The boats of the "Falcon" were employed with the rest, and as three weeks had elapsed since Jack had received his wound, he was able to take his share of duty, although his arm was still in a sling. The ship to which the "Falcon's" boats were told off lay next to that which had carried the 33d, and as he rowed past, he exchanged a shout and a wave of the hand with Harry, who was standing at the top of the companion-ladder, seeing the men of his company take their seats in the boats. It was a day of tremendous work. Each man and officer carried three days' provisions, and no tents or other unnecessary stores were to be landed. The artillery, however, had to be got ashore, and the work of landing the guns on the shingly beach was a laborious one indeed. The horses in vain tugged and strained, and the sailors leaped over into the water and worked breast high at the wheels, and so succeeded in getting them ashore. Jack had asked permission from Captain Stuart to spend the night on shore with his brother, and just as he was going off from the ship for the last time. Simmonds, who had obtained his acting commission in place of Mr. Pascoe, said, "Archer, I should advise you to take a tarpaulin and a couple of bottles of rum. They will be useful before morning, I can tell you, for we are going to have a nasty night." Indeed the rain was already coming down steadily, and the wind was rising. Few of those who took part in it will ever forget their first night in the Crimea. The wind blew pitilessly, the rain poured down in torrents, and twenty-seven thousand Englishmen lay without shelter in the muddy fields, drenched to the skin. Jack had no trouble in finding his brother's regiment, which was in the advance, some two or three miles from the landing-place. Harry was delighted to see him, and the sight of the tarpaulin and bottles did not decrease the warmth of his welcome. Jack was already acquainted with most of the officers of the 33d. "Hallo, Archer," a young ensign said, "if I had been in your place, I should have remained snugly on board ship. A nice night we are in for!" So long as the daylight lasted, the officers stood in groups and chatted of the prospects of the campaign. There was nothing to do--no possibility of seeing to the comforts of their men. The place where the regiment was encamped was absolutely bare, and there were no means of procuring any shelter whatever. "How big is that tarpaulin, Jack?" "About twelve feet square," Jack said, "and pretty heavy I found it, I can tell you." "What had we better do with it?" asked Harry. "I can't lie down under that, you know, with the colonel sitting out exposed to this rain." "The best thing," Jack said after a minute's consideration, "would be to make a sort of tent of it. If we could put it up at a slant, some six feet high in front with its back to the wind, it would shelter a lot of fellows. We might hang some of the blankets at the sides." The captain and lieutenant of Harry's company were taken into consultation, and with the aid of half a dozen soldiers, some muskets bound together and some ramrods, a penthouse shelter was made. Some sods were laid on the lower edge to keep it down. Each side was closed with two blankets. Some cords from one of the baggage carts were used as guy ropes to the corners, and a very snug shelter was constructed. This Harry invited the colonel and officers to use, and although the space was limited, the greater portion of them managed to sit down in it, those who could not find room taking up their places in front, where the tent afforded a considerable shelter from the wind and rain. No one thought of sleeping. Pipes were lighted, and Jack's two bottles of rum afforded a tot to each. The night could scarcely be called a comfortable one, even with these aids; but it was luxurious, indeed, in comparison with that passed by those exposed to the full force of the wind. The next morning Jack said good-bye to his brother and the officers of the regiment, to whom he presented the tarpaulin for future use, and this was folded up and smuggled into an ammunition cart. It was not, of course, Jack's to give, being government property, but he would be able to pay the regulation price for it on his return. Half an hour later, Jack was on the beach, where a high surf was beating. All day the work of landing cavalry and artillery went on under the greatest difficulties. Many of the boats were staved and rendered useless, and several chargers drowned. It was evident that the weather was breaking up, and the ten days of lovely weather which had been wasted at sea were more bitterly regretted than ever. No tents were landed, and the troops remained wet to the skin, with the additional mortification of seeing their French allies snugly housed under canvas, while even the 4000 Turks had managed to bring their tents with them. The natural result was that sickness again attacked the troops, and hundreds were prostrated before, three days later, they met the enemy on the Alma. The French were ready to march on the 17th, but it was not until two days later, that the British were ready; then at nine o'clock in the morning the army advanced. The following is the list of the British force. The light division under Sir George Brown--2d Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusiliers, 19th Regiment, 23d Fusiliers, under Brigadier Major-General Codrington; 33d Regiment, 77th Regiment, 88th Regiment, under Brigadier-General Butler. First division, under the Duke of Cambridge--The Grenadier, Coldstream and Scots Fusilier Guards, under Major-General Bentinck; the 42d, 79th and 93d Highlanders, under Brigadier-General Sir C. Campbell. The second division, under Sir De Lacy Evans--The 30th, 55th, and 95th, under Brigadier-General Pennefather; the 41st, 47th and 49th, under Brigadier-General Adams. The third division under Sir R. England--The 1st, 28th and 38th under Brigadier-General Sir John Campbell; the 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments under Brigadier-General Eyre. Six companies of the fourth were also attached to this division. The fourth division under Sir George Cathcart consisted of the 20th, 21st, 2d Battalion Rifle Brigade, 63d, 46th and 57th, the last two regiments, however, had not arrived. The cavalry division under Lord Lucan consisted of the Light Cavalry Brigade under Lord Cardigan, composed of the 4th Light Dragoons, the 8th Hussars, 11th Hussars, 13th Dragoons and 17th Lancers; and the Heavy Cavalry Brigade under Brigadier-General Scarlett, consisting of the Scots Greys, 4th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 6th Dragoons. Of these the Scots Greys had not yet arrived. It was a splendid sight, as the allied army got in motion. On the extreme right, and in advance next the sea, was the first division of the French army. Behind them, also by the sea, was the second division under General Canrobert, on the left of which marched the third division under Prince Napoleon. The fourth division and the Turks formed the rearguard. Next to the third French division was the second British, with the third in its rear in support. Next to the second division was the light division, with the Duke of Cambridge's division in the rear in support. The Light Cavalry Brigade covered the advance and left flank, while along the coast, parallel with the march of the troops, steamed the allied fleet, prepared, if necessary, to assist the army with their guns. All were in high spirits that the months of weary delay were at last over, and that they were about to meet the enemy. The troops saluted the hares which leaped out at their feet at every footstep as the broad array swept along, with shouts of laughter and yells, and during the halts numbers of the frightened creatures were knocked over and slung behind the knapsacks to furnish a meal at the night's bivouac. The smoke of burning villages and farmhouses ahead announced that the enemy were aware of our progress. Presently, on an eminence across a wide plain, masses of the enemy's cavalry were visible. Five hundred of the Light Cavalry pushed on in front, and an equal number of Cossacks advanced to meet them. Lord Cardigan was about to give the order to charge when masses of heavy cavalry made their appearance. Suddenly one of these extended and a battery of Russian artillery opened fire upon the cavalry. Our artillery came to the front, and after a quarter of an hour's duel the Russians fell back; and soon after the army halted for the night, at a stream called the Boulyanak, six miles from the Alma, where the Russians, as was now known, were prepared to give battle. The weather had now cleared again, and all ranks were in high spirits as they sat round the bivouac fires. "How savage they will be on board ship," Harry Archer said to Captain Lancaster, "to see us fighting a big battle without their having a hand in it. I almost wonder that they have not landed a body of marines and blue-jackets. The fleets could spare 4000 or 5000 men, and their help might be useful. Do you think the Russians will fight?" "All soldiers will fight," Captain Lancaster said, "when they've got a strong position. It needs a very different sort of courage to lie down on the crest of a hill and fire at an enemy struggling up it in full view, to that which is necessary to make the assault. They have too all the advantage of knowing the ground, while we know absolutely nothing about it. I don't believe that the generals have any more idea than we have. It seems a happy-go-lucky way of fighting altogether. However, I have no doubt that we shall lick them somehow. It seems, though, a pity to take troops direct at a position which the enemy have chosen and fortified, when by a flank march, which in an undulating country like this could be performed without the slightest difficulty, we could turn the position and force them to retreat, without losing a man." Such was the opinion of many other officers at the time. Such has been the opinion of every military critic since. Had the army made a flank march, the enemy must either have retired at once, or have been liable to an attack upon their right flank, when, if beaten, they would have been driven down to the sea-shore under the guns of the ships, and killed or captured, to a man. Unfortunately, however, owing to the jealousies between the two generals, the illness of Marshal Arnaud, and the incapacity of Lord Raglan, there was neither plan nor concert. The armies simply fought as they marched, each general of division doing his best and leading his men at that portion of the enemy's position which happened to be opposite to him. The sole understanding arrived at was that the armies were to march at six in the morning; that General Bosquet's division, which was next to the sea, was, covered by guns of the ships, to first carry the enemy's position there; and that when he had obtained a footing upon the plateau, a general attack was to be made. Even this plan, simple as it was, was not fully carried out, as Lord Raglan did not move his troops till nine in the morning. Three precious hours were therefore wasted, and a pursuit after the battle which would have turned the defeat into a rout was therefore prevented, and Sebastopol saved, to cost tens of thousands of lives before it fell. The Russian position on the Alma was along a crest of hills. On their left by the sea these rose precipitously, offering great difficulties for an assault. Further inland, however, the slope became easy, and towards the right centre and right against which the English attack was directed, the hill was simply a slope broken into natural terraces, on which were many walls and vineyards. Near the sea the river ran between low banks, but inland the bank was much steeper, the south side rising some thirty or forty feet, and enabling its defenders to sweep the ground across which the assailants must advance. While on their left the Russian forces were not advanced in front of the hill which formed their position, on the lower ground they occupied the vineyards and inclosures down to the river, and their guns were placed in batteries on the steps of the slope, enabling them to search with their fire the whole hill-side as well as the flat ground beyond the river. The attack, as intended, was begun by General Bosquet. Bonat's brigade crossed the river by a bar of sand across the mouth where the water was only waist-deep, while D'Autemarre's brigade crossed by a bridge, and both brigades swarmed up the precipitous cliffs which offered great difficulties, even to infantry. They achieved their object, without encountering any resistance whatever, the guns of the fleet having driven back the Russian regiment appointed to defend this post. The enemy brought up three batteries of artillery to regain the crest, but the French with tremendous exertions succeeded in getting up a battery of guns, and with their aid maintained the position they had gained. When the sound of Bosquet's guns showed that his part of the programme was carried into effect, the second and third divisions of the French army crossed the Alma, and were soon fiercely engaged with the enemy. Canrobert's division for a time made little way, as the river was too deep for the passage of the guns, and these were forced to make a detour. Around a white stone tower some 800 yards on their left, dense masses of Russian infantry were drawn up, and these opened so tremendous a fire upon the French that for a time their advance was checked. One of the brigades from the fourth division, which was in reserve, advanced to their support, and joining with some of the regiments of Canrobert's division, and aided by troops whom General Bosquet had sent to their aid, a great rush was made upon the dense body of Russians, who, swept by the grape of the French artillery, were unable to stand the impetuous attack, and were forced to retire in confusion. The French pressed forward and at this point also of the field, the day was won. In the mean time the British army had been also engaged. Long before they came in sight of the point which they were to attack they heard the roar of cannon on their right, and knew that Bosquet's division were engaged. As the troops marched over the crest of the rounded slopes they caught glimpses of the distant fight. They could see masses of Russian infantry threatening the French, gathered on the height, watch the puffs of smoke as the guns on either side sent their messengers of death, and the white smoke which hung over the fleet as the vessels of war threw their shells far over the heads of the French into the Russian masses. Soon they heard the louder roar which proclaimed that the main body of the French army were in action, and burning with impatience to begin, the men strode along to take their share in the fight. Until within a few hundred yards of the river the troops could see nothing of it, nor the village on its banks, for the ground dipped sharply. Before they reached the brow twelve Russian guns, placed on rising ground some 300 yards beyond the river, opened upon them. "People may say what they like," Harry Archer said to his captain, "but a cannon-ball makes a horribly unpleasant row. It wouldn't be half as bad if they would but come silently." As he spoke a round shot struck down two men a few files to his right. They were the first who fell in the 33d. "Steady, lads, steady," shouted the officers, and as regularly as if on field-day, the English troops advanced. The Rifles, under Major Northcote, were ahead, and, dashing through the vineyards under a rain of fire, crossed the river, scaled the bank, and pushed forward to the top of the next slope. It was on the plateau beyond that the Russian main body were posted, and for a time the Rifles had hard work to maintain themselves. In the meantime, the Light Division were advancing in open order, sometimes lying down, sometimes advancing, until they gained the vineyards. Here the regular order which they had so far maintained was lost, as the ground was broken up by hedges, stone walls, vines and trees. The 19th, 7th, 23d and 33d were then led, at a run, right to the river by General Codrington, their course being marked by killed and wounded, and crossing they sheltered themselves under the high bank. Such was the state of confusion in which they arrived there that a momentary pause was necessary to enable the men of the various regiments to gather together, and the enemy, taking advantage of this, brought down three battalions of infantry, who advanced close to the bank, and, as the four regiments dashed up it, met them with a tremendous fire. As hotly it was answered, and the Russians retired while their batteries again opened fire. There was but little order in the British ranks as they struggled forward up the hill. Even under this tremendous fire the men paused to pick grapes, and all the exertions of their officers could not maintain the regular line of advance. From a rising ground a Russian regiment kept up a destructive fire upon them, and the guns in the batteries on their flank fired incessantly. The slaughter was tremendous, but the regiments held on their way unflinchingly. In a few minutes the 7th had lost a third of their men, and half the 23d were down. Not less was the storm of fire around the 33d. Confused, bewildered and stunned by the dreadful din, Harry Archer struggled on with his company. His voice was hoarse with shouting, though he himself could scarce hear the words he uttered. His lips were parched with excitement and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Man after man had fallen beside him, but he was yet untouched. There was no thought of fear or danger now. His whole soul seemed absorbed in the one thought of getting into the battery. Small as were the numbers who still struggled on, their determined advance began to disquiet the Russians. For the first time a doubt as to victory entered their minds. When the day began they felt assured of it. Their generals had told them that they would annihilate their foes, their priests had blessed them, and assured them of the protection and succor of the saints. But the British were still coming on, and would not be denied. The infantry behind the battery began to retire. The artillery, left unprotected, limbered up in haste, and although three times as numerous as the men of the Light Division, the Russians, still firing heavily, retired up the hill, while, with a shout of triumph the broken groups of the 23d, the 19th, and 33d burst into the battery, capturing a gun which the Russians had been unable to withdraw. CHAPTER VII. BEFORE SEBASTOPOL Not long were the Light Division to enjoy the position they had won. Breathless, exhausted, bleeding, they were but a handful; and the Russians, looking down upon them and seeing that they were unsupported, again advanced in heavy masses, and the Light Division fell back. Had their division had the whole of their strength they might have been enabled to hold the position they had won. But just as they crossed the river, there was an unfounded alarm of a cavalry attack on the flank, and the 77th and 88th were halted to repel this, and took no share in the advance by the rest of the division. As the shattered regiments fell back before the Russians in a state of disorder, they saw advancing up the slope behind them the brigade of Guards in as regular order as if on parade. For a moment the splendid formation was broken as the disordered troops came down upon them. But opening their files they allowed the Light Division to pass through them, and then closing up again moved forward in splendid order, the Highland Brigade keeping pace with them on their left, while the regiments of the Light Division reformed in their rear and followed after. Steadily, under a storm of fire, the Guards advanced. Grape, canister, round shot, shell, and shot, swept through them but they kept forward till nigh crossing bayonets with the Russian infantry. At this moment, however, two British guns mounted on a knoll opened upon the Russians, the victorious French threatened their flank, the Russian gunners limbered up and retired, and their infantry suddenly fell back. On the right of the Light Division, General Sir De Lacy Evans had also been fighting sternly. The second division had advanced side by side with that of Prince Napoleon. The resistance which he encountered was obstinate, but more skilled in actual warfare than his brother generals, he covered his advance with the fire of eighteen guns, and so bore forward, suffering far less than the division on his left. He had, however, very heavy fighting before he gained the river. The village had been set on fire by the Russians, and the smoke and flames greatly incommoded the men as they fought their way through it. The 95th, however, dashed across the bridge under a storm of missiles, while the 55th and 30th waded through the river, and step by step won their way up the hill. Then the firing ceased, and the battle of Alma was won. The force under the Russians consisted of some 37,000 men, of whom 3500 were cavalry. They had eighty guns, besides two light batteries of horse artillery. Inferior in number as they were, the discrepancy was more than outbalanced by the advantage of position, and had the troops on both sides been of equally good material, the honor of the day should have rested with the defenders. The British loss consisted of 26 officers killed and 73 wounded, 327 men killed and 1557 wounded. The French had only 3 officers killed and 54 wounded, 253 men killed and 1033 wounded. The Turks were not engaged. The Russians lost 45 officers killed and 101 wounded, 1762 men killed and 2720 wounded. The Allied Army had 126 guns against 96 of the Russians; but the former, owing to the nature of the ground, played but a small part in the fight. The whole of the loss fell upon a comparatively small number of the English regiments, and as the French had 9000 men in reserve who had not fired a shot, there was no season why the greater portion of the army, with all the cavalry, should not at once have followed on the track of the beaten Russians. Had they done so, the war in the Crimea would have been over in three days. That time, however, elapsed before a move was made. The reason assigned was the necessity of caring for the wounded and burying the dead. But this might have been committed to the hands of sailors and marines, of whom 5000 might have been landed at night; in which case the whole Allied Army could have marched at day break. It was a sad sight when the four regiments of the Light Division mustered after their work was done. Hitherto in the confusion and fierce excitement of the fight, men marked not who stood and who fell. But now as the diminished regiments paraded, mere skeletons of the fine corps which had marched gayly from their camping-ground of the night before, the terrible extent of their losses was manifest. Tears rolled down the cheeks of strong men who had never flinched in the storm of fire, as they saw how many of their comrades were absent, and the glory of the victory was dimmed indeed by the sorrow for the dead. "I wanted to see a battle," Harry Archer said to Captain Lancaster, who, like him, had gone through the fight without a scratch, "but this is more than I bargained for. To think of half one's friends and comrades gone, and all in about two hours' fighting. It has been a deadly affair, indeed." "Yes, as far as we are concerned, Archer. But not for the whole army. I heard Doctor Alexander say just now that the casualties were about 1500, and that out of 27,000 men is a mere nothing to the proportion in many battles. The French have, I hear, lost rather less." "I thought in a battle," Harry said, "one would see something of the general affair, but I certainly did not. In fact, from the time when we dashed up the river bank till the capture of the battery, I saw nothing. I knew there were some of our men by the side of me, and that we were all pushing forward, but beyond that I knew absolutely nothing. It was something like going through a tremendous thunder shower with one's head down, only a thousand times more so." After parade the men scattered in groups; some went down to the river to fill their canteens, others strolled through the vineyards picking grapes, and in spite of the fact that in many places the dead lay thickly together, a careless laugh was sometimes heard. The regiments which had not been engaged were at work bringing in the wounded, and Doctor Alexander and his assistants were busy at the ghastly task of amputating limbs and extracting balls. The next day a few officers from the fleet came up; among these was Hawtry, who was charged with a special mission from Jack, who could not again ask for leave, to inquire after his brother. The wounded were sent down in arabas and litters to the ships, a painful journey of three miles. The French wounded fared better, as they had well-appointed hospital vans. Seven hundred and fifty Russian wounded were collected and laid together, and were given in charge of the inhabitants of a Tartar village near; Dr. Thomson, of the 44th Regiment with a servant volunteering to remain in charge of them, with the certain risk of capture when the Russian troops returned after our departure. On the morning of the 23d the army started, continuing its march along the road to Sebastopol, the way being marked not only by debris thrown away by the retreating Russians, but by the cottages and pretty villas having been sacked by the Cossacks as they retired. The troops halted for the night at Katcha, where the French were reinforced by 8000 men who were landed from transports just arrived, and the English by the Scots Greys and the 57th. As it was found that the enemy had batteries along the northwest of the harbor of Sebastopol which would cause delay and trouble to invest, while the army engaged in the operation would have to draw all its provisions and stores from the harbor at the mouth of the Katcha River, it was determined to march round Sebastopol, and to invest it on the southern side, where the Russians, not expecting it, would have made but slight preparations for a resistance. Towards the sea-face, Sebastopol was of immense strength, mounting seventeen guns at the Telegraph Battery, 104 at Fort Constantine, eighty at Fort Saint Michael, forty at battery No. 4, and some fifty others in smaller batteries. All these were on the north side of the harbor. On the southern side were the Quarantine Fort with fifty-one guns, Fort Alexander with sixty-four, the Arsenal Battery with fifty, Fort Saint Nicholas with 192, and Fort Paul with eighty. In addition to these tremendous defences, booms had been fixed across the mouth of the harbor, and a three-decker, three two-deckers, and two frigates sunk in a line, forming a formidable barrier against the entry of hostile ships. Besides all this, the whole of the Russian Black Sea fleet were in harbor, and prepared to take part in the defence against an attack by sea. Upon the other hand, Sebastopol was naturally weak on the land side. It lay in a hollow, and guns from the upper ground could everywhere search it. At the time when the Allied Armies arrived before it the only defences were an old loop-holed wall, a battery of fourteen guns and six mortars, and one or two batteries which were as yet scarcely commenced. The march from the Katcha to the south side was performed without interruption, and on the 26th, six days after the battle of Alma, the Allied Army reached their new position. According to arrangements, the British occupied the harbor of Balaklava, while the French took possession of Kamiesch and Kaznatch, as bases for the supply of their armies. At the mouth of Balaklava Harbor are the ruins of a Genoese fort standing 200 feet above the sea. This was supposed to be unoccupied. As the staff, however, were entering the town, they were astonished by four shells falling close to them. The "Agamemnon," which was lying outside, at once opened fire, and the fort immediately hung out a flag of truce. The garrison consisted only of the commandant and sixty men. The officer, on being asked why he should have opened fire when he knew that the place could not be held, replied that he did so as he had not been summoned to surrender, and felt bound in honor to fire until he did so. The British ships at once entered the harbor, and the disembarkation of the stores and siege-train commenced. The harbor of Balaklava was but ill-suited for the requirements of a large army. It was some half mile in length and a few hundred yards broad, and looked like a little inland lake, for the rocks rose precipitously at its mouth, and the passage through them made a bend, so that the outlet was not visible from a ship once fairly inside. The coast is steep and bold, the rocky cliff rising sheer up from the water's edge to heights varying from 400 to 2000 feet. A vessel coasting along it would not notice the narrow passage, or dream--on entering--that a harbor lay hidden behind. On either side of the harbor inside the hills rose steeply, on the left hand, so steeply, that that side was useless for the purposes of shipping. On the right hand there was a breadth of flat ground between the water and the hill, and here and upon the lower slopes stood the village of Balaklava. The valley extended for some distance beyond the head of the harbor, most of the ground being occupied with vineyards. Beyond was the wide rolling plain upon which the battles of Balaklava and Inkerman were to be fought. Taken completely by surprise, the inhabitants of Balaklava had made no attempt to escape, but upon the arrival of the British general, a deputation received him with presents of fruit and flowers. By this time the fleet had come round, and the sailors were soon hard at work assisting to unload the transports and get the stores and siege materials on shore. It was reported that a marine battery was to be formed, and there was eager excitement on board as to the officers who would be selected. Each of the men-of-war contributed their quota, and Lieutenant Hethcote found that he had been told off as second in command, and that he was to take a midshipman and twenty men of the "Falcon." The matter as to the midshipman was settled by Captain Stuart. "You may as well take Archer," he said. "You won't like to ask for him because he's your cousin; but I asked for his berth, you know, and don't mind doing a little bit of favoritism this once." And so, to Jack's intense delight, he found that he was to form a portion of the landing party. These were in all 200 in number, and their work was, in the first place, to assist to get the heavy siege guns from the wharf to the front. It is necessary that the position occupied by the Allies should be perfectly comprehended, in order to understand the battles and operations which subsequently took place. It may be described as a triangle with one bulging side. The apex of the triangle were the heights on the seashore, known as the Marine Heights. Here, at a point some 800 feet above the sea, where a ravine broke the line of cliffs, was the camp of the marines, in a position almost impregnable against any enemy's force, following the seashore. On the land-slopes of the hills, down towards Balaklava, lay the Highland Brigade, guarding the approach from the plains from the Marine Heights to the mouth of Balaklava Valley, at the mouth of which were the camps of the cavalry, and not far off a sailor's camp with heavy guns and 800 men. This side of the triangle continued along over the undulating ground, and some three miles farther, reached the right flank of the position of the Allies above Sebastopol, which formed the base of our imaginary triangle. This position was a plateau, of which one side sloped down to Sebastopol; the end broke steeply off down into the valley of Inkerman, while behind the slopes were more gradual. To the left it fell away gradually towards the sea. This formed the third side of the triangle. But between Balaklava and Sebastopol the land made a wide bulge outwards, and in this bulge lay the French harbor of Kamiesch. From the Marine Heights to the crest looking down upon Sebastopol was a distance of some seven miles. From the right of our position above Inkerman Valley to Kamiesch was about five miles. A glance at the map will enable this explanation to be understood. At the commencement of the siege the British were posted on the right of the Allies. This, no doubt, was the post of honor, but it threw upon them an enormous increase of work. In addition to defending Balaklava, it was upon them that the brunt of any assault by a Russian army acting in the field would fall. They would have an equal share of the trench-work, and had five miles to bring up their siege guns and stores; whereas the French harbor was close to their camp. It was tremendous work getting up the guns, but soldiers and sailors willingly toiled away, pushing, and hauling, and aiding the teams, principally composed of bullocks, which had been brought up from Constantinople and other Turkish ports. Long lines of arabas, laden with provisions and stores, crawled slowly along between Balaklava and the front. Strings of mules and horses, laden with tents, and driven by men of every nationality bordering the Mediterranean, followed the same line. Parties of soldiers, in fatigue suits, went down to Sebastopol to assist unloading the ships and bringing up stores. Parties of officers on ponies brought from Varna or other ports on the Black Sea, cantered down to make purchases of little luxuries on board the ships in the harbor, or from the Levantines, who had set up little shops near it. All was life and gayety. "It is all very well, Mr. Archer," growled Dick Simpson, an old boatswain, as the men paused after helping to drag a heavy gun up one of the slopes, "in this here weather, but it won't be no laughing matter when the winter comes on. Why, these here fields would be just a sheet of mud. Why, bless you, last winter I was a staying with a brother of mine what farms a bit of land down in Norfolk, and after a week's rain they couldn't put the horses on to the fields. This here sile looks just similar, only richer and deeper, and how they means to get these big carts laden up through it, beats me altogether." "Yes, Dick," Jack Archer answered, "but they expect to take the place before the winter comes on." "They expects," the old tar repeated scornfully. "For my part, I don't think nothing of these soldier chaps. Why, I was up here with the first party as come, the day after we got here, and there warn't nothing in the world to prevent our walking into it. Here we've got 50,000 men, enough, sir, to have pushed those rotten old walls down with their hands, and here we be a-digging and a-shovelling on the hillside nigh a mile from the place, and the Russians are a-digging and a-shovelling just as hard at their side. I see 'em last night after we got back to camp. It seems to me as if these here generals wanted to give 'em time to make the place so strong as we cannot take it, before they begins. Why, it stands to reason that the Rooshians, who've got their guns all stored close at hand, their soldiers and their sailors handy, and no trouble as to provisions and stores, can run up works and arm them just about three times as fast as we can; and where shall we be at the end of three months? We shall be just a-shivering and a-shaking, and a-starving with cold, and short of grub on that 'ere hill; and the Rooshians will be comfortable in the town a-laughing at us. Don't tell me, Mr. Archer; my opinion is, these 'ere soldiers are no better than fools. They don't seem to have no common sense." "I hope it's not as bad as all that, Dick," Jack laughed. "But it certainly does seem as if we were purposely giving the Russians time to strengthen themselves. But you'll see when we go at them we shall make short work of them." "Well, I hope so, Mr. Archer," Dick Simpson said, shaking his head ominously, "but I'm dubious about it." By this time the oxen and men had recovered their breath, and they again set to at their tiresome work. Although the weather was fine and the position of the camps high and healthy, the cholera which had ravaged their ranks at Varna still followed them, and during the three first weeks in the Crimea, the Allies lost as many men from this cause as they had done in the Battle of Alma. By the 4th of October forty pieces of heavy artillery had been brought up to the front, and the work of the trenches began in earnest. On the morning of the 10th the Russian batteries for the first time opened a heavy fire upon us. But the distance was too great for much harm to be done. On the 11th the Russians made their first sortie, which was easily repulsed. On the 17th of October the bombardment commenced. The French and English had 117 guns in position, the Russians 130. The fire commenced at half-past six. By 8.40 a French magazine at the extreme right blew up, killing and wounding 100 men, while the French fire at this part was crushed by that of the Russians opposed to them. All day, however, the cannonade continued unabating on both sides, the men-of-war aiding the land forces by engaging the forts. During the night the Russians, having plenty of guns at hand, and labor in abundance, mounted a larger number of guns, and their superiority was so marked that the bombardment was gradually discontinued, and even the most sanguine began to acknowledge that an enormous mistake had been made in not attacking upon our arrival, and that it was impossible to say how long the siege would last. Ammunition, too, was already running short. For the next day or two, however, our guns continued their fire. But the French had been so completely overpowered by the heavy Russian metal that they were unable to assist us. The sailors had had their full share of work during the bombardment. Captain Peel, who commanded the party, was just the man to get the greatest possible amount of work from them. Always in high spirits, taking his full share in all the work, and exposing himself recklessly in the heaviest fire, he was almost idolized by his men. Jack Archer lived in a tent with five other midshipmen, and was attended upon by one of the fore-top men, who, not having been told off for the party, had begged permission to go in that capacity. Tom Hammond was the most willing of servants, but his abilities were by no means equal to his good-will. His ideas of cooking were of the vaguest kind. The salt junk was either scarcely warm through, or was boiled into a soup. The preserved potatoes were sometimes burned from his neglect of putting sufficient water, or he had forgotten to soak them beforehand, and they resembled bits of gravel rather than vegetables. Sometimes the boys laughed, sometimes they stormed, and Tom was more than once obliged to beat a rapid retreat to escape a volley of boots and other missiles. At first the tent was pitched in the usual way on the ground; but one of the boys, in a ramble through the camp, had seen an officer's tent prepared in a way which added greatly to its comfort, and this they at once adopted. Tom Hammond was set to dig a hole of eighteen inches smaller diameter than the circle of the tent. It was three feet in depth, with perpendicular sides. At nine inches from the edge a trench a foot deep was dug. In the centre was an old flour barrel filled with earth. Upon this stood the tent-pole. The tent was brought down so as to extend six inches into the ditch, the nine-inch rim of earth standing inside serving as a shelf on which to put odds and ends. A wall of sods, two feet high, was erected round the outside of the little ditch. Thus a comfortable habitation was formed. The additional three feet of height added greatly to the size of the tent, as the occupants could now stand near the edges instead of in the centre only. It was much warmer than before at night, and all draught was excluded by the tent overlapping the ditch, and by the wall outside. A short ladder at the entrance enabled them to get in and out. Tom Hammond had grumbled at first at the labor which this freak of his masters entailed. But as the work went on and he saw how snug and comfortable was the result, he took a pride in it, and the time was not far off when its utility was to become manifest. Indeed, later on in the winter the greater portion of the tents were got up in this manner. The camp of the Light Division was not far from that of the sailors, and the two brothers were often together. Fortunately both of them had so far escaped the illnesses which had already decimated the army. CHAPTER VIII. BALAKLAVA On the morning of the 25th Harry ran into Jack's tent. "Wake up, Jack, there is a row down near Balaklava. The Russians are coming on in force. You're off duty, are you not? So am I. We only came out of the trenches half an hour ago. Hurry on your things and come along." Jack was only a minute or two getting into his clothes, the other midshipmen off duty also hurrying up. Tom Hammond brought in four cups of hot coffee, which they drank hastily, and then munching their hard biscuits as they went, the party of four hurried off. On reaching the edge of the plateau the whole scene was visible. On four knolls in the plain, redoubts had been erected, and these were garrisoned by the Turks. Some two miles out ran the little river called the Tchernaya, which runs through the valley of Inkerman into the head of the harbor of Sebastopol, and upon this a body of Russian troops had been for some time encamped. Large bodies of the enemy were known to be gathered on the Mackenzie heights, a range of hills which bounded the plain upon the opposite side. These had been strongly reinforced, and at daybreak the Russian army, having gathered at the Tchernaya, advanced upon the Turkish redoubts. The scene when the boys reached the edge of the plateau was a stirring one. Great bodies of infantry were marching across the undulating plain. Strong regiments of cavalry swept hither and thither, and two batteries of light guns had already opened on the redoubts. Lines of British infantry could be seen drawn up at the foot of the slopes from Balaklava to the Marine Heights, where the marines were getting the guns in a position to command the plain. Solid bodies of British cavalry were drawn up near the mouth of the valley. The drums and bugles were sounding all over the plateau behind the group, and the troops were already forming up, and staff-officers were dashing about with orders. "There goes my regimental call," Harry said. "I must go back again, Jack." "I shall push on," Jack said. "Come along, you fellows, we're too far off to see much of it here. Let us get down as near Balaklava as we can." So saying, the midshipmen set off at a run. For a few minutes the guns of No. 1 redoubt, the farthest out of all, replied to the Russian fire, and then the Turks, menaced by overwhelming forces, and beyond the possibility of any assistance, left their guns and bolted across the plain towards the second redoubt. Few of them, however, reached it, for the Russian cavalry swooped down on them and nearly all were sabred as they ran. As soon as the Russians obtained possession of the redoubt they turned its guns upon the British, and the 93d Highlanders who were drawn up in front of the entrance to the Balaklava valley, were forced to fall back. Our cavalry, which were formed up in a slight dip of the ground, were invisible to the enemy. As the Russians advanced, the Turks in the second redoubt fled towards the third, but the Russian cavalry were too quick for them, and but few escaped. The guns were turned by the Russians upon the third redoubt, and, untaught by the fate of their comrades that it was safer to stand than to run, the Turks here also bolted, and ran for the town. Again did the Russian cavalry sweep down. The naval guns from the Marine Heights, the French and Turkish batteries on the road up to the camp in vain spoke out, and sent their shot and shell far out on the plain. The distance was too great, and many of the Turks were cut down, the rest reaching our lines where they formed up behind the 93d. By this time the whole sweep from the Sebastopol plateau to Balaklava was alive with spectators. The British infantry were drawn up ready to defend their position or to march down and take part in a general battle. Heavy columns of the French were marching from their distant camps, while groups of generals and mounted officers watched the progress of the fight. Lord Raglan and General Canrobert, who now commanded the French (Marshal St. Arnaud having gone on board ship a day or two after the battle of the Alma, where he died two days later), had taken up their position on some rising ground above Kadikoi, a village which lay near the mouth of the Balaklava valley. As the Russian cavalry on the left of their advance crowned the slope they saw the Highlanders drawn up in line across the plain. They halted till joined by numbers of other squadrons. Then they dashed at the Highlanders. As they came sweeping in magnificent array the Turks fired a volley and bolted. The Highlanders stood firm and immovable. When the Russians came within 600 yards, a long flash of fire ran along the British front. The distance, however, was too great, and the Russians came steadily on, although the shot from the British batteries were plunging thick among them. When within 250 yards of the Highlanders another flash of fire swept out along the line, and this time so great was the effect that the Russian squadrons recoiled, and in another minute were galloping back towards their main body, while a cheer ran along the heights from the marine battery to Sebastopol. Lord Raglan now sent orders to Lord Lucan to advance, and the Heavy Brigade moved forward just as a large body of Russian cavalry came over the brow in front of them. The British trumpets rang out the charge, and the Scots Greys and Inniskillings, who formed the first line of the Heavy Brigade, dashed at the enemy. Gathering speed as they went, these two splendid regiments rode at the heavy masses of Russian cavalry. Faster and faster grew their speed till, with a mighty shout, they flung themselves upon the foe. For a moment all seemed wild confusion to the spectators. Redcoats and black were inextricably mixed together, and over them like a play of rapid lightning was the flash of steel as the swords rose and fell. Presently the Redcoats were seen emerging from the rear, having cut their way through the surging mass. The flanks of the Russian column, however, were lapping them in, and it seemed that the little body would be annihilated, when the 4th and 5th Dragoon Guards, forming the second line of the Heavy Brigade, burst upon them like a torrent. Smitten, as if by a thunderbolt, the Russian cavalry, men and horses, rolled over before the stroke, and the column, shattered and broken into fragments, galloped away to the shelter of their infantry, while a roar of triumph arose from long lines of the allies. By this time the French infantry had arrived upon the ground, and Balaklava was safe. Then came the episode by which the battle of Balaklava is best known, the famous charge of the Six Hundred. An order was sent from Lord Raglan to Lord Lucan to advance the light cavalry farther. Captain Nolan, who bore the order, was himself a light cavalry officer of great enterprise and distinction, and who had an unlimited faith in the powers of British light cavalry. Excited probably by the sight of the glorious feat achieved by the "heavies," and burning to see it emulated by his comrades of the light regiments, he so gave the order to Lord Lucan that the latter conceived it to be his duty to charge. The order was simply to advance, but when Lord Lucan asked him, "How far are we to advance?" he replied, pointing to the Russians, "There are the enemy and there are the guns." Lord Lucan, conceiving that his orders were absolute, ordered Lord Cardigan to advance upon the guns. Lord Cardigan saw at once the desperate nature of the enterprise. The guns were a mile and a half distant, backed by the whole Russian army. The line to be ridden over was swept not only by the fire of the guns he was about to charge, but by those of other batteries on the flank. No support was possible, for the heavy cavalry were at this time far away, executing a movement which had been ordered. Lastly, even if successful, the charge could be attended with no great results, as it would be impossible either to hold or carry away the guns. The enterprise was indeed a desperate one. Lord Cardigan gave the order, and the Light Brigade, numbering in all but the strength of a single regiment, set out at a trot towards the distant Russians. As they approached they quickened their speed, and the spectators saw with feelings of mixed horror and admiration, the enterprise on which they had embarked. When at the distance of 1200 yards from the Russians, thirty pieces of artillery opened fire upon them. Men and horses rolled over before the iron shower, but the squadrons closed up their gaps and rode straight forward, with sabres flashing in the sun, leaving the plain behind them dotted with killed and wounded. Again, as they neared the battery, the iron shower swept through their ranks; then with a mighty shout they dashed upon the guns. Brief was the struggle here. The Russian gunners were cut down, and gathering together, boot to boot, the British cavalry rode straight at a Russian line of infantry which formed up 100 yards behind the guns, poured a volley into them. There was no pause, but straight, and with the shock of an avalanche, they hurled themselves at the Russians. There was a yell, a crash, the clash of sabre on bayonet, the shout of the victor, the scream of the dying, and the British horsemen burst through the Russian line. Their work was done. They were conquerors, but alone in an army of enemies. Turning now, they swept back again through the guns on their homeward way. The flank batteries belched their fire upon them, the rattle of musketry sounded round them, a regiment of cavalry was hurled upon their flanks, but these, weak as they were, they dashed aside, and wounded and bleeding, the remnant of the gallant band rode on until met by the Heavy Brigade, advancing to assist them and cover their retreat. Our infantry now made a forward movement. The Russians fell back, and at half-past eleven the battle of Balaklava was over. While the British charge was going on, 200 of the French cavalry made a brilliant charge on the left and carried a battery, but had to retreat with a loss of two captains, and fifty men killed and wounded. Our loss in all was thirteen officers killed or taken, and twenty-seven officers wounded, 162 men killed or taken, and 224 men wounded. There were 394 horses killed or missing, and 126 horses wounded. The Russians carried off some ten guns from the redoubts which they captured in the morning. Jack and his friends returned at the conclusion of the fight to camp, where, as they had rather expected, they met with a severe reprimand for their absence, being told that upon such an occasion, whether off duty or not, their duty was to remain in camp. Captain Peel indeed, was nearly sending them back to their ships again. But after a very severe reprimand he allowed them to remain. The boys went back to their tent somewhat crestfallen, but agreed that such a sight as they had witnessed was worth anything. October ended, and the batteries of besieged and besiegers continued to play, the Russians causing much annoyance by the heavy shell which they threw up from their mortars; the battery worked by the blue-jackets suffering particularly. The Russians had now 240 guns in their new works, a number far superior to those of the allies. As yet no damage whatever had been inflicted on the enemy's works. Each day their faces were pitted with shot, each night the Russians repaired the damages. In the mean time the Russians had received very large reinforcements. Two of the Imperial Grand Dukes had also arrived, and they were preparing for an attempt to sweep the allies into the sea. The weather had set in wet; the soldiers were weakened by their incessant work in the trenches, by wet and exposure, and the strength of many of the regiments was greatly reduced by disease. All hopes of capturing the fortress and returning to Constantinople to winter were now at an end, and the roads having become mere quagmires, the supplies of food and of fuel were growing scanty. On the 3d, Jack had been sent down to Balaklava with a despatch from Captain Peel to Admiral Lyons. Mr. Hethcote lent him his pony, and having delivered his message in the guard-ship in the harbor, whence it would be taken out to the "Agamemnon," Jack went on board some of the transports, and discharged a number of commissions with which he had been intrusted by his comrades. So numerous were they that he was obliged to get a couple of sacks which were completely filled with hams, bottled stout, fresh bread, potted meats, brandy, matches, and tobacco. He had, too, succeeded in purchasing several waterproof sheets and tarpaulins, and these being fastened on the top of the sacks, were placed upon the pony's back, and, taking his bridle, Jack started through the mud for his long tramp back to camp, for it was quite out of the question that the pony could carry him in addition to these burdens. Not a little laughter was excited on his arrival, and there was quite a rush of the various officers to procure their share of Jack's purchases, for no officer had been down to Balaklava for a fortnight, and the stores of luxuries were completely exhausted. Next night Jack and his messmates gave a grand entertainment. Harry and two other lieutenants of the 33d--for the battle of the Alma had made so many death vacancies in the regiment that he had obtained his promotion--were there, and two young officers of the 30th who were cousins of one of Jack's tentmates. It certainly was a close pack. Tom Hammond had obtained some planks, and, laying these on the flour barrel, had contrived a sort of circular table, round which the parties sat with their backs to the wall, on boxes, empty preserved potato tins, rum kegs, and portmanteaus. There was no room for Tom to enter the tent, so the full dishes were handed in through the entrance, and the empty ones passed out. Each guest of course brought his own plate, knife, fork, spoon, and drinking tin. As for a change of plates, no one dreamed of such a thing. Outside, the night set in wet and gloomy, but four tallow candles stuck in bottles threw a grand illumination. The first course was pea-soup. It smelt good, but it had a suspicious appearance, globules of grease floated upon its surface. All fell to with a will, but with the first spoonful there was a general explosion. "What on earth is this, Jack?" Harry exclaimed. "What the deuce is it?" another said. "It is filthy!" While one of the young officers of the 30th exclaimed to his cousin, "Confound it, Ned! you haven't brought us here to poison us, have you?" This explosion was followed by a simultaneous shout for Tom by his six angry masters. The top-man put his head in at the slit. "What the deuce have you been doing to this soup?" roared the indignant chorus. "Soup, your honors? Nothing." "Nothing! Don't tell me, you ruffian!" exclaimed Allison, the oldest of the midshipmen. "It's poison! What have you been doing to it?" "Well, your honor, the only way I can account for it is that a while ago I took off the lid to see if it was boiling nicely, when a bit of tallow candle I had in my fingers slipped and fell into it. I couldn't get it out, though I scalded my fingers in trying, and it just melted away in no time. I skimmed the fat off the top, your honors, and didn't think it would make no matter." The shout of laughter which greeted the explanation was loud and general. "You're a scoundrel, Tom!" Allison said, "and I shall have to ask Mr. Hethcote to disrate you, and get some one here who is not a born idiot. Here, take this horrible mess away! Pour the contents of your plates back into the pot, boys, and put the plates together. You must wash them, Tom, or the tallow will taste in everything we have." The things were passed out of the tent, and after five minutes the plates were returned, and with them a great tin piled up with Irish stew, the contents of five tins. A cheer rose as the smell of the food greeted their nostrils. "Hurrah! This is something like! I don't think there's any mistake this time." Nor was there. The stew was unanimously voted to be perfect, and Tom was again called to the tent-door, and solemnly forgiven. Then came fried rashers of ham, eaten with hard biscuit. Then came the great triumph of the banquet--a great plum-pudding, which had been sent out from England in a tin, ready cooked, and which had only required an hour's boiling to warm it through. In order to eat this in what the midshipmen called proper style, a tin pannikin half filled with brandy was held over the candles, and the brandy being then ignited, was poured over the pudding. Not a scrap of this was left when the party had finished, and the table being cleared, pipes were brought out and lighted; the drinking-cups refilled with grog, and the party set-to to enjoy a long evening. "It is a beastly night," the one sitting next to the door said, peering out into the darkness. "It is a fine rain, or rather a Scotch mist, so thick I can hardly see the next tent. It will be as much as you fellows will be able to do to find your way back to your camps. "Now," Allison said, "let us make ourselves comfortable. It is only seven o'clock yet, and you've got three hours before 'lights out.' It's my duty as president of the mess to call upon some one for a song, but as I'm a good fellow I will set the example myself. Upon the present occasion we can't do better than begin with 'The Red, White, and Blue,' and, mind, a good chorus every one. Any one shirking the chorus will have no share of the next round of grog, and any one who does not sing when called upon, or who attempts to make any base explanations or excuses, will have to drink his tin full of salt and water." Without further delay Allison began his song, one very popular at that time. There was no occasion for him to use his authority as president in the infliction of fines, for every one in turn, when called upon, did his best, and the choruses were heard over the whole of the naval camp. "Hullo! What's all this noise about?" said a cheery voice presently, as a head was put through the opening of the tent. The midshipmen all jumped to their feet. "We are having a jollification, sir," Allison said, "on the things Archer brought up from Balaklava yesterday. Are we making too much noise, sir?" "Not a bit, lads," the first lieutenant said. "It's cheerful to hear you. It isn't much enjoyment that we get on this bleak plateau. Well, good-night. You mustn't keep it up after 'lights out,' you know." "That's something like a first lieutenant," Allison said, when Mr. Hethcote had retired. "Most of them look as if they'd swallowed a ramrod, and treat middies as if they were the dust of the earth. I'm quite sure that a man who is genial and nice gets his work done ever so much better than do those stand-off fellows. I see in your camp," he said to the officers, "colonels and majors standing and chatting to the young officers just as pleasantly and freely as a party of gentlemen on shore. Why the captain of a ship should hold himself as if he were a little god, is a thing I have never been able to make out. I'm sure you fellows obey orders on parade none the less promptly and readily because the colonel has been chatting with you in the mess-room half an hour before. But don't let us waste time. Archer, it's your turn for a song." And so merrily the hours passed away, until it was time to break up and put out the lights. And as the young fellows laughed and sung, while the mist and rain came down pitilessly outside, they little thought what was preparing for the morrow, or dreamed that the churches in Sebastopol were crowded with Russian soldiers praying the saints to give them victory on the morrow, and to aid them to drive the enemies of the Czar into the sea. CHAPTER IX. INKERMAN It was soon after five in the morning when the pickets of the second division, keeping such watch as they were able in the misty light, while the rain fell steadily and thickly, dimly perceived a gray mass moving up the hill from the road at the end of the harbor. Although this point was greatly exposed to attack, nothing had been done to strengthen the position. A few lines of earthworks, a dozen guns in batteries, would have made the place secure from a sudden attack. But not a sod had been turned, and the steep hillside lay bare and open to the advance of an enemy. Although taken by surprise, and wholly ignorant of the strength of the force opposed to them, the pickets stood their ground, but before the heavy masses of men clambering up the hill, they could do nothing, and were forced to fall back, contesting every foot. Almost simultaneously, the pickets of the light division were also driven in, and General Codrington, who happened to be making his rounds at the front, at once sent a hurried messenger to the camp with the report that the Russians were attacking in force. The second division was that encamped nearest to the threatened spot. General Pennefather, who, as Sir De Lacy Evans was ill on board ship, was in command, called the men who had just turned out of their tents, and were beginning as best they could to light their fires of soaked wood, to stand to their arms, and hurried forward General Adam's brigade, consisting of the 41st, 47th, and 49th, to the brow of the hill to check the advance of the enemy by the road from the valley, while with his own brigade, consisting of the 30th, 55th, and 95th, he took post on their flank. Already, however, the Russians had got their guns on to the high ground, and these opened a tremendous fire on the British troops. Sir George Cathcart brought up such portions of the 20th, 21st, 46th, 57th, 63d, and 68th regiments as were not employed in the trenches, and occupied the ground to the right of the second division. General Codrington, with part of the 7th, 23d, and 33d, took post to cover the extreme of our right attack. General Buller's brigade was to support the second division on the left, while Jeffrey's brigade, with the 80th regiment, was pushed forward into the brushwood. The third division, under Sir R. England, was held in reserve. The Duke of Cambridge, with the Guards, advanced on the right of the second division to the edge of the plateau overlooking the valley of the Tchernaya, Sir George Cathcart's division being on his right. There was no manoeuvring. Each general led his men forward through the mist and darkness against an enemy whose strength was unknown, and whose position was only indicated by the flash of his guns and the steady roll of his musketry. It was a desperate strife between individual regiments and companies scattered and broken in the thick brushwood, and the dense columns of gray-clad Russians, who advanced from the mist to meet them. Few orders were given or needed. Each regiment was to hold the ground on which it stood, or die there. Sir George Cathcart led his men down a ravine in front of him, but the Russians were already on the hillside above, and poured a terrible fire into the 63d. Turning, he cheered them on, and led them back up the hill; surrounded and enormously outnumbered, the regiments suffered terribly on their way back, Sir George Cathcart and many of his officers and vast numbers of the men being killed. The 88th were surrounded, and would have been cut to pieces, when four companies of the 77th charged the Russians, and broke a way of retreat for their comrades. The Guards were sorely pressed; a heavy Russian column bore down upon them, and bayonet to bayonet, the men strove fiercely with their foes. The ammunition failed, but they still clung to a small, unarmed battery called the Sand-bag battery, in front of their portion, and with volleys of stones tried to check their foes. Fourteen officers and half the men were down, and yet they held the post till another Russian column appeared in their rear. Then they fell back, but, reinforced by a wing of the 20th, they still opposed a resolute front to the Russians. Not less were the second division pressed; storms of shot and bullets swept through them, column after column of grey-clad Russians surged up the hill and flung themselves upon them; but, though suffering terribly, the second division still held their ground. The 41st was well-nigh cut to pieces, the 95th could muster but sixty-four bayonets when the fight was over, and the whole division, when paraded when the day was done, numbered but 800 men. But this could not last. As fast as one assault was repulsed, fresh columns of the enemy came up the hill to the attack, our ammunition was failing, the men exhausted with the struggle, and the day was well-nigh lost when, at nine o'clock, the French streamed over the brow of the hill on our right in great force, and fell upon the flank of the Russians. Even now the battle was not won. The Russians brought up their reserves, and the fight still raged along the line. For another three hours the struggle went on, and then, finding that even the overwhelming numbers and the courage with which their men fought availed not to shake the defence, the Russian generals gave up the attack, and the battle of Inkerman was at an end. On the Russian side some 35,000 men were actually engaged, with reserves of 15,000 more in their rear; while the British, who for three hours withstood them, numbered but 8500 bayonets. Seven thousand five hundred of the French took part in the fight. Forty-four British officers were killed, 102 wounded; 616 men killed, 1878 wounded. The French had fourteen officers killed, and thirty-four wounded; 118 men killed, 1299 wounded. These losses, heavy as they were, were yet small by the side of those of the Russians. Terrible, indeed, was the destruction which the fire of our men inflicted upon the dense masses of the enemy. The Russians admitted that they lost 247 officers killed and wounded, 4076 men killed, 10,162 wounded. In this battle the British had thirty-eight, the French eighteen guns engaged. The Russians had 106 guns in position. Jack Archer and his comrades were still in bed, when the first dropping shots, followed by a heavy roll of musketry, announced that the Russians were upon them. Accustomed to the roar or guns, they slept on, till Tom Hammond rushed into the tent. "Get up, gentlemen, get up. The Russian army has climbed up the hill, and is attacking us like old boots. The bugles are sounding the alarm all over the camps." In an instant the lads were out of bed, and their dressing took them scarce a minute. "I can't see ten yards before me," Jack said, as he rushed out. "By Jove, ain't they going it!" Every minute added to the din, till the musketry grew into one tremendous roar, above which the almost unbroken roll of the cannon could scarce by heard. Along the whole face of the trenches the batteries of the allies joined in the din; for it was expected that the Russians would seize the opportunity to attack them also. In a short time the fusillade of musketry broke out far to the left, and showed that the Russians were there attacking the French lines. The noise was tremendous, and all in camp were oppressed by the sound which told of a mighty conflict raging, but of which they could see absolutely nothing. "This is awful," Jack said. "Here they are pounding away at each other, and we as much out of it as if we were a thousand miles away. Don't I wish Captain Peel would march us all down to help!" But in view of the possible sortie, it would have been dangerous to detach troops from their places on the trenches and batteries, and the sailors had nothing to do but to wait, fuming over their forced inaction while a great battle was raging close at hand. Overhead the Russian balls sang in swift succession, sometimes knocking down a tent, sometimes throwing masses of earth into the air, sometimes bursting with a sharp detonation above them; and all this time the rain fell, and the mist hung like a veil around them. Presently a mounted officer rode into the sailor's camp. "Where am I?" he said. "I have lost my way." "This is the marine camp." Captain Peel said, stepping forward to him as he drew rein. "How is the battle going, sir?" "Very badly, I'm afraid. We are outnumbered by five to one. Our men are fighting like heroes, but they are being fairly borne down by numbers. The Russians have got a tremendous force of artillery on to the hills, which we thought inaccessible to guns. There has been gross carelessness on our part, and we are paying for it now. I am looking for the third division camp; where is it?" "Straight ahead, sir; but I think they have all gone forward. We heard them tramping past in the mist." "I am ordered to send every man forward; every musket is of value. How many men have you here in case you are wanted?" "We have only fifty," Captain Peel said. "The rest are all in the battery, and I dare not move forward without absolute orders, as we may be wanted to reinforce them, if the enemy makes a sortie." The officer rode on, and the sailors stood in groups behind the line of piled muskets, ready for an instant advance, if called upon. Another half-hour passed, and the roll of fire continued unabated. "It is certainly nearer than it was," Captain Peel said to Mr. Hethcote. "No orders have come, but I will go forward myself and see what is doing. Even our help, small as it is, may be useful at some critical point. I will take two of the midshipmen with me, and will send you back news of what is doing." "Mr. Allison and Mr. Archer, you will accompany Captain Peel," Mr. Hethcote said. And the two youngsters, delighted at being chosen, prepared to start at once. "If they send up for reinforcements from the battery, Mr. Hethcote, you will move the men down at once, without waiting for me. Take every man down, even those on duty as cooks. There is no saying how hard we may be pressed." Followed by the young midshipmen, Captain Peel strode away through the mist, which was now heavy with gunpowder-smoke. They passed through the camp of the second division, which was absolutely deserted, except that there was a bustle round the hospital marquèes, to which a string of wounded, some carried on stretchers, some making their way painfully on foot, was flowing in. Many of the tents had been struck down by the Russian shot; black heaps showed where others had been fired by the shell. Dimly ahead, when the mist lifted, could be seen bodies of men, while on a distant crest were the long lines of Russian guns, whose fire swept the British regiments. "I suppose these regiments are in reserve?" Jack said, as he passed some of Sir R. England's division, lying down in readiness to move to the front when required, most of the battalions having already gone forward to support the troops who were most pressed. Presently Captain Peel paused on a knoll, close to a body of mounted officers. "There's Lord Raglan," Allison said, nudging Jack. "That's the headquarter staff." At that moment a shell whizzed through the air, and exploded in the centre of the group. Captain Gordon's horse was killed, and a portion of the shell carried away the leg of General Strangeway. The old general never moved, but said quietly,-- "Will any one be kind enough to lift me off my horse?" He was laid down on the ground, and presently carried to the rear, where an hour afterwards he died. Jack and his comrades, who were but a few yards away, felt strange and sick, for it was the first they had seen of battle close at hand. Lord Raglan, with his staff, moved slowly forward. Captain Peel asked if he should bring up his sailors, but was told to hold them in reserve, as the force in the trenches had already been fearfully weakened. "Stay here," Captain Peel said to the midshipmen. "I shall go forward a little, but do you remain where you are until I return. Just lie down behind the crest. You will get no honor if you are hit here." The lads were not sorry to obey, for a perfect hail of bullets was whistling through the air. The mist had lifted still farther, and they could obtain a sight of the whole line along which the struggle was raging, scarce a quarter of a mile in front of them. Sometimes the remnants of a regiment would fall back from the front, when a fresh battalion from the reserves came up to fill its place, then forming again, would readvance into the thick belt of smoke which marked where the conflict was thickest. Sometimes above the roll of musketry would come the sharp rattle which told of a volley by the British rifles. Well was it that two out of the three divisions were armed with Minies, for these created terrible havoc among the Russians, whose smooth-bores were no match for these newly-invented weapons. With beating hearts the boys watched the conflict, and could mark that the British fire grew feebler, and in some places ceased altogether, while the wild yells of the Russians rose louder as they pressed forward exultingly, believing that victory lay within their grasp. "Things look very bad, Jack," Allison said. "Ammunition is evidently failing, and it is impossible for our fellows to hold out much longer against such terrible odds. What on earth are the French doing all this time? Our fellows have been fighting single-handed for the last three hours. What in the world can they be up to?" And regardless of the storm of bullets, he leaped to his feet and looked round. "Hurrah, Jack! Here they come, column after column. Ten more minutes and they'll be up. Hurry up, you lubbers," he shouted in his excitement; "every minute is precious, and you've wasted time enough, surely. By Jove, they're only just in time. There are the Guards falling back. Don't you see their bearskins?" "They are only just in time," Jack agreed, as he stood beside his comrade. "Another quarter of an hour and they would have had to begin the battle afresh, for there would have been none of our fellows left. Hurrah! hurrah!" he cried, as, with a tremendous volley and a ringing shout, the French fell upon the flank of the Russians. The lads had fancied that before that onslaught the Russians must have given way at once. But no. Fresh columns of troops topped the hill, fresh batteries took the place of those which had suffered most heavily by the fire of our guns, and the fight raged as fiercely as ever. Still, the boys had no fear of the final result. The French were fairly engaged now, and from their distant camps fresh columns of troops could be seen streaming across the plateau. Upon our allies now fell the brunt of the fight, and the British, wearied and exhausted, were able to take a short breathing-time. Then, with pouches refilled and spirits heightened, they joined in the fray again, and, as the fight went on, the cheers of the British and the shouts of the French rose louder, while the answering yell of the Russians grew fainter and less frequent. Then the thunder of musketry sensibly diminished. The Russian artillery-men were seen to be withdrawing their guns, and slowly and sullenly the infantry fell back from the ground which they had striven so hard to win. It was a heavy defeat, and had cost them 15,000 men; but, at least, it had for the time saved Sebastopol; for, with diminished forces, the British generals saw that all hopes of carrying the place by assault before the winter were at an end and that it would need all their effort to hold their lines through the months of frost and snow which were before them. When the battle was over, Captain Peel returned to the point where he had left the midshipmen, and these followed him back to the camp, where, however, they were not to stay, for every disposable man was at once ordered out to proceed with stretchers to the front to bring in wounded. Terrible was the sight indeed. In many places the dead lay thickly piled on the ground, and the manner in which Englishmen, Russians, and Frenchmen lay mixed together showed how the tide of battle had ebbed and flowed, and how each patch of ground had been taken and retaken again and again. Here Russians and grenadiers lay stretched side by side, sometimes with their bayonets still locked in each other's bodies. Here, where the shot and shell swept most fiercely, lay the dead, whose very nationality was scarcely distinguishable, so torn and mutilated were they. Here a French Zouave, shot through the legs, was sitting up, supporting on his breast the head of his dying officer. A little way off, a private of the 88th, whose arm had been carried away, besought the searchers to fill and light his pipe for him, and to take the musket out of the hand of a wounded Russian near, who, he said, had three times tried to get it up to fire at him as he lay. In other cases, Russians and Englishmen had already laid aside their enmity, and were exchanging drinks from their water-bottles. Around the sand-bag battery, which the Guards had held, the dead lay thicker than elsewhere on the plateau; while down in the ravine where Cathcart had led his men, the bodies of the 63d lay heaped together. The sailors had, before starting, fill their bottles with grog, and this they administered to friend and foe indiscriminately, saving many a life ebbing fast with the flow of blood. The lads moved here and there, searching for the wounded among the dead, awed and sobered by the fearful spectacle. More than one dying message was breathed into their ears; more than one ring or watch given to them to send to dear ones at home. All through the short winter day they worked, aided by strong parties of the French who had not been engaged; and it was a satisfaction to know that, when night fell, the greater portion of the wounded, British and French, had been carried off the field. As for the Russians, those who fell on the plateau received equal care with the allies; but far down among the bushes that covered the hillside lay hundreds of wounded wretches whom no succor, that day at least, could be afforded. The next day the work of bringing in the Russian wounded was continued, and strong fatigue parties were at work, digging great pits, in which the dead were laid those of each nationality being kept separate. The British camps, on the night after Inkerman, afforded a strong contrast to the scene which they presented the night before. No merry laugh arose from the men crouched round the fires; no song sounded through the walls of the tents. There was none of the joy and triumph of victory; the losses which had been suffered were so tremendous as to overpower all other feeling. Of the regiments absolutely engaged, fully one-half had fallen; and the men and officers chatted in hushed voices over the good fellows who had gone, and of the chances of those who lay maimed and bleeding in the hospital tents. To his great relief, Jack had heard, early in the afternoon, that the 33d had not been hotly engaged, and that his brother was unwounded. The two young officers of the 30th, who had, a few hours before, been spending the evening so merrily in the tent, had both fallen, as had many of the friends in the brigade of Guards whose acquaintance he had made on board the "Ripon," and in the regiments which, being encamped near by the sailors, he had come to know. Midshipmen are not given to moralizing, but it was not in human nature that the lads, as they gathered in their tent that evening, should not talk over the sudden change which so few hours had wrought. The future of the siege, too, was discussed, and it was agreed that they were fixed where they were for the winter. The prospect was a dreary one, for if they had had so many discomforts to endure hitherto, what would it be during the next four months on that bleak plateau? For themselves, however, they were indifferent in this respect, as it was already known the party on shore would be shortly relieved. CHAPTER X. THE GREAT STORM Two days after the battle of Inkerman, the party of sailors who manned the batteries before Sebastopol were relieved by a fresh set from on board the men-of-war. Some of those who had been away at the front returned on board ship, while others, among whom was Jack Archer, were ordered to join the camp at the marine heights above Balaklava, to fill the places of some men invalided on board ship. The change was, in some respects, an agreeable one; in others, the reverse. The position was very high and exposed to wind; but, on the other hand, the men, being able to obtain materials at Balaklava, had constructed warm shelters. The ravines below were well wooded, and they were consequently enabled to keep up cheerful fires; whereas at the front the supply of fuel barely sufficed to cook the food, and was almost useless for any purposes of warmth. There was far less privation here, for Balaklava lay within twenty minutes' walk, and stores of all kinds could be bought on board the ships. There was, too, an entire absence of the heavy and continuous work in the wet trenches. The great drawback to the position was, indeed, the absence of excitement and change, and the quiet seemed almost preternatural after the almost continual boom of cannon at the front. Jack was pleased to find his chum Hawtry on duty at the height. "This is a grand view, Hawtry," he said, as he stood at the edge of the cliff the morning after his arrival. Below at his feet lay a great fleet of transports. To the left the cliffs stretched away, wild and precipitous, rising to heights far greater than the point at which they stood, some 600 feet above the sea. On his right the hill sloped gradually down to the old Genoese castle, and then sharply to the harbor, in which lay several men-of-war. In Balaklava, lines of wooden huts had been erected for a hospital, and their felt-covered roofs contrasted with the red tiles of the Tartar houses, and with the white walls and tower of the church. Along the valley at the foot of the harbor long lines of arabas and pack-animals, looking like mere specks from the point where the lads were standing, could be seen making their way to the front; while seven miles distant, on the plateau above Sebastopol, rose, like countless white dots, the tents of the Allied Army. Turning still farther round, they saw the undulating plain across which the light cavalry had charged upon the Russian guns, while standing boldly against the sky was the lofty table-land extending from above the village of Inkerman, right across the line of sight to the point known as Mackenzie Heights, from a farm belonging to an Englishman situated there. On these heights were encamped a large body of Russian troops. "It's a splendid view, Dick," Jack Archer said; "but," he added, turning to look at the fleet of transports again, "I shouldn't like to be on board one of those ships if it came on to blow. It must be a rocky bottom and no holding-ground." "That's what every one is saying, Jack. No one can make out why they don't let them all go inside. Of course they could not all unload at once, but there is room for them to shelter, if laid in tiers, as they would be in a crowded port. Yes, if we get a storm, and they say in the Black Sea they do have terrific gales during the winter, I fear we shall have a terrible business here." Two days later they had a taste of what a storm in the Black Sea was. On the afternoon of Friday, the 10th, the wind got up, blowing straight into the bay. Very rapidly the sea rose. As dusk came on the sailors on the marine heights gathered on the edge of the cliff, and looked anxiously down upon the sea. Already great waves were tumbling in, dashing against the foot of the cliff, and sending clouds of spray half-way up to the old castle, 200 feet above them. The ships were laboring heavily, tugging and straining on their cables. From the funnels of the steamers volumes of black smoke were pouring, showing that they were getting up steam to keep the screws or paddles going, and relieve the strain upon their anchors. "I wouldn't be aboard one of them craft," an old sailor said, "not for enough money to find me in grog and 'bacca for the rest of my life. If the gale gets stronger, half them ships will be ashore afore morning, and if they do, God help those on board!" Happily the storm did not increase in violence, and when morning broke it was found that although many of the vessels had dragged their anchors, and some damage had been done by collisions, none had gone ashore. The knowledge, however, of how heavy a sea got up in a gale of even moderate force, and how frightfully dangerous was the position of the vessels, would, it might be thought, have served as a lesson, but unhappily it did not do so. The naval officer who was in charge of the harbor was obstinate, and again refused the request of the masters of many of the transports that the shipping might all be allowed to enter the harbor. He refused, and upon him is the responsibility of the terrible loss of life which ensued. On the 14th the wind again began to rise, and the sailors, as night came on, looked over the sea. "We are going to have a bad night of it again," the officer in command of the post said, as he gazed seaward. "It looks as wild a night as ever I saw. Look how fast the scud is flying overhead. Last week's gale was a stiff one, but, unless I'm mistaken, it will be nothing to that which is upon us." Louder and louder roared the wind, till men could scarce keep their feet outside shelter. The tents shook and rocked. Men could hardly hear each other's voices above the storm, and even in the darkness of night the sheets of foam could be seen dashing up to the very walls of the castle. Jack Archer and Dick Hawtry, who with two other midshipmen occupied a tent, sat listening awe-struck to the fury of the gale. There was a gust fiercer than usual, accompanied by a crack like the sound of a pistol, followed by a stifled shout. "There's a tent down!" Hawtry exclaimed, "and I shouldn't wonder--" He did not finish, for at the moment the pole of their own tent broke asunder like a pipe, and in an instant the four were buried beneath the folds of the canvas. With much shouting and laughter they struggled to the entrance and made their way out. Half the tents were already levelled to the ground, and ten minutes later not one remained standing. The midshipmen crowded into the turf huts which some of the officers had had erected. Scarcely had they entered, when there was the boom of a heavy gun. "I thought so," Dick Hawtry said. "There's the first of them. How many more will there be before morning?" The door opened, and a sailor put in his head. "Gentlemen, the captain says you are to turn out. He's going to take a party down to the castle with ropes." In a few minutes a hundred men mustered, and moved down the hill. So fierce was the gale that, during the squalls, it was impossible to keep themselves on their feet, and all had to lie down till the fury of the gust had passed. It was pitch dark, and they groped rather than made their way along. Fast now, one after another, came the sound of the signal guns. "There must be a dozen of them adrift," Dick shouted into his friend's ear during one of the lulls. "God help them all; what will become of them? A ship would be dashed to pieces like an eggshell against these cliffs." When they reached the lowest point of the cliff, the party were halted and told to lie down and keep themselves in readiness, in case their services should be required. The officers struggled forward to the edge, and tried to see what was going on down in the bay below; but little could be seen, save the mighty sheets of spray, as the waves struck the cliffs. Here and there in the wild waters they fancied occasionally that they could see the dark forms of the ships, but even of this they could not have been certain, save for the twinkling lights which rose and fell, and dashed to and fro like fire-flies in their flight. Now and then the flash of a cannon momentarily showed some ship laboring in the trough of the mountainous sea. "I believe that is the 'Black Prince,'" Jack shouted to his friend. "That big steamer which has been lying there the last week. If it is, she's ever so much nearer to shore than she was." Suddenly a blue light threw its glare on the sea. It came from almost under their feet. "Good heavens, Dick, there is a vessel on the rocks already; and look, a dozen more close in!" The example was followed, and several other blue lights were burned showing plainly the terrible nature of the scene. The vessels were wallowing in the tremendous waves. Many had cut away their masts to relieve the strain on their anchors. The paddles and screws of the steamers were working at full speed, for the lines of white foam behind them could be plainly seen. But even this availed them but little, for almost every ship lay nearer to the line of cliffs than she did when night fell; several were close to the foot of the rocks, and the lookers-on noticed that some which had lain near the shore were missing. On the decks of the ships could be seen numbers of persons holding on to ropes and bulwarks. Sometimes from the deck of a vessel a rocket soared up, the wind catching it as it rose, and carrying it far inland. By the captain's orders several blue lights, which the party had brought down, were burned, to show those on board that their position was perceived, but beyond this nothing could be done. Presently even above the noise of the gale a tremendous crash was heard, and they fancied that they heard a wild shout come faintly up. "Can nothing be done?" Jack shouted to his friend. "Nothing, sir," an old sailor said close by. "They are all doomed. There were over thirty ships there this morning, for I counted them, and I doubt if one will live out the night." By this time the sailors, unable to lie inactive, had joined the officers, and all were scattered in groups along the cliff. "Is there no possible way of getting down near the water?" Jack said. "I don't think so, sir; but if it were daylight we might make a shift to try." "Let us try, anyhow," Jack said. "Oh, there is another!" as another crash was heard above the gale. "Anything is better than standing here. I don't think the cliff goes quite sheer down everywhere. Let us try, Dick; it would be a relief to be doing something." "All right, Jack. Let you and I stick together. Do you lads," he said, turning to three or four sailors who were standing by, "keep close to us, and lend a hand." At the point where they were standing, it was clearly impossible to get down, for the rock sloped straight from, their feet. Farther to the left, however, it went down more gradually, and here the boys began to try to descend. "There is a sort of hollow here," Jack shouted, "a sort of ravine. This is our best place." Cautiously, step by step, holding on to such bushes as grew among the rocks pausing sometimes flattened against the rocks by the force of the gust, and drenched every moment by the sheets of spray, the boys made their way down, till they paused at a spot where the rock fell away sheer under their feet. They could go no farther. At the moment they heard a wild scream. A vessel appeared through the darkness below, and crashed with a tremendous thud against the rocks. The masts, which were so close that the boys seemed almost able to jump upon them, as they reached nearly to the level on which they were standing, instantly going over the side. Peering over, they could see the black mass in the midst of the surging white waters at their feet. The sailors had paused some way up the ascent, appalled by the difficulties which the boys, lighter and more active, had accomplished. "Go up to the top again," Hawtry said, climbing back to them. "Bring down one of those spars we brought down, a block, a long rope, and a short one to serve as a guy. Get half-a-dozen more hands. You'd better fix a rope at the top firmly, and use it to steady you as you return. There's a ship ashore just underneath us, and I think we can get down." In a few minutes the sailors descended again, carrying with them a spar some twenty feet long. With immense difficulty this was lowered to the spot which the boys had reached. One of the sailors had brought down a lantern, and by its light a block was lashed to the end, and a long rope roved through it. Then a shorter rope was fastened to the end as a guy, and the spar lowered out, till it sloped well over the edge. The lower edge was wedged in between two rocks, and others piled round it. "Now," Dick said, "I will go down." "You'll never get down alive, sir," one of the sailor said. "The wind will dash you against the cliff. I'll try, sir, if you like; I'm heavier." "Let me go down with you," Jack said. "The two of us are heavier than a man, and we shall have four legs to keep us off the cliff. Besides, we can help each other down below." "All right," Dick said. "Fasten us to the rope, Hardy. Make two loops so that we shall hang face to face, and yet be separate, and give me a short rope of two or three fathoms long, so that we can rope ourselves together, and one hold on in case the other is washed off his feet when we get down. Look here, Hardy, do you lie down and look over the edge, and when you hear me yell, let them hoist away. Now for it!" The boys were slung as Dick had ordered. "Lower away steadily," Dick said. "Stop lowering if we yell." In another minute the lads were swinging in space, some ten feet out from the face of the cliff. For the first few yards they descended steadily, and then, as the rope lengthened, the gusts of wind flung them violently against the face of the cliff. "Fend her off with your legs, Jack; that's the way. By Jove, that's a ducking!" he said, as a mighty rush of spray enveloped them as a mountainous sea struck the rock below. "I think we shall do it. There's something black down below, I think some part of her still holds together; slowly!" he shouted up, in one of the pauses of the gale, and Hardy's response of "Aye, aye, sir," came down to them. It was a desperate three minutes; but at the end of that time, bruised, bleeding, half-stunned by the blows, half-drowned by the sheets of water which flew over them, the lads' feet touched the rocks. These formed a sloping shelf of some thirty feet wide at the foot of the cliff. The wreck which had appeared immediately under them was forty feet away, and appeared a vague, misshapen black mass. They had been seen, for they had waved the lantern from the edge of the cliff before starting, and they had several times shouted as they descended, and as they neared the ground, they were delighted at hearing by an answering shout that their labors had not been in vain, and that some one still survived. "Throw us a rope," Dick shouted at the top of his voice; and in a moment they heard a rope fall close to them. Groping about in the darkness, they found it, just as a wave burst below them, and, dashing high over their heads, drove them against the rock, and then floated them off their feet. The rope from above held them, however. "Lower away!" Dick yelled, as he regained his feet, and then, aided by the rope from the ship, they scrambled along, and were hauled on to the wreck before the next great sea came. "I've broken my arm, Dick," Jack said; "but never mind me now. How many are there alive?" There were sixteen men huddled together under the remains of the bulwark. The greater portion of the ship was gone altogether, and only some forty feet of her stern remained high on the rocky ledge on which she had been cast. The survivors were for the most part too exhausted to move, but those who still retained some strength and vigor at once set to work. In pairs they were fastened in the slings, and hauled up direct from the deck of the vessel, another rope being fastened to them and held by those on the wreck, by which means they were guided and saved somewhat from being dashed against the cliff in the ascent. When those below felt, by the rope no longer passing between their hands, that the slings had reached the top, they waited for a minute to allow those in them to be taken out, and then hauling upon the rope, pulled the slings down again for a fresh party. So, slowly and painfully, the whole party were, two by two, taken up from the wreck. Several times while the operation was being performed great crashes were heard, followed by loud shouts and screams, as vessel after vessel drove ashore to the right or left of them. But Jack and his friend, who consulted together, agreed that by no possibility could these be aided, as it was only just at the point where the wreck lay that the rocks at the foot of the cliff were high enough to be above all but exceptionally high waves, and any one adventuring many yards either to the right or left would have been dashed to pieces against the cliff by the first wave. The midshipmen were the last to leave the ship. Dick had in vain begged his messmate to go up in one of the preceding batches, as the last pair would necessarily be deprived of the assistance from the lower rope, which had so materially aided the rest. Jack, however, refused to hear of it. When the slings came down to them for the last time, they put them on, and stood on the wreck watching till a great wave came. When it had passed, they slipped down the side of the ship by a rope, and hurried over the rocks till immediately under the spar, whose position was indicated by a lantern held there. Then, in answer to their shout, the rope tightened, and they again swung in the air. The wind blew no more fiercely than before; indeed, it was scarce possible it could do so; but they were now both utterly exhausted. During the hour and a half which they had stood upon the remains of the wreck, they had been, every minute or two, deluged with water. Sometimes, indeed, the sea had swept clean over them, and had it not been that they had lashed themselves with ropes, they must have been swept away. Every great wave had swept away some plank or beam of the wreck, and when they left it, scarce a fragment of the deck remained attached to the rudder-post. Terrible was the buffeting they received as they ascended, and time after time they were dashed with immense force against the face of the cliff. To Jack the noise and confusion seemed to increase. A strange singing sounded in his ears, and as the slings reached the top, and a burst of cheering broke from the seamen there, all consciousness left him. The officer in command of the party was himself at the spot; he and many others having made their way down, when the news spread that a rescue was being attempted. Dick, too, was unable to stand, and both were carried by the sailors to the top of the slope. Here a cup of strong rum-and-water was given to Dick, while some pure spirits poured down his throat soon recalled Jack to consciousness. The latter, upon opening his eyes, would have got up, but this his officer would not allow; and he was placed on a stretcher and carried by four tars up to the heights, where he was laid in one of the sod huts, and his arm, which was badly fractured, set by the surgeon. The sixteen rescued men had, as they gained the top, been at once taken down into Balaklava, the sole survivors of the crews of over twenty ships which had gone to pieces in that terrible hurricane. Of the fleet of transports and merchantmen which, trim and in good order, had lain in the bay the afternoon before, some half-dozen only had weathered the hurricane. The "City of London" alone had succeeded in steaming out to sea when the gale began. The "Jason" and a few others had ridden to their anchors through the night. The rest of the fleet had been destroyed, victims to the incompetence and pig-headedness of the naval officer in charge of the harbor. That there was ample room for all within it, was proved by the fact that, later on, a far larger number of ships than that which was present on the day of the gale lay comfortably within it. The largest ship lost was the "Prince," with whom nearly 300 men went down. Even inside the harbor vessels dragged their anchors and drifted ashore, so terrible was the gale, which, indeed, was declared by old sailors and by the inhabitants of the town to be the most violent that they ever experienced. Enormous quantities of stores of all kinds, which would have been of immense service to the troops in the winter, were lost in the gale, and even in the camps on shore the destruction was very great. CHAPTER XI. TAKEN PRISONERS "That arm of yours always seems to be getting itself damaged, Jack," Hawtry said next morning, as he came into the hut. "You put it in the way of a bullet last time, and now you've got it smashed up. How do you feel altogether?" "I am awfully bruised, Dick, black and blue all over, and so stiff I can hardly move." "That's just my case," Dick said, "though, as you see, I can move. The doctor's been feeling me all over this morning, and he said it was lucky I was a boy and my bones were soft, for if I had been a man, I should have been smashed up all over. As to my elbows and my knees, and all the projecting parts of me, I haven't got a bit of skin on them, and my uniform is cut absolutely to ribbons. However, old boy, we did a good night's work. We saved sixteen lives, we got no end of credit, and the chief says he shall send a report in to the Admiral; so we shall be mentioned in despatches, and it will help us for promotion when we have passed. The bay is a wonderful sight. The shores are strewn with floating timber, bales of stores, compressed hay, and all sorts of things. Fellows who have been down to the town told me that lots of the houses have been damaged, roofs blown away, and those gingerbread-looking balconies smashed off. As for the camps, even with a glass there is not a single tent to be seen standing on the plateau. The gale has made a clean sweep of them. What a night the soldiers must have had! I am put on the sick list for a few days so I shall be able to be with you. That's good news, isn't it?" "Wonderfully good," Jack laughed, "as if I haven't enough of your jaw at other times. And how long do you suppose I shall be before I am out?" "Not for some little time, Jack. The doctor says you've got four ribs broken as well as your arm." "Have I?" Jack said, surprised. "I know he hurt me preciously while he was feeling me about this morning; but he didn't say anything about broken ribs." A broken rib is a much less serious business than a broken arm, and in ten days Jack was up and about again, feeling generally stiff and sore, and with his arm in a sling. The surgeon had talked of sending him on board ship, but Jack begged so hard for leave to remain with the party ashore, that his request was granted. Winter had now set in in earnest. The weather was cold and wet; sometimes it cleared up overhead, and the country was covered with snow. A month after the accident, Jack was fit for duty again. Seeing what chums the lads were, the officer in command had placed them in the same watch, for here on land the same routine was observed as on board ship. The duties were not severe. The guns were kept bright and polished, the arms and accoutrements were as clean as if at sea. Each day the tars went through a certain amount of drill, and fatigue parties went daily down to the harbor to bring up stores, but beyond this there was little to do. One of the occupations of the men was chopping wood for fuel. The sides of the ravine immediately below the battery had long since been cleared of their brushwood, and each day the parties in search of fuel had to go farther away. Upon the day after Jack returned to duty, he and Hawtry were told off with a party of seamen to go down to cut firewood. Each man carried his rifle in addition to his chopper, for, although they had never been disturbed at this occupation, the Russians were known not to be far away. The sailors were soon at work hacking down the undergrowth and lopping off branches of trees. Some were making them up into faggots as fast as the others cut them, and all were laughing and jesting at their work. Suddenly there was a shout, and looking up, they saw that a party of Russians had made their way noiselessly over the snowclad ground, and were actually between them and the heights. At the same moment a volley of musketry was poured in from the other side, and three or four men fell. "Form up, form up," Hawtry shouted. "Well together, lads. We must make a rush at those beggars ahead. Don't fire till I tell you, then give them a volley and go at them with the butt-end of your muskets, then let every one who gets through make a bolt for it." The sailors, some twenty strong, threw themselves together, and, headed by the midshipmen, made a rush at the Russians. These opened fire upon them, and several dropped, but the remainder went on at the double until within twenty yards of the enemy, when pouring in a volley and clubbing their muskets, they rushed upon them. For a moment there was a sharp _mèlèe_; several of the sailors were shot or bayoneted, but the rest, using the butt-ends of their muskets with tremendous execution, fought their way through their opponents. Jack had shot down two men with his revolver, and having got through, was taking his place at the rear of the men--the proper place for an officer in retreat?--when he saw Hawtry fall. A Russian ran up to bayonet him as he lay, when Jack, running back, shot him through the head. In a moment he was surrounded, and while in the act of shooting down an assailant in front, he was struck on the back of the head with the butt of a musket, and fell stunned across the body of his friend. When he recovered consciousness, he found that he was being carried along by four Russians. He could hear the boom of cannon and the rattle of musketry, and knew that the defenders on the heights were angrily firing at the retreating party, who had so successfully surprised them. As soon as his bearers perceived that Jack had opened his eyes, they let him drop, hauled him to his feet, and then holding him by his collar, made him run along with them. When they had mounted the other side of the slope, and were out of fire of the guns, the party halted, and Jack, hearing his own name called, looked round, and saw Hawtry in the snow, where his captors had dropped him. "Hullo, Dick! old fellow," Jack shouted joyfully; "so there you are. I was afraid they had killed you." "I'm worth a lot of dead men yet, Jack. I've been hit in the leg, and went down, worse luck, and that rascally Russian would have skewered me if you hadn't shot him. You saved my life, old fellow, and made a good fight for me and I shall never forget it; but it has cost you your liberty." "That's no great odds," Jack said. "It can't be much worse stopping a few months in a Russian prison, than spending the winter upon the heights. Besides, with two of us together, we shall be as right as possible, and maybe, when your leg gets all right again, we'll manage to give them the slip." The Russian officer in command of the party, which was about 200 strong, now made signs to the boys that they were to proceed. Dick pointed to his leg, and the officer examined the wound. It was a slight one, the ball having passed through the calf, missing the bone. He was, however, unable to walk. A litter was formed of two muskets with a great-coat laid between them, and Dick, being seated on this, was taken up by four men, and Jack taking his place beside him, the procession started. They halted some four miles off at a village in a valley beyond the Tchernaya. The next day the boys were placed on ponies, and, under the escort of an officer and six troopers, conducted to Sebastopol. Here they were taken before a Russian general who, by means of an interpreter, closely examined them as to the force, condition, and position of the army. The lads, however, evaded all questions by stating that they belonged to the fleet, and were only on duty on the heights above Balaklava, and were in entire ignorance of the force of the army and the intentions of its general. As to the fleet, they could tell nothing which the Russians did not already know. The examination over, they were conducted to one of the casemates of Fort St. Nicholas. Here for a fortnight they remained, seeing no one except the soldier who brought them their food. The casemate was some thirty feet long by eighteen wide, and a sixty-eight-pounder stood looking out seaward. There the boys could occasionally see the ships of war of the allies as they cruised to and fro. It was very cold, for the opening was of course unglazed. They had each a heap of straw and two blankets, and these in the daytime they used as shawls, for they had no fire, and it was freezing sharply. Dick's leg had been examined and dressed by a surgeon upon his first arrival; but as the wound was not serious, and the surgeons were worked night and day with the enormous number of wounded at Inkerman, and in the various sorties, with which the town was crowded, he did not again come near his patient. The wound, however, healed rapidly. As Jack remarked, the scanty rations of black bread and tough meat--the latter the produce of some of the innumerable bullocks which arrived at Sebastopol with convoys, too exhausted and broken down for further service--were not calculated to cause any feverish excitement to the blood, nor, had it been so, would the temperature have permitted the fever to rise to any undue height. Their guards were kind to them so far as was in their power, and upon their using the word "tobacco," and making signs that they wanted to smoke, furnished them with pipes and with tobacco, which, although much lighter and very different in quality from that supplied on board ship, was yet very smokable, and much mitigated the dulness from which the boys suffered. A few days after their captivity the boys heard the church bells of Sebastopol ringing merrily. "I wonder what all this is about?" Dick said; "not for a victory, I'll be bound." "Why, bless me," Jack exclaimed, "if it isn't Christmas day, and we had forgotten all about it! Now, that is hard, monstrously hard. The fellows on the heights will just be enjoying themselves to-day. I know they were talking about getting some currants and raisins from on board ship, and there will be plum-duff and all sorts of things. I wonder how they're all getting on at home? They're sure to be thinking often enough of us, but it will never enter their minds that here we are cooped up in this beastly hole." The day, however, did not pass unnoticed, for a Russian officer who spoke English called upon them, and said that he came at the request of the governor himself to express to them his regret that their quarters were so uncomfortable and their fare so bad. "But," he said, "we cannot help ourselves. Every barrack in the town is crowded; every hospital, every private house even, filled with wounded. We have fifty or sixty thousand troops, and near twenty thousand sick and wounded. Your people are very good not to fire at the town, for if they did, I do not know what the poor fellows would do. For to-day the governor has sent you down a dinner from his own table, together with a few bottles of wine and spirits--and what you will not prize less, for I see you smoke, a box of cigars. It is very cold here. I will see that you have some more blankets." Two soldiers came in with baskets, the one with tin-covered dishes, the other with wines. These were set out on the ground, and the boys, after sending a message expressing their cordial thanks to the general for his thoughtfulness, sat down, when alone, in the highest spirits to their unexpected feast. "This is a glorious spread, Jack. I wonder what all these dishes are? I don't recognize any of them. However, this is soup, there is no doubt about that, so let's fall to on that to begin with. But first of all, get out the cork of one of those champagne bottles. Now fill up your tin, Jack, and let's drink 'God bless all at home, and a merry Christmas to them.' We'll have our other toasts after dinner. I couldn't begin till we drank that. Now set to." The dishes were not as cold as might have been expected, for each had been enveloped in flannel before placing it in the basket. The soup was pronounced excellent, and the unknown meats, prime--better than anything they had tasted since they left England. There were sweets, too, which they made a clean sweep of. Then they called their guard, to whom they gave the remains of their dinner, together with a strong pannikin of water and spirits, to his extreme delight. Then, making themselves snug in the straw, wrapping themselves well in their blankets, fencing in their candle, so that it was sheltered from the draughts, they opened a bottle of brandy, drank a variety of toasts, not forgetting the health of the governor, who they agreed was a brick, they sang a song or two, then blew out the light, and, thoroughly warm and comfortable, were asleep in a minute or two. A few days later, an officer came in, signed to them to make their blankets into a bundle, and to follow him. The boys slipped four bottles of spirits which they had still remaining, and also the stock of cigars, into the rolls. Then, holding the bundles on their shoulders, they followed him. Dick, although still weak on his legs, was now able to walk. Presently they came to a large party of men, some of whom had their arms in slings, some were bandaged on the head, some lay in stretchers on the ground. "It is a convoy of wounded," Jack said. "I suppose we're going to be taken into the interior." An officer, evidently in charge, saluted the boys as they came up, and said something in Russian. They returned the salute. He was a pleasant-looking fellow with light-blue eyes, and yellowish moustache and beard. He looked at them, and then gave orders to a soldier, who entered the building, and returned with two peasants' cloaks lined with sheep-skin, similar to the one he himself wore. These were handed to them, and the midshipmen expressed their warmest gratitude to him; their meaning, if not their words, being clearly intelligible. "These are splendid," Jack said. "They've got hoods too, to go over the head. This is something like comfort. I wish our poor fellows up above there had each got one. It must be awful up on the plateau now. Fancy twelve hours in the trenches, and then twelve hours in the tents, with no fires, and nothing but those thin great-coats, and scarcely anything to eat. Now there's a move." A strong party of soldiers came down, lifted the stretchers, and in a few minutes the whole convoy were at the water's edge. Other similar parties were already there, and alongside were a number of flat barges. Upon these the invalids walked, or were carried, and the barges were then taken in tow by ships' boats, and rowed across the harbor to the north side. "I hope to goodness," Jack said, looking up at the heights behind them, along which the lines of entrenchments were clearly visible against the white snow, "that our fellows won't take it into their heads to have a shot at us. From our battery we often amused ourselves by sending a shell from one of the big Lancaster guns down at the ships in the harbor. But I never dreamed that I was likely to be a cockshy myself." The usual duel was going on between the batteries, and the puffs of white smoke rose from the dark line of trenches and drifted up unbroken across the deep blue of the still wintry sky. But happily the passage of the flotilla of boats attracted no attention, and they soon arrived at the shore close to the work known as Battery No. 4. Here they were landed. Those who could not walk were lifted into carts, of which some hundreds stood ranged alongside. The rest fell in on foot, and the procession started. The boys, to their satisfaction, found that the officer who had given them the coats was in charge of a portion of the train, and as they started he stopped to speak a word or two to them, to which they replied in the most intelligible manner they could by offering him a cigar, which a flash of pleasure in his face at once showed to be a welcome present. It took some time to get the long convoy in motion, for it consisted of some 700 or 800 carts and about 5,000 sick and wounded, of whom fully three-fourths were unable to walk. It mounted to the plateau north of the harbor, wound along near the great north fort, and then across undulating land parallel with the sea. They stopped for the night on the Katcha, where the allied army had turned off for their flank march to the southern side. The boys during the march were allowed to walk as they liked, but two soldiers with loaded muskets kept near them. They discussed the chances of trying to make their escape, but agreed that although they might be able to slip away from the convoy, the probability of their making their way through the Russian troops to their own lines at Balaklava or Sebastopol was so slight that the attempt would be almost madness. Their figures would be everywhere conspicuous on the snow, their footsteps, could be followed, they had no food, and were ignorant of the language and country. Altogether they determined to abandon any idea of escaping for the present. There were but a dozen soldiers with the convoy, the officers being medical men in charge of the wounded. A halt was made in a sheltered spot near the river, and close to the village of Mamaschia, which was entirely deserted by its inhabitants. The worst cases of sickness were carried into the houses, and the rest prepared to make themselves as comfortable as they could in or under the wagons. Stores of forage were piled by the village for the use of the convoys going up and down, and the drivers speedily spread a portion of this before their beasts. The guard and such men as were able to get about went off among the orchards that surrounded the village, to cut fuel. The boys' special guard remained by them. When the doctor whom they regarded as their friend came up to them, he brought with him another officer as interpreter, who said in broken French,-- "Voulez-vous donner votre parole pas essayez echapper?" Jack was as ignorant of French as of Russian, but Dick knew a little. He turned to Jack and translated the question. "Tell him we will give our words not to try and escape during the march, or till we tell him to the contrary." This was almost beyond Dick. "Nous donnons notre parole pour le prèsent," he said, "pour la marche, vous comprenez. Si nous changons notre--I wonder what mind is," he grumbled to himself--"intention, nous vous dirons." This was intelligible, although not good French, and their friend, having shaken hands with them as if to seal the bargain, told the soldiers that they need no longer keep a watch on the prisoners, and then beckoned them to accompany him. The boys had, at starting, placed their bundles upon a cart to which they had kept close during the march. Putting these on their shoulders, they accompanied their friend to a cart which was drawn up three or four feet from the wall of a house. They set to work at once, and with the aid of some sticks and blankets, of which there was a good supply in the wagon, made a roof covering the space between it and the house, hung others at the end and side, and had soon a snug tent erected. One of the soldiers brought a large truss of straw, and another a bundle of firewood. The blanket at the end of the tent sheltered from the wind, was drawn aside, and a great fire speedily blazed up at the entrance. The straw was shaken out to form a soft seat, just inside the tent. All three produced their pipes and lit them, while the doctor's servant prepared over the fire a sort of soup with the rations. This turned out to be by no means bad, and when after it the boys produced one of their bottles of brandy and three cigars, the Russian doctor patted them on the back, and evidently told them that they were first-rate fellows. For half-an-hour he smoked his cigar and sipped his tin of brandy and water, then, explaining by signs that he must go and look after his wounded, left them. The boys chatted for another half-hour, and then stowing their brandy carefully away, they shook up the straw into a big bed, and, wrapping themselves in their sheepskins, were soon soundly asleep; but it was long after midnight before the doctor returned from his heavy work of dressing wounds and administering medicine, and stretched himself on the straw beside them. CHAPTER XII. PRISONERS ON PAROLE Day after day the convoy made its way northward without any incident of importance happening. The midshipmen were glad to find that, thanks to their sheepskin cloaks and pointed hoods, they passed through the towns without attracting any attention whatever. The convoy lessened in length as it proceeded. The animals broke down in great numbers and died by the road, under the task of dragging the heavy wagons through the deep snow. At a town of some size, where they halted for two days, relief was afforded by the wheels being taken off the wagons, and rough runners affixed, the wheels being placed on the carts, as that they could be put on again in case of a thaw. Famine, however, did more that fatigue in destroying the animals; for although good exertions had been made to form depots of forage along the roads, these were exhausted faster than they could be collected by the enormous trains, which, laden with provisions and warlike stores, were making their way to Sebastopol from the interior of Russia. There was no lack of food for the men, for ample stores of black bread were carried, and a supply of meat was always obtainable at the end of the day's journey by the carcase of some bullock which had fallen and then been shot during the day's march. But though the train diminished in length, its occupants diminished even more rapidly. Every morning, before starting, a burying party were busy interring the bodies of those who had died during the previous day's march or in the night. When the halt was made at a village, the papa or priest of the place performed a funeral mass; when, as was more common, they encamped in the open, the grave was filled in, a rough cross was erected over it, and the convoy proceeded on its march. The midshipmen found the journey dreary and uninteresting in the extreme. After leaving the Crimea the country became a dead flat; which, though bright in summer, with a wide expanse of waving grain, was inexpressibly mournful and monotonous as it lay under its wide covering of snow. Here and there, far across the plain, could be seen the low, flat-roofed huts of a Russian village, or the massively-built abode of some rich landed proprietor. Scarce a tree broke the monotony of the wide plain, and the creaking of the carts and the shouts of the drivers seemed strangely loud as they rose in the dense silence of the plain. From the first day of starting, the midshipmen set themselves to learn something of the language. The idea was Jack's and he pointed out to Hawtry, who was rather disinclined to take the trouble, that it would in the first place give them something to think about, and be an amusement on the line of march; in the second, it would render their captivity less dull, and, lastly, it would facilitate their escape if they should determine to make the attempt. As they walked, therefore, alongside their friend the doctor, they asked him the names of every object around them, and soon learned the Russian words for all common objects. The verbs were more difficult, but thanks occasionally to the doctor (who spoke French) joining them at their encampment at night, they soon learned the sentences most commonly in use. As they had nothing else to do or to think about, their progress was rapid, and by the end of a month they were able to make themselves understood in conversations upon simple matters. They had been much disappointed, when, upon leaving the Crimea, the convoy had kept on north instead of turning west; for they had hoped that Odessa would have been their place of captivity. It was a large and flourishing town, with a considerable foreign population, and, being on the sea, might have offered them opportunities for escape. The Russians, however, had fears that the allied fleets might make an attack upon the place, and for this reason, such few prisoners as fell into their hands were sent inland. The journeys each day averaged from twelve to fifteen miles, twelve, however, being the more ordinary distance. The sky was generally clear and bright, for when the morning was rough and the snow fell, the convoy remained in its halting-place. The cold was by no means excessive during the day, and although the snow was deep and heavy, there was no difficulty in keeping up with the convoy, as the pace of the bullocks was little over a mile and a half an hour. At night they were snug enough, for the doctor had adapted an empty wagon as their sleeping-place, and this, with a deep bed of straw at the bottom, blankets hung at the sides and others laid over the top, constituted as comfortable a shelter as could be desired. At last, after a month's travelling, the doctor pointed to a town rising over the plain, and signified that this was their halting-place. It was a town of some seven or eight thousand inhabitants, and the mosque-like domes of the churches shining, brightly in the sun, and the green-painted roofs and bright colors of many of the houses, gave it a gay and cheerful appearance. The convoy made its way through the streets to large barracks, now converted into a hospital. When the sick had been taken into the wards, the doctor proceeded with the midshipmen to the residence of the governor. The boys had laid aside the sheepskin cloaks which had proved so invaluable during their journey, and as they walked through the streets, in their midshipman's uniform, attracted a good deal of attention. They were at once shown in to the governor, an officer of some five-and-thirty years old, with a fierce and disagreeable expression of countenance. He was a member of a high Russian family; but as a punishment for various breaches of discipline, arising from his quarrelsome disposition and misconduct, he had been appointed governor to this little town, instead of going with his regiment to the front. Saluting him, the doctor delivered to him an order for the safe guardianship of the two English officers. "Ah," he said, as he perused the document, and glanced at the midshipmen, "if these are British officers, I can scarcely understand the trouble they are giving us. They are mere boys. I thought their uniform was red. The soldiers who were brought here a month ago were all in red." "These are young naval officers," the doctor said. "I understand that some of the sailors are serving on shore, and these were captured, I am told, when out with a party of their men cutting fuel." "A wonderful capture, truly," the governor said sneeringly. "Two boys scarce out of the nursery." "It cost us some men," the doctor said calmly, "for I hear from the officer who brought them in that we lost altogether fifteen men, and the sailors would all have got away had it not been that one of these young officers was shot in the leg and the other stood by him, and shot several men with his revolver before he was captured." "A perfect St. George," the commandant sneered. "Well, sir, your duty is done, and I will see to them. Are they on parole?" "They gave me their parole not to try to escape during the journey, and have expressed their willingness to renew it." "It matters little one way or the other," the governor said. "Unless they could fly, they could not make their way through the country. There, sir, that will do." The doctor bowed, shook hands with the boys, and without a word went out, touching his lips with his fingers to them as he turned his back to the governor, a movement which the lads understood at once as a hint that it would be as well to say nothing which might show that they had any knowledge of Russian. The governor rang a hand-bell, and a sergeant entered. The governor wrote a few words on a piece of paper. "Take these prisoners to Count Preskoff's," he said, "and deliver this order to him." The sergeant motioned the lads to follow him. With a bow to the governor, which he passed unacknowledged, they followed the soldier. "A disagreeable brute, that," Jack said. "A little work in the trenches would do him good, and take some of his cockiness out of him. That was a good idea of the doctor, not saying good-bye in Russian. I don't suppose we shall run against that fellow again, but it we did, he might make it so disagreeable that we might be driven to show him a clean pair of heels." "He didn't ask for our parole," Dick said, "so we shall be justified in making a bolt if we see a chance." Passing through the streets the sergeant led them through the town and out into the country beyond. "Where on earth is he taking us to?" Jack wondered. "I would bet that he has quartered us on this Count Preskoff from pure spite. I wonder what sort of chap he is." After half an hour's walking they approached a large chateau, surrounded by smaller buildings. "He's a swell evidently," Dick said. "We ought to have comfortable quarters here." They entered a large courtyard, across one side of which stood the house; and the sergeant, proceeding to the main entrance, rang the bell. It was opened by a tall man dressed in full Russian costume. "I have a message for the count from the commandant," the sergeant said. "The count is absent," the servant answered; "but the countess is in." "I will speak to her." Leaving them standing in the hall, the man ascended a wide staircase, and in a minute or two returned and motioned to the sergeant to follow him. They ascended the stairs and entered a large and handsome room, in which sat a lady of some forty years old, with three younger ones of from sixteen to twenty years old. Countess Preskoff was a very handsome woman, and her daughters had inherited her beauty. The sergeant advanced and handed to her the order. She glanced at it, and an expression of displeasure passed across her face. "The commandant's orders shall be obeyed," she said coldly; and the sergeant, saluting, retired. The countess turned to her daughters. "The commandant has quartered two prisoners, English officers, upon us," she said. "Of course he has done it to annoy us. I suppose these are they." And she rose and approached the lads, who were standing by the door. "Why, they are boys," she said in surprise, "and will do for playfellows for you, Olga. Poor little fellows, how cruel to send such boys to fight!" Then she came up to the boys and bade them welcome with an air of kindness which they both felt. "Katinka," she said, turning to her eldest daughter, "you speak French, and perhaps they do also. Assure them that we will do our best to make them comfortable. Come here, my dears." Then she formally, pointing to each of them, uttered their names,-- "Katinka, Paulina, Olga." Dick, in reply, pointed to his companion,-- "Jack Archer,"--and to himself--"Dick Hawtry." The girls smiled, and held out their hands. "Mamma says," the eldest said in French, "that she is glad to see you, and will do all in her power to make you comfortable." "You're very good," Dick said. "I can speak very little French, and cannot understand it at all unless you speak quite slow. I wish now I hadn't been so lazy at school. But we both speak a few words of Russian, and I hope that we shall soon be able to talk to you in your own language." Bad as Dick's French was, the girls understood it, and an animated conversation in a mixed jargon of French and Russian began. The girls inquired how they had come there, and how they had been taken, and upon hearing they had been in Sebastopol, inquired more anxiously as to the real state of things there, for the official bulletins were always announcing victories, and they could not understand how it was that the allies, although always beaten, were still in front of Sebastopol, when such huge numbers of troops had gone south to carry out the Czar's orders, to drive them into the sea. The lads' combined knowledge of French and Russian proved quite insufficient to satisfy their curiosity, but there was so much laughing over their wonderful blunders and difficulty in finding words to explain themselves, that at the end of half an hour the boys were perfectly at home with their hostesses. "You will like to see your rooms," the countess said; and touching a hand-bell, she gave some orders to a servant who, bowing, led the way along a corridor and showed the boys two handsomely-furnished rooms opening out of each other, and then left them, returning in a minute or two with hot water and towels. "We're in clover here," Jack said, "and no mistake. The captain's state cabin is a den by the side of our quarters; and ain't they jolly girls?" "And pretty, too, I believe you; and the countess, too. I call her a stunner!" he exclaimed enthusiastically; "as stately as a queen, but as friendly and kind as possible. I don't think we ought to go to war with people like this." "Oh, nonsense!" Jack said. "We've seen thousands of Russians now, and don't think much of them; and 'tisn't likely we're going to let Russia gobble up Turkey just because there's a nice countess with three jolly daughters living here." Dick laughed. "No, I suppose not," he said. "But, Jack, what on earth are we going to do about clothes? These uniforms are getting seedy, though it is lucky that we had on our best when we were caught, owing to our having had the others torn to pieces the night of the wreck. But as for other things, we have got nothing but what we have on. We washed our flannel shirts and stockings as well as we could whenever we halted, but we can't well do that here; and as for money, we haven't a ha'penny between us. It's awful, you know." At this moment there was a knock at the door, and the servant entered, bringing in a quantity of linen and underclothing of all kinds, which he laid down on the bed with the words,-- "With the countess's compliments." "Hurrah!" shouted Dick. "The countess is a brick. This is something like. Now for a big wash, Jack, and a clean white shirt. We shan't know ourselves. Here is a brush, too. We shall be able to make our uniforms presentable." It was nearly an hour before the boys again joined the ladies, looking, it must be owned, a great deal more like British officers and gentlemen than when they left the room. They were both good-looking lads, and the Russian girls were struck with their bright and cheerful faces. Dick hastened to express their warm thanks to the countess for the welcome supply of clothes, and said that Jack and himself were ashamed indeed at not only trespassing on their hospitality, but being obliged to rely upon their wardrobe. As Dick had carefully thought out this little speech, translated it into French, and said it over half-a-dozen times, he was able to make himself understood, utterly defective as were his grammar and pronunciation. Katinka explained that the clothes had belonged to her brother, who was now a lieutenant in a regiment stationed in Poland, and that they had long been outgrown; he being now, as she signified by holding up her hand, over six feet in height. A quarter of an hour later the dinner was announced, and the countess in a stately way took Dick's arm, and Jack, not without blushing, offered his to the eldest of the girls. The dinner was, in the boys' eyes, magnificent. Several domestics stood behind the chairs and anticipated their wants. The girls continued their Russian lessons by telling them the names of everything on the table, and making them repeat them after them, and there was so much laughter and merriment, that long as the meal was, it was by no means formal or ceremonious. They learnt that the Count Preskoff was absent at some estates in the north of Russia, and that he was not likely to return for some little time. After dinner Dick asked Katinka to tell the countess that they did not wish to be troublesome, and that they would be out and about the place, and would not intrude upon them except when they wished to have them. The countess replied through her daughter that they would be always glad to have them in the room. "You will really be a great amusement to us. We were very dull before, and instead of being a trouble, as Count Smerskoff no doubt intended when he quartered you upon us, you will make a very pleasant break. It is dreadfully dull here now," she said. "There is no longer any gayety, many of our neighbors are away, and nobody talks of anything but that horrid war. Count Smerskoff is almost the only person we see, and," and she shrugged her pretty shoulders, "he's worse than nothing. And now, mamma says, would you like to ride or to go out in a sledge? If you would like some shooting, there is plenty in the neighborhood. But of course for that you will want a whole day, and it must be arranged beforehand. I wish my brother Orloff had been at home. He could have looked after you nicely." Delighted at the prospect, the boys said that they should like a drive, and a few minutes later, descending to the courtyard, they found a sledge with three horses at the door. "What a stunning turn-out!" Jack exclaimed, delighted. "We shall fancy we are princes, Dick, and get spoiled altogether for a midshipman's berth." The sledge was of graceful form, painted deep blue. The seats were covered with furs, while an apron of silver fox-skin was wrapped round their legs. The driver sat perched up on a high seat in front. He was a tall, stately figure, with an immense beard. On his head was the cap of black sheep-skin, which may be considered the national head-dress. He wore a long fur-lined coat of dark blue, fitting somewhat tightly, and reaching to his ankles. It was bound by a scarlet sash round his waist. It had a great fur collar and cuffs. His feet were encased in untanned leather boots, reaching above the knees. The horses were harnessed in a manner quite different to anything the lads had before seen. They were three abreast; the middle one was in shafts, those on either side ran free in traces, and by dint, as the boys supposed, of long training, each carried his head curved round outwards, so that he seemed to be looking half-backwards, giving them a most peculiar effect, exactly similar to that which may be seen in ancient Greek bas-reliefs, and sculptures of horses in ancient chariots. This mode of harnessing and training the horses is peculiarly Russian, and is rigidly adhered to by all the old Russian families. Over each horse was a blue netting reaching almost to the ground, its object being to prevent snow or dirt being thrown up in the faces of those sitting in the low sledge. Cracking his whip with a report as loud as that of a pistol, the driver set the horses in motion, and in a minute the sledge was darting across the plain at a tremendous pace; the centre horse trotting, the flankers going at a canter, each keeping the leg next to the horse in the shafts in front. The light snow rose in a cloud from the runners as the sledge darted along, and as the wind blew keenly in their faces, and their spirits rose, the boys declared to each other that sledging was the most glorious fun they had ever had. They had been furnished with fur-lined coats, whose turned-up collars reached far above their ears, and both felt as warm as toast, in spite of the fact that the thermometer was down at zero. The country here differed in its appearance from that over which they had been travelling, and great forests extended to within two or three miles of the town. "I suppose," Dick said, "that's where the shooting is, for I can't fancy any birds being fools enough to stop out on these plains, and if they did, there would be no chance of getting a shot at them. How pretty those sledge-bells are, to be sure! I wonder they don't have them in England." "I've seen wagons down in the country with them," Jack said, "and very pretty the bells sounded on a still night. But the bells were not so clear-toned as these." From one shaft to another, in a bow, high over the horses' necks, extended an arch of light wood, and from this hung a score of little bells, which tinkled merrily as the sledge glided along. "It's a delicious motion," Jack said; "no bumping or jolting, and yet, even when one shuts one's eyes, he feels that he is going at a tremendous pace." The boys were amused at the driver, who frequently cracked his whip, but never touched the horses, to whom, however, he was constantly talking, addressing them in encouraging tones, which, as Jack said, they seemed to understand just like Christians. After an hour-and-a-half's drive, in which they must have traversed some eighteen miles, they returned to the chateau. The servant at the door relieved them of their warm cloaks and of the loose, fur-lined boots, with which they had also been furnished, and then, evidently in accordance with orders, conducted them upstairs to the room where the countess and two of her daughters were working, while the third was reading aloud. It was already getting dusk, and lighted lamps burned on the tables, and the room, heated by a great stove in the corner, felt pleasantly warm and comfortable. CHAPTER XIII. A NOMINAL IMPRISONMENT The evening passed pleasantly. There was some music, and the three girls and their mother sang together, and Jack (who had learnt part-singing at home, for his family were very musical, and every night were accustomed to sing glees and catches) also, at their request, joined in, taking the part which their brother, when at home, had been accustomed to fill. In the course of the evening the boys explained that they had said nothing to the commandant about their having picked up a little Russian, as they had thought that it was better to allow him to remain in ignorance of it, as they had had some idea of making their escape. "Why, you foolish boys," Paulina said, "where would you escape to? However, perhaps it is as well that you said nothing about it, for he only sent you here because he thought it would annoy mamma; and if he had thought you had known any Russian, he might have lodged you somewhere else." "We don't want to escape now, you know," Jack said in his broken Russian. "We are much more comfortable here than we should be in the cold before Sebastopol." The next few days passed pleasantly; sometimes the countess was not present, and then the girls would devote themselves to improving the boys' Russian. Sometimes two sledges would come to the door, and two of the girls accompanied the boys on their drive. On the fourth evening, Count Smerskoff called, and a cloud fell upon the atmosphere. The countess received him ceremoniously, and maintained the conversation in frigid tones. The girls scarcely opened their lips, and the midshipmen sat apart, as silent as if they understood no word of what was passing. "I am sorry, countess," the commandant said, "that I was obliged to quarter these two English boys upon you, but every house in the town is full of sick and wounded; and as they were given over to me as officers, though they look to me more like ship-boys, I could not put them in prison with the twenty or thirty soldiers whom we captured at the victory on the heights above Inkerman." "It is my duty to receive them," the countess said very coldly, "and it therefore matters little whether it is pleasant or otherwise. Fortunately one of them speaks a few words of French, and my daughters can therefore communicate with them. So you have twenty or thirty English prisoners in the jail? Where are all the rest; for, of course, in such a great victory, we must have taken, some thousands of prisoners?" The count glanced angrily at her. "They have, no doubt, been sent to Odessa and other places," he said. "You do not doubt, countess, surely, that a great victory was gained by the soldiers of his Majesty?" "Doubt," the countess said, in a tone of slight surprise. "Have I not read the official bulletins describing the victory? Only we poor women, of course, are altogether ignorant of war, and cannot understand how it is that, when they are always beaten, these enemies of the Czar are still in front of Sebastopol." "It may be," said the count, "that the Archdukes are only waiting until all the reinforcements arrive to drive them into the sea, or capture them to the last man." "No doubt it is that," said the countess blandly, "but from the number of sick and wounded who arrive here, to say nothing of those taken to Odessa and the other towns among which, as you say, the prisoners are distributed, it is to be wished that the reinforcements may soon be up, so as to bring the fighting to an end." "The enemy are suffering much more than we are," the governor said, "and before the spring comes we may find that there are none left to conquer. If the soldiers of the Czar, accustomed to the climate as they are, feel the cold, although they have warm barracks to sleep in, what must be the case with the enemy on the bleak heights? I hear that the English newspapers are full of accounts of the terrible sufferings of their troops. They are dying like sheep." "Poor creatures!" the countess said gravely. "They are our fellow-beings, you know, Count Smerskoff, although they are our enemies, and one cannot but feel some pity for them." "I feel no pity for the dogs," the count said fiercely. "How dare they set foot on the soil of Holy Russia?" "Hating them as you do," the countess said, "it must be annoying for you indeed, count, to occupy even so exalted a position as that of governor of this town, instead of fighting against the English and French." The count muttered something between his teeth, which was certainly not a blessing. Then turning to Katinka, he changed the subject by asking her if she would favor him with some music. Without a word, the girl seated herself at the piano and played. When she had finished the piece, she began another without stopping, and continued steadily for an hour. The countess leaned back in her chair, as if she considered that conversation would be out of place while her daughter was playing. Count Smerskoff sat quietly for a quarter of an hour. Then he began to fidget in his chair, but he stoically sat on until, when at the end of an hour Katinka showed no signs whatever of leaving off, he rose, and ceremoniously regretting that his duties prevented him from having the pleasure of hearing the conclusion of the charming little piece which the young countess was playing (for in Russia all children bear the title of their parents) he took his leave. When the door had closed behind him, and the sound of his footsteps along the corridor ceased, the girls burst into a fit of laughter, in which the midshipmen joined heartily. "Well done, Katinka!" Olga said, clapping her hands. "That was a splendid idea of yours, and you have routed the governor completely. Oh, dear, how cross he did look, and how he fidgeted about as you played on and on without stopping! I thought I must have laughed out-right." "It was a clever thought," the countess said, "and yet the count cannot complain of want of courtesy. He is a disagreeable man, and a bad man; but he is powerfully connected, and it will not do to offend him. We have enemies enough, heaven knows." The boys at the time could not gather the drift of the conversation; but a month later, when their knowledge of the language had greatly increased, Olga, when driving in a sledge with Jack, enlightened him as to the position in which they stood. "Papa," she said, "is a Liberal, that is to say, he wants all sorts of reform to be carried out. If he had his way, he would free the serfs and would have the affairs of the nation managed by a parliament, as you do in England, instead of by the will of the Czar only. I don't pretend to know anything about it myself, but papa has perhaps expressed his opinions too openly, and some enemy has carried them to the ears of the Czar. Nicholas is, you know, though it is treason to say so, very autocratic and absolute. Papa was never in favor, because mamma was a Pole, but these terrible opinions finished it. Papa was forbidden to appear at court, and ordered to live upon his estates, and it is even possible," she said anxiously, "that this will not be all. You don't know Russia, or how dreadful it is to be looked upon as disaffected here. Papa is so good and kind! His serfs all love him so much, and every one says that no estates in Russia are better managed. But all this will avail nothing, and it is only because we have powerful friends at court that worse things have not happened." "Unless you are very fond of gayety and society," Jack said, "I don't think it can matter much being sent away from St. Petersburg, when you have such a nice place here." "Oh, no," the girl said. "It would not matter at all, only, you see, when any one gets into disgrace there is no saying what may happen. An enemy misrepresents some speech, some evil report gets to the ears of the Czar, and the next day papa might be on his way to Siberia," she dropped her voice as she uttered the dreadful word, "and all his estates confiscated." "What?" said Jack indignantly, "without any trial, or anything? I never heard such a shame." The girl nodded. "It is dreadful," she said, "and now, to make matters worse, that odious Count Smerkoff wants to marry Katinka. She will be rich, as she will inherit large estates in Poland. Of course, papa and mamma won't consent, and Katinka hates him, but, you see, he has got lots of powerful relations at court. If it hadn't been for that, I hear that he would have been dismissed from the army long since; and, worst of all, he is governor here, and can send to headquarters any lying report he likes, and do papa dreadful harm." Jack did not understand anything like all that Olga said, but he gleaned enough to understand the drift of her conversation, and he and Dick chatted over the matter very seriously that night. Both agreed that something ought to be done. What that something was to be, neither could offer the remotest suggestion. They were so happy in the family now, were so kindly treated by the countess and her daughters, that they felt their troubles to be their own, and they would have done anything which could benefit them. "We must think it over, Jack," Dick said, as he turned into bed. "It's awful to think of all these nice people being at the mercy of a brute like that. The idea of his wanting to marry the pretty Katinka! Why, he's not good enough to black her boots. I wish we had him in the midshipmen's berth on board the 'Falcon'; we would teach him a thing or two." The lads had not availed themselves of the offer of riding-horses, as they were neither of them accustomed to the exercise, and did not like the thought of looking ridiculous. But they had eagerly accepted the offer to have some wolf-shooting. One night, everything having been prepared, they took their seats in a sledge drawn by two of the fastest horses in the stables of the countess. A whole battery of guns was placed in the seat with them. The sledge was larger than that which they were accustomed to use, and held four, besides the driver. Two woodmen--experienced hunters--took their places on the seat facing the midshipmen. A portion of the carcase of a horse, which had broken its leg and been shot the previous day, was fastened behind the sledge. A drive of an hour took them far into the heart of the forest, although the coachman drove much slower than usual, in order that the horses might be perfectly fresh when required. Presently the woodmen told the driver that they had gone far enough, and the sledge was turned, the horses facing homeward. The great lump of meat was then unfastened from behind the sledge, and a rope some forty yards long attached to it, the other end being fastened to the sledge. The horses were next moved forward until the rope was tight. They were then stopped, rugs were laid across their backs to keep them warm, and the party awaited the result. The young moon was shining in the sky, and dark objects showed clearly over the white snow for a considerable distance. Half an hour passed without a word being spoken, and without a sound breaking the silence that reigned in the forest. Presently a low whimpering was heard, and the boys fancied that they could see dark forms moving among the trees. The horses became restless and excited, and it was as much as the man standing at their heads could do to quiet them. The coachman sat looking back, whip in hand, ready for an instant start. All at once a number of dark objects leaped from among the trees on to the broad line of snow which marked the road. "Jump in, Ivan!" the coachman exclaimed. "Here they come. Keep a sharp look-out on both sides. We can leave those fellows behind standing still. The only danger is from a fresh pack coming from ahead." The peasant leaped into the car, and in an instant the horses dashed off at a speed which would have taken them far away from the wolves had not their driver reined them in and quieted them with his voice. They soon steadied down into a long sweeping gallop, the coachman at times looking back and regulating their speed so as to keep the bait gliding along just ahead of the wolves. The peasant now gave the signal to the midshipmen, who with their guns cocked were standing up with one knee on the seat to steady themselves, ready to fire, and the two barrels at once rang out. One of the leading wolves, who was but a few yards from the bait, dropped and rolled over, while a sharp whimpering cry told that another was wounded. The boys had an idea that the wolves would stop to devour their fallen comrade, but the smell of the meat was, it appeared, more tempting, for without a pause they still came on. Again and again the lads fired, the woodmen handing them spare guns and loading as fast as they discharged them. Suddenly the driver gave an exclamation, and far ahead on the white road, the boys, looking round, could see a dark mass. The peasant, with a stroke of his knife, cut the rope which held the bait. The coachman drove forward with increased speed for fifty yards or so, and then suddenly drew up the horses. The peasants in an instant leaped out, each with a rug in his hand, and running to the horses' heads, at once blindfolded the animals by wrapping these around them. Then the men jumped into the sledge again. A hundred and fifty yards behind, their late pursuers, in a mass, were growling, snarling, and fighting over the meat, but already many, finding themselves unable to obtain a share, had set off in pursuit of the prize ahead, which promised to be ample for all. To these, however, the peasants paid no attention, but each taking a double-barrel gun, poured heavy charges of shot in above the bullets. Handing them to the boys, they performed the same operation to the other two guns, which they intended this time to use themselves. Standing on the seat, the men prepared to fire at the wolves directly ahead, signing to the boys to lean over, one on each side, and take those on the flanks of the horses. All this was done in a very few seconds, as the sledge glided steadily along towards the fast-approaching foes. When these came within fifty yards, the horses were sent forward at full gallop. In another second or two the four barrels of the woodmen poured their contents into the mass of wolves. The boys waited until the horses were fairly among them, and then they fired. A hideous chorus of yells arose, and the horses at full speed dashed in upon the pack. Already a lane had been prepared for them, and, trampling over dead and dying, they rushed through. In spite of the execution done by the heavy charges of the midshipmen's double-barrel guns, several wolves tried to spring into the sledge as it went past, and one of them succeeded in leaping upon one of the horses. The animal made a wild plunge, but in an instant one of the woodmen sprang to the ground, and buried his long knife in the beast; then, as the sledge swept on again, he caught at the side and clambered into the car before the wolves, who had already turned in pursuit, could come up to him. The guns were quickly loaded again, and another volley poured into the wolves. Then the coachman, knowing that one of the horses was hurt, and both nearly mad with fright, let them have their heads, and the sledge darted away at a pace which soon left the wolves far in the rear. So rapid was the motion indeed, that the boys held on to the sides, expecting every moment that the sledge would be dashed against the trees which lined the road. The coachman, however, kept the horses straight, and, quieting them down, again brought them to a standstill, when the cloths were taken off their heads, and the journey to the chateau completed at a steady pace. "That's sharp work," Jack said, when the wolves had been fairly left in the rear. "They call that wolf-hunting. I call it being hunted by wolves. These are fine fellows; they were as cool as cucumbers." "I've nearly broken my shoulder," Dick grumbled, "The gun with those tremendous charges kicked like a horse. Well, it's fine fun anyhow, but its rather too risky to be often repeated. If two or three of those fellows had got hold of the horses' heads, they would all have been upon us, and very short work they would have made of us if they had." "Ugh!" Jack said with a shudder. "What teeth they have! and what mouths! It seemed like a sort of nightmare for a moment with those great open mouths and shining teeth, as they leaped towards us, as we rushed past. I hope I shan't dream about them." "No fear of that," Dick said laughing. "The countess said that some supper should be ready for us when we got back. I feel tremendously peckish. After the night air, and plenty of hot tea and a good tuck-in, we shall sleep without dreaming, I can venture to say." The countess and her daughters had gone to bed long before the return of the sportsmen. At breakfast next morning the boys attempted to relate their adventures, but their vocabulary being wholly insufficient, the coachman was sent for, and requested to give a full account of the proceedings. This he did, and added on his own account that the little lords had been as cool and collected as if they had been wolf-hunting all their lives. After breakfast, the letter-bag arrived, and the countess, having opened her correspondence, said that her husband would return the next day. Great as was the pleasure of the ladies, the boys hardly felt enthusiastic over the news; they were so jolly as they were, that they feared any change would be for the worse. Next day the count arrived, and the boys soon felt that they had no cause for apprehension. He greeted them with much cordiality, and told them that he had heard from the countess that he had to thank them for having made the time of his absence pass so cheerfully, and that she had said she did not know how they would have got through the dull time without them. The boys, after the manner of their kind, were bad hands at compliment; but they managed to express in their best Russian their thanks for the extreme kindness which they had received. The days went on after the count's arrival much as they had done before, except that the boys now took to horse exercise, accompanying their host as he rode round his estate, and visited the various villages upon it. The houses in these villages astonished the boys. Built of mud, of one story only and flat-roofed, they each occupied a large extent of ground; for here whole families lived together. As the sons grew up and married, instead of going into separate houses, and setting up life on their own account, they brought their wives home, as did their children when their turn came also to marry, so that under one roof resided as many as four generations, counting some forty or fifty souls altogether. Each village had its headman, who settled all disputes, but against whose decision, if it failed to give satisfaction, there was an appeal to the master. The serfs worked, the count told the boys, without pay, but they had so many days in each month when they cultivated the land which was common to the village. They could, the count said, be sold, but in point of fact never were sold except with the land. "It's a bad system, and I wish that they were as free is your laborers are in England." "Of course our people cannot be sold," Jack said, "but after all there's not so much difference in that respect, for if an estate changes hands, they work for the new owner just as yours do." "Yes, but your laborers cannot be killed or even flogged by their masters with impunity." "No, I should think not," Jack exclaimed. "We should have a revolution in no time, if masters were to try that sort of thing." "I fear that we shall have one too, some day," the count said, "unless the serfs are emancipated. The people are terribly ignorant, but even among them some sort of enlightenment is going on, and as they know better they will refuse to live and to work as mere beasts of burden." "Will they be better off, sir, than before?" Dick Hawtry asked. "I have heard my father say that the negroes in the West Indian islands are worse off than they were in the days when they were slaves. They will not work except just enough to procure themselves means of living, and they spend the rest of their lives lying about and smoking." "It would no doubt be the same thing here," the count said, "for a time. The Russian peasant is naturally extremely ignorant and extremely fond of 'vodka.' Probably at first he would be far worse off than at present. He would be content to earn enough to live and to get drunk upon, and wide tracts of land would remain untilled. But it is of the future we must think; and who can doubt that in the future, Russia, with a free people and free institutions, with her immense resources and enormous population, must become the grandest empire on earth?" CHAPTER XIV. A SUSPECTED HOUSEHOLD Cheerful though their hosts were, the midshipmen could see that a cloud of anxiety hung over them. To be "suspected" in Russia is equivalent to being condemned. Secret police spies in the very bosom of the household may be sending denunciations. The man who meets you and shakes hands with you in the street may have reported on your conduct. The letters you write are opened, those you should receive stopped in the post. At any moment the agent of the authorities may appear and conduct you to a prison which you may leave only for the long journey to Siberia. Count Preskoff did not think that matters had yet reached this point. He was in disgrace at court, and had enemies who would injure him to the utmost with the emperor, but he believed that no steps would be taken until Count Smerskoff had received his final refusal of Katinka's hand. He had already once proposed for it, but would not consider the answer which her father then gave him as final. "I cannot accept your refusal, count," he had said. "The marriage would be for the advantage of all parties concerned. My family is, as you are aware, not without influence at court, and they would, were I the husband of your daughter, do all in their power to incline the emperor favorably towards you; while, were I rejected, they would probably view your refusal to accept my offers as a slight to the family, and resent it accordingly. I cannot but think that when you have given the matter calm consideration, you will see the advantages which such an alliance would offer. I shall therefore do myself the honor to renew my proposals at some future date." This conversation took place in the beginning of December; Count Preskoff had shortly afterwards left for his estates in the north, and he felt sure that upon his return the subject would be renewed, and that upon his announcement of his continued determination to refuse his daughter's hand to this pressing suitor, the latter would use every means in his power to ruin him, and that the cloud which had so long threatened would burst over his head. From Olga, who, being about his own age, a little under sixteen, was his special chum in the family, Jack gathered a general idea of the situation. Olga was an adept at pantomimic action, and a natural mimic; hence, although he could only understand a word here and there, he obtained an accurate idea of the conversation between her father and the governor, and of her father's calm manner, and the gestures and intonations of apparent friendship but veiled menace. By putting her ears to a keyhole and hiding behind a curtain, she expressed the possibility of there being a spy in the very household, who would listen to the unguarded talk of her father and report it to the governor. Jack determined that he would watch every movement of the domestics, and especially observe if he could detect any sign of an understanding between one of them and the governor. It was some four or five days after the count had returned that Count Smerskoff rode up to the door. Orders had already been given that if he arrived he should be shown to the count's private study. The midshipmen saw him riding up, and, according to the plan they had agreed upon, one stood near the entrance to observe whether any sign of recognition passed between him and any of the servants gathered upon the steps to receive him, the other took his place in the hall. The interview was not a long one. "I am come, Count Preskoff," the governor said, "to renew my request for the hand of your daughter. I trust that upon consideration you will have thought it better to overlook the objections you preferred to my suit." "Upon the contrary," the count said calmly, "I have thought the matter over in every light, and am more convinced even than before that such a marriage would not conduce to the happiness of my daughter. She herself is wholly repugnant to it, and even were it otherwise, I should myself most strongly object." "On what grounds, count?" the officer said angrily. "Noble as your family is, my own is fully equal to it." "That I am perfectly willing to allow, sir, and will frankly own that my objection is a purely personal one. The incidents of your past career are notorious. You have killed two men in duels, which, in both cases, you forced upon them. You have been involved in gambling transactions of such a description that it needed all the influence of your family to save you from public disgrace. To such a man it is impossible that I could intrust my daughter." Count Smerskoff rose to his feet, bursting with passion. "Since you know my reputation, count, it would have been wiser to abstain from insulting me. You shall hear from me before night." "It is useless your sending your second to me," the count said calmly, "for I absolutely refuse to meet you. I shall publish my refusal, and state that the grounds upon which I base it are that you are a notorious ruffian; but that if you can find any man of honor to take up your quarrel, I shall be prepared to meet him." "I will force you to it," the soldier said, burning with passion. "I will publicly insult you. I will strike you," and he drew a step nearer. "You will do so at your peril," the count said, drawing a pistol from his pocket. "I know your method, sir, and am prepared for it. If you lay a finger upon me, if you insult me in public, I will shoot you dead where you stand, and take the consequences." "You shall repent this," Count Smerskoff exclaimed. "There are lives worse than death, and you shall have cause to remember your words of to-day," and turning round he strode from the room. Jack was still lounging in the hall as he passed out. One of the servants had also remained there, and when the governor was seen striding down the staircase, the man hastened to open the door. Jack saw the officer pause for a moment, "At eight to-night at the cross roads," he said, and passed out, and flinging himself upon his horse, rode off. Among the Russian words learned by the midshipmen were all words connected with roads. They had been specially desirous of asking questions which might enable them to find their way across country, and every word which would be likely to be included in a direction as to route had been learned. This was the more easy, as on their march there had been but few objects of interest to attract their attention. The expressions therefore "the road to the right," "the road to the left," "the turning by the wood or stream," "the cross roads," and other similar expressions had been learned by heart. Jack's quick ears, consequently, gathered the purport of the brief order. "I have found the spy," he said triumphantly, when he joined his comrade outside. "Come for a stroll, Dick. I don't want to be seen talking here." When well away from the house, Jack repeated the words he had overheard, and they determined that they would be present at the interview between the governor and his spy. They had a long discussion whether it would be better to invite the count himself to be present; but they agreed at last that it would be better not to do so, as he might break in upon the interview, and possibly only bring matters to a climax at once, which they agreed had better be avoided, as even if the men fought then and there, the fact of the governor being killed by the count would only precipitate the danger which already threatened. Still they agreed that it was absolutely necessary that the conversation should be thoroughly understood, and the few words which they would glean here and there might be insufficient to put them in possession of the full details of the plot. They therefore resolved to take the coachman into their confidence. They knew that he was warmly attached to the count, and that he could be relied upon in an emergency. As they had full permission to take the horses or carriage whenever they pleased, they now went to the stable and told the coachman that they should like to go for a drive in the sledge, as the weather showed signs of breaking, and the snow would probably shortly disappear. The horses were at once put to, and, in a few minutes they were whirling over the snow. They directed the coachman to drive into the forest where they had had the encounter with the wolves, and when well in its shelter they stopped the sledge and alighted, and requested the coachman to do the same. Much surprised, the unrolled the sheepskin wrappings from his legs and got down from his seat. "Alexis, you love the count, your master, do you not?" "Yes, young lord," the Russian said earnestly, though much surprised at the question. "His fathers have been the masters of mine for many generations. My good lord is always kind and considerate to his serfs. I drove his father before him. I drove him when he was a boy. He has never said a harsh word to me. I would give my life for him willingly. Why do the young lords ask?" "Your master has enemies, Alexis. There are many who think that he is too kind to his serfs. They have poisoned the ear of the Czar against him. They have told him that your master is a dangerous man. They have turned the face of the Czar from him." The Russian nodded. It was no secret that the count was banished from the capital. "The chief of his enemies," Jack went on, "is the governor, Count Smerskoff. He wishes to marry the Countess Katinka, and because the count refuses he will try to injure him and to obtain his exile to Siberia." "I will kill him," the coachman said. "I will slay him in the middle of his soldiers. They may kill me, but what of that, it is for my master." "No, Alexis, not now," Jack said, laying his hand upon the arm of the angry Russian. "Perhaps later, but we will see. But I have found out that Paul, the hall servant, is acting as his spy. I heard the governor order him to meet him at the cross roads at eight o'clock to-night. I suppose he means where the road crosses that to town, about half-way along. We mean to be there, but you know we don't understand Russian well enough to hear all that is said. We want you to be there with us, too, to hear what they mean to do." "I will be there," the Russian said; "and if the young lords think it well, I will kill them both." "No, Alexis," Jack said; "that would never do. It might get about that the governor had been killed by order of the count, and this would do more harm than if he were alive. Will you be in the stables at seven o'clock? We will join you there. There are plenty of bushes at the cross-roads, and we shall be able to hide there without difficulty." The coachman assented, and taking their seats, they again drove on. It must not be supposed that the conversation was conducted as simply and easily as has been narrated, for it needed all the efforts of the boys to make the Russian understand them, and they had to go over and over again many of the sentences, using their scanty vocabulary in every way, to convey their meaning to their hearer. The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. The count himself was tranquil and even cheerful, although his face wore an air of stern determination. The countess looked anxious and careworn. The eyes of the three girls were swollen with crying, and the lads afterwards learned that Katinka had gone down on her knees to her father, to implore him to allow her to sacrifice herself for the common good by marrying Count Smerskoff. This, however, the count had absolutely refused to do, and had even insisted upon her promising him that, should he be exiled and his estates confiscated, she would not afterwards purchase his release by consenting to marry her suitor. Respecting the grief and anxiety into which the family were plunged, the midshipmen kept apart from them all the afternoon, only joining them at the evening meal at six o'clock. As they withdrew, saying, in answer to the count's invitation that they should stop with them, that they were first going for a little walk, Jack whispered in Olga's ear, "Keep up your courage. All may not be lost yet." The coachman was waiting for them in the stable, and they started at once in an opposite direction to that at which the meeting was to take place, in case Paul might by any possibility observe their departure. Taking a long _dètour_, they reached the cross-roads, and lay down under cover of the brushwood. It was nearly half an hour later before they heard footsteps approaching along the road from the chateau. On reaching the junction of the roads, the man stopped, and from their place of concealment they could dimly see his figure. The boys had taken the precaution of abstracting a brace of pistols and two swords from the count's armory. The coachman they knew would have his knife. This they had done at Jack's suggestion that it was possible that their presence might be betrayed by a cough or other accidental noise, in which case they knew they would have to fight for their lives. A few minutes later they heard the tramp of a horse's hoof. It approached quickly, and the rider halted by the standing figure. "Is that you, Paul?" "It is, my lord," the serf said, bowing. "You are alone?" "No one had approached the place since I came here a quarter of an hour ago." "It is time for action," the horseman said. "To-morrow you will come boldly at twelve o'clock to my house, and demand to see me on important business. You will be shown to my room, where two officers who I wish to have as witnesses will be present. You will then state to me that you wish to make a denunciation of your master, Count Preskoff. I shall ask what you have to say, and tell you that you are of course aware of the serious consequences to yourself should such statements be proved untrue. You will say that you are aware of that, but that you are compelled by your love for the Czar, our father, to speak. You will then say that you have heard the count using insulting words of the Czar, in speaking of him to his wife, on many occasions, and that since his return, on one occasion, you put your ear to the keyhole and heard him telling her of a great plot for a general rising of the serfs, and an overthrow of the government; that he said he had prepared the serfs of his estates in the north for the rising; that those of his estates here would all follow him; that many other nobles had joined in the plot, and that on a day which had not yet been agreed upon a rising would take place in twenty places simultaneously; and that the revolt once begun he was sure that the serfs, weary of the war and its heavy impositions, would everywhere join the movement. I shall cross-question you closely, but you will stick to your story. Make it as simple and straightforward as you can; say you cannot answer for the exact words, but that you will answer that this was the general sense of the conversation you overheard. Now, are you sure you thoroughly understand?" "I quite understand, my lord," the man said humbly, "and for this your Excellency has promised me?" "Five hundred roubles and your freedom." "But when am I to be paid?" the man said doubtfully. "Do you doubt my word, slave?" the horseman said angrily. "By no means, your Excellency. But things might happen, and after I had told my story and it had been taken down before witnesses, your Excellency's memory might fail. I should prefer the money before I told my story." The horseman was silent a moment. "You are an insolent dog to doubt me," he said in an angry tone; "but you shall have the money; when you call to-morrow the sergeant of the guard will have instructions to hand you a letter which will contain notes for five hundred roubles." "I thought," the man said, "your Excellency said gold. Five hundred roubles in notes are not worth two hundred in gold, and you see I shall have much to do to earn the money, for I may be sent to St. Petersburg and cross-questioned. I may even be confronted with my master; and after it is over and I am freed, I must, in any case, leave this part of the country, for my life will not be safe for a day here." "Very well," the count said, "you shall have a thousand roubles in paper; but beware! if you fail me or break down in cross-examination, you shall end your life in the mines of Siberia." So saying, without another word he turned and rode back, while the serf strode off towards the chateau. During this conversation, which the boys imperfectly understood, they had difficulty in restraining the count's faithful retainer, who, furious at hearing the details of the plot against his master, would have leaped up to attack the speakers, had not the boys kept their restraining hands on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "Be quiet, for the count's sake." Waiting long enough to be sure that the two men had passed not only out of sight but of the sound of their voices, the lads suffered their companion to rise, and to indulge his feelings in an explosion of deep oaths. Then, when he was a little calm, they obtained from him a repetition of the leading facts of the conversation. The boys consulted among themselves, and agreed that it was necessary to acquaint the count with all the facts that they had discovered, and to leave him to act as seemed best according to his judgment. They entered the house alone, telling the coachman to call in half an hour, and to say that the count had given orders that he was to see him to take instructions for the horses in the morning. Then they joined the family in the drawing-room. There all proceeded as usual. Katinka, at her father's request, played on the piano, and a stranger would not have dreamed of the danger which menaced the household. When the half-hour had nearly expired, Jack said to the count,-- "I have told Alexis to call upon you for orders for to-morrow. Would you mind receiving him in your study? I have a very particular reason for asking it." "But I have no orders to give Alexis," the count said, surprised. "No, sir, but he has something he particularly wishes to say to you--something really important." "Very well," the court replied, smiling; "you seem to be very mysterious, but of course I will do as you wish. Is he coming soon?" "In two or three minutes, sir, I expect him." "Then," the count remarked, "I suppose I had better go at once, and learn what all this mystery is about. He isn't coming, I hope, to break to me the news that one of my favorite horses is dead." So saying, with a smile, he left the room. No sooner had he gone than the girls overwhelmed the midshipmen with questions, but they told them that they must not be inquisitive, that their father would, no doubt, tell them the secret in due time. "If you will allow me, countess," Dick said, "I will leave this door a little open, so that we may hear when Alexis goes in." The door was placed ajar, and a few minutes later the footsteps of two men were heard coming along the corridor. Paul opened the door. "Is his Excellency here?" he asked. "Alexis wishes to see him." "He is in his study," the countess answered. The study door was heard to close, and when the sound of Paul's feet returning along the corridor ceased Dick said, "You will excuse us, countess, we are going to join the conference." "It is too bad," Katinka exclaimed, "to keep us in the dark in this way. Mind, if the secret is not something very important and delightful, you will be in disgrace, and we shall banish you from this room altogether." The lads made a laughing reply, and then, promising they would soon be back, they went to the study. Alexis was standing silent before his master, having explained that he would rather not speak until the young English lords appeared. Jack began the narrative, and said that fearing Count Smerskoff, whom they knew to be his enemy, might have suborned one of the servants to act as his spy they had watched him closely, and had heard him make an appointment with Paul to meet him that evening at the cross-roads; that they had taken Alexis into their confidence, and had with him been concealed spectators of the interview; that they themselves had been able to gather only the general drift of the conversation, but that Alexis would give him a full report of it. The count's face had at first expressed only surprise at Jack's narration, but the expression changed into one of fierce anger as he proceeded. Without a word he motioned to Alexis to continue, and the latter detailed word for word the conversation which he had overheard. When he had concluded, he added, "Your Excellency must pardon me for not having killed your enemies upon the spot, but the young English lords had told me that it was necessary to lie quiet, whatever I heard, and besides, the governor might have ridden off before I could reach him." The count stood for a minute silent when the narration ceased. "You did well, Alexis," he said in a stern voice. "It is for me to judge and sentence. I had thought that I, at least, was safe from treachery among those around me. It seems I was wrong, and the traitor shall learn that the kind master can be the severe lord, who holds the life and death of his serfs in his hand." He was silent, and remained two or three minutes in deep thought. "Go to the stable, Alexis. You will be joined there soon by Ivan and Alexander. They will have their instructions. After that Paul will come out; seize him and bind him when he enters the stable. Now go. You have done well. Tell Paul, as you go out, that I wish to see the steward." A minute or two later the steward, a white-headed old man, who had from childhood been in the service of the family, entered. "Demetri," he said, "will you tell Ivan and Alexander to go out into the stable? They will find Alexis waiting for them. Order them, when Paul joins them there, to aid Alexis in seizing him instantly. Give them your instructions quietly, and without attracting notice. Above all do not let Paul see you speaking to them. When you have seen them out, find Paul, and order him to go to the stable and tell Alexis that I wish to speak to him; when he has gone, join me here." CHAPTER XV. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE Count Preskoff's old steward received his orders with scarce a look of surprise, singular though they must have seemed to him. A Russian is accustomed to unquestioning obedience to the orders of his superior, and although never before had Count Preskoff issued such strange and unaccountable commands to the steward, the thought never occurred to the latter of questioning them for a moment. When he had left the room, the Count turned to the midshipmen, and his brow relaxed. "I cannot tell you," he said, "under what obligation you have placed me and my family. Little did we think that any little kindness we might show to you, strangers and prisoners here, would be returned by a service of a hundredfold greater value. The danger which hangs over us may for the time be averted by your discovery. I know my enemy too well to suppose that it is more than postponed, but every delay is so much gained. I have news to-day that the Czar is alarmingly ill. Should Heaven take him, it would be the dawn of a better era for Russia. His son is a man of very different mould. He has fallen into disgrace with his father for his liberal ideas, and he is known to think, as I do, that serfdom is the curse of the empire." "But surely," Dick Hawtry said, "if we draw out a document signed by us and Alexis, saying that we overheard the plot to obtain false evidence against you, the emperor would not believe other false accusations which your enemies might invent?" "You little know Russia," the count said. "I believe that Nicholas, tyrannical and absolute as he is, yet wishes to be just, and that were such a document placed in his hands, it would open his eyes to the truth. But my enemies would take care that it never reached him. They are so powerful that few would dare to brave their hostility by presenting it. Nor, indeed, surrounded as Nicholas is by creatures whose great object is to prevent him from learning the true wishes of his people, would it be easy to obtain an opportunity for laying such a document before him. Even were the attempt made, and that successfully, such doubts would be thrown upon it, that he might well be deceived. It would be said that the evidence of Alexis, a serf devoted to his master, was valueless, and that you, as strangers, very imperfectly acquainted with the language, might well have misunderstood the conversation. Count Smerskoff would swear that he was only repeating statements which Paul had previously made to him, and that he only promised money because Paul insisted that, as a first condition of his informing against me, he should receive funds to enable him to leave this part of the country, where his life would assuredly be unsafe. I will thankfully take such a document from you, my friends, for it may be useful, but I must not trust too much to it. Now come with me," he continued, as the steward reappeared. "You have seen how a Russian noble can be kind to his serfs; you will now see how he punishes traitors." Followed by the steward and the two midshipmen, the count proceeded to the stables. Here, by the light of the lantern, they saw Paul standing, bound against the manger. His features were ghastly pale and contracted with fear. His conscience told him that his treachery had been discovered. Alexis and the two servants were standing by, in the attitude of stolid indifference habitual to the Russian peasant. "Demetri, you, Ivan, and Alexander will be the court to try this man whom I accuse of being a traitor, who has plotted against my life and liberty, who would have sent me to the gallows or Siberia, and seen my wife and children turned beggared and disgraced on the world. You will form the court, and decide whether he is innocent or guilty. If the latter, I will pass sentence. Alexis and these English gentlemen are the witnesses against him." The midshipmen first, and then Alexis related the conversation they had overheard. "You have heard the evidence," the count said, turning to Demetri. "What is your opinion? is this man innocent or guilty?" "He is guilty," the old man said, "of the basest treachery towards the best and kindest master in Russia, and he deserves to die." "And so say we," said the other two together, looking with loathing horror at the prisoner; for in Russia for a serf to conspire against his master was a crime deemed almost equal in atrocity to parricide. "You hear, Paul," his master said, sternly looking at him; "you have been found guilty, and must die. Alexis, you restrained yourself for my sake from taking the life of this wretch when you heard him plotting against me; you will now act as executioner." "Right willingly," the man replied, taking down a huge axe which hung by the wall. The wretched prisoner, who had hitherto maintained an absolute silence, now burst into an agony of cries, prayers for mercy, and curses. Seeing in the unmoved countenances of his judges that nothing would avail, and that Alexis was approaching him; he screamed out a demand for a priest before he died. "That is reasonable," the count said. "Go into the house, Demetri, and ask Papa Ivanovitch to come hither"--for in the family of every Russian noble a priest resides, as a matter of course. Presently the priest arrived with the steward. "Papa Ivanovitch," the count said, "you are, I know, devoted to the family in which your father and grandfather were priests before you. You can, therefore, be trusted with our secret, a secret which will never go beyond those present. You are here to shrive a man about to die." Then the count related the incidents of the discovery of the treachery of the prisoner, and the priest, who shared with the serfs their veneration and affection for their lord, could scarcely overcome his repugnance and horror of the prisoner so far as to approach and listen to him. For five minutes all present withdrew from the stable, leaving the priest and the prisoner alone together. Then the door opened and the priest came out. "It is finished," he said. "May God pardon the sinner!" and he moved away rapidly towards the house. Alexis spoke a word to his fellow-servants, and these lifted a heavy log from the wood-pile in the courtyard, and carried it into the stable. Then they seized Paul, and in spite of his screams and struggles laid him with his head across the log. Alexis raised the heavy axe in the air; it flashed in the light of the lantern; there was a dull, heavy thud, and the head of the traitor rolled on the ground. "Now," the count said, unmoved, "put a horse into a cart, take picks and shovels, and carry the body of this traitor out to the forest and bury it there. Dig a hole deeply, that the wolves may not bring it to light. Demetri will give each of you to-morrow fifty roubles for your share in this night's work, and beware that you never let a syllable concerning it pass your lips, even when you are together and alone. Alexis, on you I bestow your freedom, if you care to have it, and also, as a gift to yourself and your heirs after you, the little farm that was vacant by the death of Nouvakeff last week." So saying, followed by the two midshipmen who had been awed, but not disapproving spectators of the tragedy, he returned to the house, and led the way back to his study. "You do not disapprove," he asked gravely, "of what I have done? It is not, I know, in accordance with your English ideas, nor even in Russia may a noble take a serf's life, according to law, though hundreds are killed in fits of hasty passion, or by slow ill-treatment, and no inquiry is ever made. Still, this was a case of life against life. My safety and happiness and that of my dear wife and daughters were concerned, and were the lives of fifty serfs at stake, I should not hesitate." Although the boys felt that the matter, if brought before an English court of justice, might not be favorably considered, their sympathies were so thoroughly with the count, that they did not hesitate to say that they thought he could not have acted otherwise than he had done, and that the life of the traitor was most justly forfeited. "I shall now have a respite for a short time," the count said. "Count Smerskoff will of course be perturbed and annoyed at the non-appearance of his spy, and will after a time quietly set inquiries on foot. But I will tell Demetri to give it to be understood that Paul has asked for leave of absence for a few days to go to a distance to visit a friend who is ill. He was always a silent and unsociable fellow, and the others will not wonder at his having started without mentioning his intention to any of them." "What are we to say to the ladies, sir?" Jack asked. "We must invent some reason for our mysterious absence." "Yes," the count agreed. "I would not burden them with such a secret as this on any account." "I have an idea, sir," Jack said after a pause. "You know that beautiful pair of ponies which were brought here yesterday for sale? The ladies were in raptures over them, but you said that the price was preposterous, and that the owner wanted as much for them as you had given for your best pair of carriage horses. Now, sir, if you were to order Alexis to go over at daybreak to the town to purchase them, and have them at the door in a pony-carriage by breakfast-time, this would seem to explain the whole mystery of the coachman's coming to see you, and our private conference." "It is a capital plan," the count assented; "admirable, and I will carry it out at once. It is true I refused to buy them, for we have all contributed to the extent of our means to enable the emperor to carry on the war, and I am really short of money. But of course the purchase of the ponies is not a matter of importance, one way or the other." Upon the party returning to the drawing-room, they were assailed with questions; but the count told his daughters that their curiosity must remain unsatisfied until after breakfast on the morrow; and with this assurance they were obliged to be satisfied, although Olga pouted and told Jack that he had entirely forfeited her confidence. Fortunately it was now late, and the lads were not called upon long to maintain an appearance of gayety and ease which they were very far from feeling. When they retired to their rooms, they had a long talk together. Both agreed that, according to English law, the whole proceeding was unjustifiable; but their final conclusion was that things in Russia were altogether different to what they were in England, and that, above all things, it was a case in which "it served him right." Nevertheless it was long before they got to sleep, and for weeks the scene in the stable was constantly before their eyes, and the screams and entreaties of the dying man rang in their ears. The next morning the sight of the ponies delighted the girls, and in their pleasure at the purchase they accepted at once the solution of the mystery, and never thought of questioning whether the long conference between their father and the midshipmen on the preceding evening was fully accounted for by the gift of the ponies. Five days elapsed, and then one morning a sergeant rode up with an official letter for the count. The latter opened it and read an order from the governor for him to transfer the English prisoners in his charge to the bearer of the letter, who would conduct them to the quarters assigned to them. Most reluctantly the count ascended the stairs and informed the boys of the order which he had received. "It is simply done to annoy me," he said. "No doubt he has heard that you ride about the estate with me and are treated as members of the family, and he thinks, and rightly, that it will be a serious annoyance to me if you are transferred elsewhere. However, I can do no less than obey the order, and I can only hope that you will spend most of your time here. Alexis shall bring the carriage over every morning for you, wherever you may be quartered." The girls were as indignant and aggrieved as even the midshipmen could wish to see them, but there was no help for it. A quarter of an hour later a carriage was at the door, a portmanteau well filled with clothes placed behind, and with the sergeant trotting alongside, the boys left the chateau where they bad been so hospitably entertained, promising to come over without fail the next morning. They were conducted to the governor's house, and taken not to the large room where he conducted his public business, and where they had before seen him, but to a smaller room, fitted up as a private study on the second floor. The governor, who looked, Jack thought, even more savage and ill-tempered than usual, was seated at a writing-table. He signed to the sergeant who accompanied them to retire, and pointed to two chairs. "So," he said, "I am told that you are able to converse fairly in Russian, although you have chosen to sit silent whenever I have been present, as if you did not understand a word of what was being said. This is a bad sign, and gives weight to the report which has been brought to me, that you are meditating an escape." "It is a lie, sir," Dick said firmly, "whoever told it you. As to our learning Russian, we have, as you see, picked up a little of the language, but I'm not aware of any rule or law by which gentlemen, whether prisoners or otherwise, are obliged to converse, unless it pleases them to do so. You never showed any signs of being even aware of our presence in the room, and there was therefore no occasion for us to address you." "I do not intend to bandy words with you," the governor replied savagely. "I repeat that I am informed you meditate attempting an escape, and as this is a breach of honor, and a grave offence upon the part of officers on parole, I shall at once revoke your privilege, and you will be confined in the same prison with common soldiers." "In the first place," Jack said, "as my friend has told you, the report of our thinking of escaping is a lie. If we had wanted to escape, at any rate from this place, we could have done it at any time since we have been here. In the second place, I deny that we are prisoners on parole. We did not give you our promise, because you did not ask for it. You said to Dr. Bertmann, in our hearing, that our parole was no matter, one way or the other, as it would be impossible for us to escape. The doctor can of course be found, and will, I am sure, bear out what I say." "Silence, sir!" shouted the governor. "I say that you were prisoners on parole, and that I have discovered you intended to break that parole. You will be committed to prison, and treated as men who have forfeited all right to be considered as officers and gentlemen." The boys sat silent, looking with contempt at the angry Russian. The latter believed that he had now cowed them. He sat for a few minutes silent, in order to allow the prospect of imprisonment and disgrace to produce its full effect. Then he continued in a milder voice, "I do not wish to be severe upon such very young officers, and will therefore point out a way by which you may avoid the imprisonment and disgrace which your conduct has merited, and be enabled still to enjoy your freedom as before." "What is it?" Dick asked briefly. "It is this," the governor said. "I have here before me," and he touched some documents lying on the table, "a report which I am about to forward to the Czar respecting Count Preskoff. The report is not altogether favorable, for the count is a man of what are called advanced opinions. He has curious ideas as to the treatment of serfs, and has, no doubt, in your hearing expressed himself favorable to their emancipation." The boys were silent. "He has, I doubt not, done so, for he is rash and open of speech. I have here before me an information sworn to that effect, and if you will place your names as witnesses to it, I will not only pardon the indiscretion of which you have been guilty, but will do all in my power to make your stay pleasant." The boys were speechless with indignation at the infamy of the proposal, and doubted not that the document contained far weightier charges than those specified by the governor. "Who has signed that document?" Jack asked. "I do not know that the name can matter to you," the governor said, "but it is one of the servants of the count, one Paul Petrofski." "Then," Dick said, starting to his feet, "it is a forgery. Paul Petrofski never signed that document." "What do you mean?" the governor exclaimed, leaping to his feet also, and laying his hand on his sword, while his face grew white with passion. "Do you accuse me of forgery?" "I repeat," Dick said, his indignation altogether mastering his prudence, "that it is a forgery. You have never seen Paul Petrofski since I heard you offer him one thousand roubles at the cross-roads that night to betray his master." With a short cry which reminded Jack of the sharp snarl of the wolves in the night in the forest, the Russian drew his sword and rushed upon Dick. The latter threw up his arm to defend himself, but the blow fell, cutting his arm severely, and laying open a great gash on his cheek. The Russian raised his arm to repeat the blow, when Jack sprang upon him from behind, seizing him round the waist, and pinning his arms to his side. The count struggled furiously, but Jack was a strongly built English lad of nearly sixteen years old, and he not only retained his grasp, but lifted his struggling captive from his feet. "Open the window, Dick!" he shouted. "It's his life or ours now." Dick though nearly blinded with blood, sprang to the window and threw it up. There was a short, desperate struggle, as the Russian shouting furiously for aid, strove with his feet to keep himself away from the window, but Dick struck these aside. With a mighty effort Jack pushed his captive forward, and in another moment he was thrown through the open window. A rush of heavy steps was heard on the stairs. In an instant Jack darted to the table, seized the documents upon it, and cast them into the fire in the stove, slammed the door, and was standing by the window with Dick, when an officer and several soldiers burst into the room. "What is the matter?" the former exclaimed; "and where is the governor?" "The matter is," Jack said, quietly turning round, "that the governor has drawn his sword, and, as you see, tried to kill my friend. In order to prevent his doing so, my friend and I have thrown the governor out of the window." "Thrown the governor out of the window!" gasped the astonished officer. "Yes," Jack said. "It was painful, but we had to do it. If you look out, I fancy you'll see him." The officer ran to the window. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed; "it is true. They are lifting him up already. He seems to me to be dead. You will have to answer for this," he said, turning to the lads. "Of course we shall answer for it," Jack said. "He brought it on himself. His temper, as no doubt you are aware, was not always under strict control." The officer could not help smiling. He had himself often experienced the effects of that want of control of his temper on the part of his superior, and was at heart by no means sorry at the prospect of a new governor. "His Excellency's temper was hasty," he said. "However, gentlemen, that is no business of mine." Then, turning to the soldiers, he continued, "You will take these officers into custody, and remain here in charge of them until you have further orders." He then left them, to inquire into the state of the governor. The soldiers muttered remarks to each other, by no means indicative of sorrow, for the tyranny of the governor had made him hated by all below him. One of them at Jack's request at once went out and returned with a jug of cold water and a towel, with which Jack bathed Dick's wounds, which were bleeding severely, and the midshipman was scarcely able to stand from loss of blood. Jack vainly attempted to stop the bleeding. "We must have a surgeon," he said, turning to the soldiers, "or, as you see, my friend will bleed to death. No doubt there are plenty of them below. Will one of you go and ask one of them to come up here, telling him how urgent is the need?" After a consultation among themselves, one of the soldiers retired, and in a minute or two returned with a surgeon, in whom, to his great delight, Jack recognized Doctor Bertmann, who upon seeing Dick's state at once proceeded to attend to him. Cutting off his coat and shirt-sleeve, he examined his arm, from which the blood was flowing in a stream. "One of the small arteries is cut," he said. "It is lucky that aid was at hand, or he would have assuredly bled to death." The severed artery was speedily found and tied up, and then the wound on the face was plastered and bandaged, and Dick, as he lay on the couch, for he was far too weak to stand, felt comparatively comfortable. CHAPTER XVI. AN ESCAPE FROM PRISON When he had dressed Dick's wounds, Doctor Bertmann said he would go down and see the governor. He had already told the lads that he had received fatal injuries, and was unconscious, and that he might, or might not, recover his senses before he died. It was an hour before he returned, accompanied by the other officer. Both looked grave. "I'm sorry to say, my young friend," the doctor said to Jack, for Dick had now gone off in a quiet doze, "that the affair has assumed a very serious aspect. The count is dead. He recovered consciousness before he died, and denounced you both as having made a sudden and altogether unprovoked attack upon him. He had, he affirmed, discovered that you were meditating a breach of your parole, and that he had informed you that the privileges extended to you would, therefore, be withdrawn. Then, he said, transported by rage, you sprang upon him. He drew his sword and attempted to defend himself, but the two of you, closing with him, hurled him through the window, in spite of his struggles." The other officer had, while the doctor was speaking, been examining the writing-table. "I do not see the papers he spoke of," he said to the doctor. Then, turning to the sergeants of the guard, he asked if any papers upon the table had been touched. The sergeant replied that no one had gone near the table since he had entered the room. "In that case," the officer said, "his mind cannot have been quite clear, although he seemed to speak sensibly enough. You heard him order me, doctor, to fold up a report and attesting statement directed to the Minister of the Interior, and to post them immediately? It is clear that there are no such documents here. I entered the room with the sergeant almost at the moment when the struggle ended, and as no one has touched the table since, it is clear that they cannot have been here. Perhaps I may find them on the table downstairs. It is now," he said, turning to Jack, "my duty to inform you that you are in custody for the deliberate murder of Count Smerskoff, as sworn to by him in his last moments." "He was a liar when he was alive," Jack said, "and he died with a falsehood on his lips. However, sir, we are at your orders." A stretcher was brought in, Dick was placed upon it, and under a guard the midshipmen were marched to the prison, the soldiers with difficulty keeping back the crowd who pressed forward to see the English prisoners who had murdered the governor. Doctor Bertmann walked with Jack to the prison door. Upon the way he assured Jack that he entirely believed his version of the story, as he knew the governor to be a thoroughly bad man. "Singularly enough," he said, "I had intended to see you to-day. I went back to Sebastopol on the very day after you arrived here, with a regiment marching down, and left again with a convoy of wounded after only two days' stay there. I got here last night, and I had intended coming out to call upon you at Count Preskoff's to-day. You would, no doubt, like me to see him at once, and inform him of what has taken place." Jack said that he would be very much obliged, if he would do so. "I will return this afternoon to see my patient," Doctor Bertmann said, as they parted, "and will then bring you news from the count, who will, no doubt, come to see you himself." The cell to which the boys were conducted was a small one, and horribly dirty. Jack shrugged his shoulders, as he looked at it. "It is not fit for a pig," he said to himself. "After all, Russia is not such a pleasant place as I thought it yesterday." When they were left alone, Jack set to work to cheer up his companion, who was weak, and inclined to be despondent from the loss of blood which he had suffered. "At any rate, old boy," Jack said, in reply to Dick's assertion of his conviction that they would be shot, "we shall have the satisfaction that we have procured the safety of our friends at the chateau. Now that their enemy is gone, the count will no doubt be let alone. It was dreadful to think what would have become of the countess and the three girls if their father had been sent to Siberia, and they turned out penniless. Besides, old fellow, we are a long way from being dead yet. After all, it is only the governor's word against ours, and you may be sure that the count will move heaven and earth to bring matters right." It was dusk before the doctor returned. "I have seen the count," he said, "and the ladies and he were greatly distressed at my news. It is plain to see that you are prime favorites. The young ladies were very Niobes. The count was most anxious to learn all particulars, but I could only tell him that you asserted the governor had attacked you first. He drove in at once, and made no doubt that he should be allowed to see you. In this, however, he was disappointed, and indeed you have had a most fortunate escape. The officer second in command here is a relative of the late governor. Fortunately he was absent this morning, and only returned this afternoon. Like the late count he is of a violent and passionate temper, and when he heard the news swore that had he been here, he would have instantly had you brought out and shot in the square. Indeed, it was with difficulty that the other officers dissuaded him from doing so upon his return. He has ordered that a court-martial shall assemble to-morrow, and that you shall be at once tried and executed." "But surely," Jack said, "no court-martial of officers would find us guilty. The count's violent temper was notorious, and it is against all reason that two unarmed men should make an attack upon one armed with a sword, and within call of assistance. You yourself know, Doctor Bertmann, that the reason which he alleged for the attack is a false one, as we were not asked for our parole." "I am, of course, aware of that," the doctor said, "and should attend to give evidence, but the case is a doubtful one. The officers of our line regiments are, for the most part, poor and friendless men. Promotion is almost entirely by favoritism, and it would need a very considerable amount of courage and independence to give a verdict in the teeth of their commanding officer. In the next place, for I have heard them talking it over among themselves, there is a sort of feeling that, for the honor of the Russian army, it is almost necessary that you should be found guilty, since it would throw discredit upon the whole service were it published to the world that two unarmed young English officers had been attacked with a sword by a Russian officer of rank." "Then things look rather badly for us," said Jack. "Well, it can't be helped, you know, and the count will, no doubt, write to our people at home, to tell them the truth of the case." "Oh," said the doctor, "you must not misunderstand me. I only said that the new commandant had ordered that you should be tried by court-martial, but that is a very different thing from its being done. We must get you out of prison to-night." "You speak very confidently," Jack said, laughing, "but how is it to be done?" "Oh," answered the doctor, "there is no great difficulty on that score. It may be taken as certain that as a rule every Russian official, from the highest to the lowest, is accessible to a bribe, and that no prisoner with powerful friends outside need give up hope. This is a military prison. The soldiers at the gate are open to imbibe an unlimited amount of vodka, whoever may send it. The officer in command of them will be easily accessible to reasons which will induce him to shut his eyes to what is going on. Your warder here can of course be bought. The count is already at work, and as his means are ample, and, although under a cloud at present, his connections powerful, there is little fear that he will fail in succeeding. By the way I have news to tell you. Do you hear the bells tolling? The news has arrived that Nicholas is dead. Alexander, our new Czar, is known to be liberally disposed, and, were there time, the count would go to St. Petersburg, obtain an audience with him, and explain the whole circumstances, which, by the way, he has related to me. This, of course, is out of the question, and even were there time for him to go and return, it would not be possible for him to obtain an audience with the new emperor just at present." "I wish it could have been so," Jack said. "Of course Dick and I will be glad enough to avail ourselves of the chances of escape, for it would be foolish to insist upon waiting to be tried by a tribunal certain beforehand to condemn us. Still, one doesn't like the thought of making one's escape, and so leaving it to be supposed that we were conscious of guilt." "Oh," the doctor said, "you need not trouble yourself upon that score. The governor was hated by every one, and no one really doubts that he attacked you first. Upon the contrary, the population are inclined to look upon you as public benefactors. There will then be no feeling against you here, but even if there were, it would make but little difference. At present every one in Russia is talking and thinking of nothing but the death of the Czar, and of the changes which may be made by his son, and the details of a squabble in an obscure town will attract no attention whatever, and will not probably even obtain the honor of a paragraph in the Odessa papers. The first thing for us to do is to get your friend into a fit state to walk. How do you feel?" he asked, bending over Dick and feeling his pulse. "Ever so much better," Dick said cheerfully, "since I have heard from you that there is a chance of escape. I have been fretting so at the thought that I have got Jack into such a wretched mess by my folly in telling the governor that I knew of his treachery. If it had been only myself, I shouldn't have cared." "Why, my dear Dick," Jack said cheerfully, "I never dreamt of blaming you, and if you hadn't spoken out, I have no doubt I should have done so. No, no, old fellow, whatever comes of it, don't you blame yourself." "Can you stand, do you think?" the doctor asked. "Oh, I think so," Dick said; and rising, he managed to totter across the cell. "That is all right," the doctor said. "In a quarter of an hour you shall have a good dinner sent in from a restaurant. I have arranged for that. It is of course contrary to rule, but a few roubles have settled it. There will be supper, too, at eleven o'clock; there will also be a couple of bottles of first-rate Burgundy from the count's cellar. You are to eat two good meals, and drink a third of a bottle at each of them. Your wounds are not in themselves serious, and the only thing that ails you is loss of blood. We must risk a little accession of fever for the sake of giving you strength. When you have had your supper, you had best both get to sleep, if you can, for an hour or two. Whatever arrangements we make will be for about two o'clock in the morning. And now good-bye for the present; keep up your spirits, and remember that even should any unexpected accident upset our plans for to-night, we will carry them out to-morrow night, as the court-martial will not take place till the afternoon, and there will be at least twenty-four, probably forty-eight hours, between the sentence and its execution." So saying, the doctor took his departure, leaving the lads far more cheerful and confident than they had been when he entered. He seemed indeed to regard the success of the attempt which would be made for their evasion as secured. The meal, which consisted of some strong and nourishing soup, and a dish of well-cooked meat, shortly arrived, and Dick, after partaking of it, and drinking his prescribed allowance of Burgundy, announced that he felt a man again, and ready for a tussle with the commandant. After his meal he dozed quietly, for some hours, until aroused by the arrival of supper which consisted again of soup with some poached eggs served on vegetables. Jack had not tried to sleep, but had enjoyed a pipe which the doctor had, with tobacco, handed to him, his own having been confiscated upon his entrance into the prison. After supper, however, he threw himself upon the straw and slept soundly, until awakened by a hand being placed on his shoulder. He leaped to his feet, and saw the warder beside him. The man carried a lantern. The candle with which the boys had been furnished by the doctor's arrangement had burned out. Jack aroused his comrade, and the two followed the warder, who led the way along the corridor and down the stairs into the courtyard of the prison. The man did not walk with any particular caution, and the lads judged from his movements that he had no fear whatever of interruption. The door of the guard-room stood open, and by the light of the fire which blazed within, they could see the soldiers lying about in a drunken sleep. At the gate itself the sentry on duty was sitting on the ground with his back against a wall, and his musket beside him, in a heavy drunken sleep. The warder unlocked the door, the key being already in the lock; the three issued out; the gate was closed and locked on the outside, and the key thrust under the gate. The warder then led the way through the streets, until he reached a small house near the outskirts. The door opened as their footsteps approached, and Count Preskoff came out. "My dear boys," he exclaimed embracing them as if he had been their father, "how much you have suffered for the sake of me and mine! Here," he continued, turning to the warder, "is the reward I promised you. Go straight on to the chateau. You will find my coachman with a light carriage ready for starting. He will drive you twenty-five miles on your way, and you will then only have fifteen to walk before morning to the house of the woodman, your brother, where I hear you intend to remain hidden for the present. You can rely upon my protection after the affair has blown over. Now come in, lads, this is the house of a faithful serf of mine, who works here on his own account as an artisan, and you will be safe from interruption for the next hour or two." Upon entering the cottage, the midshipmen were surprised to find the countess and her daughters, who greeted them no less warmly than the count had done. "My husband has told me all that you have done for us," the countess said, "and how you first discovered the plot between the governor and that miserable traitor for our ruin. I have blamed him for hiding it from us at first, for surely a wife should know of the dangers to which her husband is exposed. Besides, I and my daughters would have remained ignorant of the obligation we owe you." "And to think of the way you took us in with the ponies," Olga laughed. "Papa said that was your invention, Master Jack. That's another score against you." "I hope," Dick said, "that you are running no risks on our account, countess. I fear that there may be suspicions that the count has been concerned in our escape." "The deputy-commandant may suspect," the count said, "but he can prove nothing. All in the chateau are, I believe, faithful, but even were they not, none know of our absence, as we did not leave until all were asleep, and shall return before daylight. Alexis will himself drive the warder to his destination. He has the best pair of horses, and will do the fifty miles in under four hours so that he will be back before any one is stirring. The others concerned will hold their tongues for their own sakes. The soldiers will not admit that they have been drunk, but will declare that no one has passed the gate. The lieutenant in charge will hang up the key on its hook in the guard-room, and will declare that every time he made his rounds he found the men alert and vigilant. It will therefore be supposed that the warder has let you out by a rope or in some other way. No doubt there will be a vigilant hue-and-cry in the morning, and the commandant will search every house, will keep a sharp watch over the chateau, and will scour the country for miles round. But it will die away in time. I wrote yesterday afternoon to my friends in St. Petersburg, urging them to obtain the appointment of some friend to this post. The party of reform will be in the ascendency in the counsels of the emperor, and I have every hope that I shall shortly be restored to favor at court, a matter, by the way, which I care for very much more for the sake of my daughters than for myself. The countess and I are well content with our life in the country, but the girls naturally look forward to the gayeties of life at the capital. Beside which," he added, laughing, "I must be looking for husbands for them, and I fear that I should not find satisfactory suitors in this neighborhood." Jack could not help glancing at Olga, for, with a midshipman's usual inflammatory tendency, he was convinced that he was hopelessly in love with that damsel. Olga colored, and then turned away, from which Jack could gain no indication favorable or otherwise for his hopes. The count now explained the plans that had been adopted for their escape. "It would," he said, "seem the natural course to aid you, as we have done the warder, by driving you far into the country. But the descriptions of you are sure to be sent to every place within fifty miles. I know no one to whom I could safely entrust you, and the doctor says that it is impossible that our friend Dick should walk for any distance for the next two or three days. The doctor has fortunately received orders to-day to start at daybreak this morning with a convoy going back to Sebastopol. No doubt the new commandant had heard that he was prepared to give evidence at the court-martial contradicting the governor's statement that you were prisoners on parole, and therefore wished to get him out of the way. There are several of my carts which have been requisitioned for the service, in the convoy. I have here peasants' dresses for you. These you will put on, and when the carts come along from the chateau half an hour before daybreak it is arranged that you will take the places of two of the drivers, who will at once return home. There will be no loading to do, as the carts will be laden with flour for the army before they leave to-night, so you will only have to go along with the others, and take your places in the convoy. After starting the doctor will come along the line, and seeing Dick limping, will order him to take his place in one of the carts under his immediate charge, with medicines and bedding for the hospitals. One driver more or less in a team of some hundreds of wagons all following each other along a straight road will not be noticed. So you will journey south for a week or so, until Dick has thoroughly recovered his strength. You had then, we think, better make to the west by the Odessa road. The doctor will take two uniforms, there are plenty obtainable in the hospital, for you to put on. You must of course run the risk of questioning and detection by the way, but this cannot be avoided, and at least you will be beyond the range of search from here, and will be travelling by quite a different road from that which you would naturally take proceeding hence. And now tell us all about your affair with the governor. We have only so far heard his version of the affair, which of course we knew to be false; but why he should have attacked you in the way he did, we cannot quite understand." Dick gave an account of the struggle and the causes which led to it, owning himself greatly to blame for his imprudence in acquainting the governor with his knowledge of his secret. He also gave full credit to Jack for his promptness, not only in seizing the governor and so saving a repetition of the blow, which would probably have been fatal, but also in destroying the report and forged evidence of Paul before interruption. The lads gained great credit with all for their gallantry, and Katinka said, laughing, "It is wrong to say so, I suppose, now he is dead, but I should like to have seen the count struggling as Jack carried him along, like a little ant with a great beetle." They all laughed. "Oh, come now," Jack said; "there was not so much difference as all that. He was not over six feet, and I suppose I am only about five inches less, and I'm sure I was not much smaller round the shoulders than he was." "And now about your route," the count said. "You must not lose time. Do you both quite agree with me that it would be next to impossible for you to pass through the lines of our army and to gain your own?" "Quite impossible," Dick agreed. "Jack and I have talked it over again and again, and are of opinion that it could not be done even in Russian uniforms. We should be liable to be questioned by every officer who met us as to the reason of our being absent from our regiment, and should be certain to be found out. We thought that it might be possible to get hold of a fishing-boat, and sail down to join the fleet. There would be of course the risk of being blown off the shore or becalmed, and it would be difficult to lay in a stock of provisions." "Besides," the count said, "there is no blockade at Odessa, and our small war-steamers cruise up and down the coast, so that you would be liable to capture. No, I am sure your best way will be to go by land through Poland. There are still large bodies of troops to the southwest, facing the Turks, and it would be better for you to keep north of these into Poland. You can go as wounded soldiers on furlough returning home; and, being taken for Poles, your broken Russian will appear natural. I will give you a letter which the countess has written to the intendant of her estates in Poland, and he will do everything in his power." "I would rather not carry a letter," Dick said, "for it would compromise you if we were taken. It would be better, if I might suggest, for the countess to write to him direct, saying that when two persons arrive and give some pass-word, say, for instance, the names of your three daughters, we shall not forget them, he is to give us any help we may require." This was agreed upon, and the party chatted until the count said that it was time for them to dress. Going into another room, the boys clad themselves in two peasant costumes, with the inseparable sheepskin coat which the Russian peasant clings to until the full heat of summer sets in, and which is, especially during a journey, invaluable. The count then insisted upon their taking a bundle of rouble notes to the value of 200 l., and upon their urging that they could have no possible need of so much money, he pointed out that there was no saying what emergencies might occur during their journey, and that after passing the frontier they would require a complete outfit, and would have to pay the expenses of their journey, either to England or the east, whichever they might decide upon. They rejoined the party in the front room just as a rumble of carts was heard approaching. There was a hasty parting. Father, mother, and daughters kissed the midshipmen affectionately. Jack squeezed Olga's hand at parting, and in another minute they were standing in front of the door. "Yours will be the last two carts," the count said. When these arrived opposite the house the count stepped forward and said a word to the drivers, who instantly fell behind, while the boys took up their places by the oxen and moved along with the procession of carts. CHAPTER XVII. A JOURNEY IN DISGUISE The start was accomplished. Many hundreds of carts were assembled in the great square. A mounted officer and a small guard of soldiers had formed across the road which they were to follow, and as soon as daylight had fairly appeared he gave the word, and the carts began to file off along the southern road, an account being taken of each cart, as it passed out, by an officer on duty, to see that the number which had been requisitioned were all present. No question was asked of the boys. As the driver of the first of those belonging to the count reported twelve carts, each laden with thirty sacks of flour supplied by Count Preskoff, the officer, seeing the number was correct, allowed them to pass without further question. Dick found himself still extremely weak, and could not have proceeded many hundred yards, if he had not taken a seat on the cart behind his oxen. After two hours' travelling there was a halt for a quarter of an hour, and the doctor, passing along, spoke to Dick, and then walked with him back along the line to the hospital carts which were in the rear. Here Dick took his place among some bales of blankets, and another was thrown over him, in such a way that his presence there would not be suspected by any one riding past the cart. Upon the train proceeding Jack took charge of the two carts. This was an easy task, the oxen proceeding steadily along without deviating from the line, and requiring no attention whatever beyond an occasional shout and a blow of the stick when they loitered and left a gap in the line. Alongside the drivers walked in groups of three or four, talking together, and thus the fact that one of the wagons was without its driver passed unnoticed. Alexis had told the count's serfs who accompanied the carts that their master had arranged at the last moment for hired men to take the places of two of their number, one of whom had a wife sick at home, and the other was engaged to be married shortly. He had also told them that it was their master's wish that they should enter into no conversation with the strangers, as these were from a northern province, and scarcely understood the southern dialect. Accustomed to obey every command of their master without hesitation, the serfs expressed no wonder even among themselves at an order which must have appeared somewhat strange to them. It was the count's pleasure, and that was sufficient for them. At the end of the day, Dick rejoined his comrade, and assisted him to feed the oxen, who required no further attention except the removal of the yoke, when they lay down upon the ground and slept in their places. Dick brought him a supply of cold meat and white bread, and a bottle of wine; and the lads, choosing a place apart from the others, enjoyed their meal heartily, and then, climbing up on to the top of their flour sacks, wrapped themselves in their sheepskins and were soon sound asleep. That evening a soldier brought a message to the officer in charge of the escort, telling him that the two English prisoners had by the aid of their warder effected their escape, bidding him search the convoy, and keep a sharp lookout along the road and ordering him to give information to all village and military authorities, and instruct them to send messages to all places near, warning the authorities there not only to keep a sharp lookout, but again to forward on the news; so that in a short time it would be known in every village in the province. In the morning, before starting, the officer in charge of the escort rode along the line, examining every wagon carefully, asking the names of the drivers, and referring to a paper with which he had been furnished by the owners of the carts, at starting, giving the names of the drivers. The head man of the party from Count Preskoff's responded at once for the twelve men under him; and satisfied that the fugitives were not in the convoy, the officer gave orders to proceed. This time Dick was able to walk two or three miles before dropping back to the hospital wagon. The next day he went still farther, and by the end of a week announced himself to be as strong as ever, and the doctor allowed that he could now be trusted to travel. On this night they had halted at a point where a road, running east and west, crossed the great road to the Crimea. Before starting, the boys had a long chat with their friend the doctor, who furnished them with military passes which he had procured from an officer. These testified that Ivan Petrofski and Alexis Meranof, of the 5th Polish Regiment, were proceeding home on sick-furlough. The signature of the colonel was no doubt fictitious, but this mattered but little. Jack inquired whether their absence in the morning would not be likely to be remarked; but the doctor said that the head of the party had been informed by Demetri that the two strangers would only accompany them for a few days' march, and had only been hired to satisfy the authorities that the right number of men had been furnished, for the want of hands on the estate was now so great owing to the heavy drain of conscripts to fill up the losses caused by the war, that the count had been glad to retain the services of the two who had been left behind. There was therefore to be no remark concerning the disappearance of the new hands, but the others were to take charge of their carts, and if possible the authorities were to be kept unacquainted with the fact that their number was incomplete. The peasants' dresses were now exchanged for the uniforms of Russian soldiers. Dick's head was wrapped in bandages, and his arm placed in a sling. Jack's leg was also enveloped in bandages, the trousers being slit up to the hip, and the sides loosely tied together by a piece of string, and the doctor gave him a pair of crutches, the same as those used in regimental hospitals. "Now you will do," he said, surveying them by the light of a lantern. "Many of the soldiers who have joined since the outbreak of the war are mere boys, so your age will not be against you, only pray for a time give up all idea as to the necessity of washing. The dirtier your hands and faces, the better, especially if the dirt will hide your clear healthy color, which is very unlike the sallow complexions almost universal among our peasantry. And now, good-bye. I move about too much to hope to receive any letter from you, but as you have of course arranged with Count Preskoff to send him word when you have safely crossed the frontier, I shall hear of you from him." With many deep and hearty thanks for the kindness he had shown them, the boys parted from him, and, setting their faces to the west, took the road to Odessa. Jack carried his crutches on his shoulders, as also the long strap which, when he used them, was to pass over his neck, and down under his foot, keeping it off the ground. They had made many miles before morning, and as they had retained their sheepskin cloaks, which had been served out to many of the troops, they were able to get a comfortable sleep under shelter of a protecting wall. Five days' walking took them to Odessa. This town was not upon the direct road, but they still clung to the hope of getting away by sea. On the journey they had met several bodies of troops and many convoys of provisions and stores. Whenever they observed the former to be approaching, they left the road, and sheltered themselves behind bushes or inequalities of the ground at a distance from the road, as they knew they would be liable to be questioned as to the state of things at the front. They did not, however, go out of their way for convoys, as they passed these with short salutations in reply to the greetings or pitying remarks from the drivers. Their Russian was good enough to pass muster when confined to short sentences of a formal kind. Their hearts beat when, on passing over a rise, they saw the blue water stretching out far before them, and they again debated the possibility of seizing a boat. But the sight of two gun-boats steaming slowly along the shore convinced them that the attempt would be an extremely dangerous one. Odessa is not a fortress, and the boys consequently entered it unquestioned. The town was crowded with wounded and sick soldiers, and their appearance attracted no attention whatever. In the principal streets the lads saw many names of English firms over offices, and the majority of the shops appeared to be kept by Frenchmen and Germans. They walked down to the wharves and saw how great must have been the trade carried on before the war. Now all traffic and business was at an end. The great foreign merchants interested in the corn trade had all left, and many of the shops were closed. The harbor was deserted, save that a score or two of brigs employed in the coasting-trade, in the Black Sea lay moored by the wharves with hatches battened down and deserted decks. A little farther out lay at anchor two or three frigates and some gun-boats. Looking seaward, not a single sail broke the line of the horizon. Returning into the town, they went up some small streets, entered a small eating-house, and asked for food, for the stock with which they had started four days before had been exhausted the previous evening. The landlord served them, and as they were eating he entered into conversation with them. "I suppose you have leave out of hospital for the day?" "No," Dick said, "my comrade and I have got leave to go home to Poland till our wounds are cured." "Oh," the landlord said. "You are Poles. I thought you did not look quite like our men; but you speak Russian well for Poles. There is a regiment of your countrymen in the town now, and some of them come in sometimes for a glass of brandy. They like it better than vodka; curious, isn't it? Your true Russian thinks that there's nothing better than vodka." Rather disturbed at the intelligence that there was a Polish regiment in the town, the boys hastened through their meal, and determined to lay in a stock of bread and meat sufficient for some days' consumption, and to leave Odessa at once. Just as they had finished, however, the door opened, and a sergeant and two soldiers entered. "Ah, my friend," the landlord said to the former. "I am glad to see you. Are you come as usual for a glass of brandy? Real French stuff it is, I promise you, though for my part I like vodka. Here are two of your compatriots wounded; they have furlough to return home. Lucky fellows, say I. There are thousands at Sebastopol would be glad to change places with them, even at the cost of their wounds." The sergeant strode to the table at which the lads were sitting, and, drawing a chair up, held out his hands to them. "Good-day, comrades," he said in Polish. "So are you on your way home? Lucky fellows! I would give my stripes to be in your place, if only for a fortnight." Dick for a moment was stupefied, but Jack recalled to mind three sentences which the countess had taught him and which might, she said, prove of use to them, did they happen to come across any insurgent bands in Poland; for vague reports were current, in spite of the efforts of the authorities to repress them, that the Poles were seizing the opportunity of their oppressors being engaged in war, again to take up arms. The sentences were pass-words of a secret association of which the countess's father had been a member, and which were widely whispered among patriotic Poles. "The dawn will soon be at hand. We must get up in the morning. Poland will yet be free." The sergeant stared at them in astonishment, and answering in a low tone in some words which were, the boys guessed, the countersign to the pass, sat down by them. "But you are not Poles?" he said in a low voice in Russian. "Your language is strange. I could scarce understand you." "No," Jack said, in similar tones, "we are not Poles, nor Russians. We are English, and England has always been the friend of Poland." "That is so," the sergeant said heartily. "Landlord," he said, raising his voice, "a glass of vodka for each of my friends. I fear that my money will not run to brandy. And now," he said, when the landlord had returned to his place, "what are you doing here? Can I help you in any way?" "We are English officers who have escaped, and are making our way to Poland. We expect to find friends there. Do you know the intendant of the Countess Preskoff at--?" "Do I know him?" the soldier repeated. "Why, I belong to the next village. I have seen him hundreds of times. And the countess, do you know the countess?" "Certainly we do," Jack said. "We have been living for six weeks in her chateau, it is she who has written to the intendant to aid us." "You will be welcome everywhere for her sake. She is a kind mistress, and greatly beloved. It is a pity that she married a Russian, though they say he is a good fellow. Tell me, can I do anything for you? Do you want for money?" "No, indeed," Jack replied. "The countess has taken care of that." "Look here," the sergeant said. "I will give you a note to my brother, who is a horse-dealer at Warsaw. It may be useful to you. He knows every one, and if, as they say, there is trouble in Poland, he is sure to be in the thick of it, and at any rate he will be able to give you advice which may be useful, and addresses of safe people in different towns to whom you can go. Landlord, give me some paper and pen and ink. My comrades here know friends of mine at home, and will carry a letter for me." "Please be careful," Dick said, as the soldier began to write. "It is possible we may be searched on the way; so do not say anything that a Russian official might not read." "Trust me," the sergeant answered, laughing. "We Poles have been learning to conceal our feelings for generations. Trust me to write a letter which my brother will understand at once, but which will seem the most innocent thing in the world to any Russian official who may read it." In a few minutes the letter was finished, and the three left the place together, the sergeant telling his comrades that he would return shortly for them. He then accompanied the midshipmen, and did their shopping for them, and, bidding him a hearty adieu, they were soon on their way out of Odessa, Jack swinging along upon his crutches at a fair pace. Once fairly away from the town, he took his foot from the strap, shouldered his crutches and again they trudged along upon their journey. They found their walking powers improve day by day as they went on, and were soon able to make thirty-five miles a day without inconvenience. Travelling in this way, without any interruption or incident save an occasional demand for a view of their passport by some Russian official, they journeyed across the south of Russia, and ten days after leaving Odessa they entered Poland. Here they foresaw that their difficulties would be far greater than before, and that their characters as Polish soldiers on their way home could no longer be sustained. They took, therefore, the first opportunity of purchasing two suits similar to those worn by Polish peasants, and, entering a wood, dressed themselves in their new attire, and, rolling their dirt-stained uniforms into a bundle, thrust them into a clump of underwood. Into this Jack also joyfully tossed his crutches and strap. Dick had long been able to dispense with his sling, but the wound on his face was scarcely healed, and was still angry-looking and irritable. They now trudged steadily along, avoiding all conversation as much as possible, and making their purchases only in a quiet villages. They met many bodies of troops moving about the roads, and although they could understand nothing of the language, and were wholly ignorant of what was going on, they judged from the manner in which these troops marched, by the advance guard thrown out in front, the strong detachments which accompanied the baggage, and the general air of vigilance which marked them, that the country was in a troubled state. Once convinced of this, they took care to conceal themselves whenever they saw troops approaching, as they feared that questions might be addressed to them which they might find it difficult to answer. There was the less difficulty in their doing this as the country was for the most part thickly wooded, the roads sometimes running for miles through forests. Upon one occasion, when, just as it was dusk, they had gone in among the trees, having seen a Russian column moving along the road, they were astonished at being suddenly seized, gagged, and carried off through the wood. So suddenly had this been done, that they had time neither to cry nor struggle. After being carried some distance, they were thrown down on the ground, and the men who had carried them hurried away. Just as they did so there was a sudden outburst of musketry, mingled with loud yells and shouts; then, after a moment's pause, came the rattle of a rolling musketry fire. The first, Jack judged to be the fire of insurgents upon the column; the second, that of the troops. For a while the din of battle went on. Sharp ringing volleys, heavy irregular firing, the fierce, wild shouts of the insurgents, and occasionally the hoarse hurrah of Russian soldiery. Presently the sounds grew fainter, and the lads judged by the direction that the Russian column was falling back in retreat. Ere long the sounds of firing ceased altogether, and in scattered knots of three and four, men came through the wood to the wide open space in which the midshipmen were lying bound. No attention was paid to them for some time, until a large body of men were collected. Then the lads were suddenly raised and carried to a large fire which was now-blazing in the centre of the clearing. Here the gags were taken from their mouths, and the cords unbound, and they saw confronting them a young man evidently by his dress and bearing a person of rank and authority, and, as they judged by the attitude of those standing round, the leader of the insurgent band. "Where do you come from, and what are you doing here?" he asked in Polish. The boys shook their heads in token of their ignorance of the language. "I thought so," he said angrily in Russian. "You are spies, Russian spies. I thought as much when the news came to me that two peasants had entered a village shop to buy goods, but had been unable to ask for them except by pointing to them, and had given a rouble note and allowed the woman who served them to take her own change. You are detected, sirs, and may prepare for the death you deserve. Hang them at once," he said in Polish, to those standing near. "But first search them thoroughly, and see if they are the bearers of any documents." The lads in vain endeavored to explain, but their voices were drowned in the execrations of the angry peasants, fresh from the excitement of the battle, and in many cases bleeding from bullet and bayonet wounds, for the Polish peasants always rush to close quarters. Concealed in Dick's waistband was found a heavy roll of Russian notes, and the yell which greeted its appearance showed that it was considered confirmatory of the guilt of the prisoners. Upon Jack was found only the letter which the sergeant had given him to his brother, the horse-dealer. This was taken to the leader, and he opened and read it by the light of a blazing brand which one of his followers held beside him. "Stop!" he shouted, after reading the first line or two, to the men who were already hurrying the lads towards the nearest tree. "Wait till I have read this through." He read it to the end, and then beginning afresh again, went carefully through it. "Bring the prisoners here," he said. "Young men," he went on, when the lads were again placed before him, "there may be some mistake here. This letter purports to be from a sergeant of the 12th Polish regiment to his brother, Horni Varlofski. Now Varlofski is well known to many of us. I do not know whether he has a brother a sergeant. Does any one here know?" Two or three of the men raised their voices to say that they knew that Varlofski the horse-dealer had a brother who was drafted into the army as a punishment for having struck a Russian sergeant in a brawl. "This must be the man, then," the leader said. "The letter is written carefully, apparently with a view to avoid any suspicion, should it be opened and read by any but him for whom it is intended; but in fact it contains assurances couched in language which I understand, that the bearers are enemies of Russia and friends of Poland, and that every confidence may be placed in them. Now, sirs, will you explain to me how you, who speak no Polish come to be in the middle of the forest, dressed as Polish, peasants, and the bearers of a letter such as this?" "We are English officers," Dick began, "who were taken prisoners at Sebastopol, and have since escaped." He then proceeded to explain the circumstances of their residence at Count Preskoff's, of their recommendation to the intendant of the countess's estates in Poland, of their acquaintance with the insurgent pass-words, and their meeting with the sergeant at Odessa. When they had concluded, the young leader held out his hand to them. "Gentlemen," he said, "I ask your pardon for the roughness with which you have been treated, and shall never forgive myself for having without sufficient inquiry condemned you to death. It will be a lesson to me never to judge by appearances in future. I knew the countess well before her marriage. Her estates are but a few miles distant from my own, and I last saw her some three years since, when she was there with her husband and daughters. By the way," he said carelessly, "what are their names?" Dick instantly repeated them. "Right," the Pole answered. "Pardon me this last test, but one cannot be too particular when the lives of hundreds depend upon a mistake not being made. I am satisfied now. Welcome, heartily welcome to our camp." CHAPTER XVIII. THE POLISH INSURGENTS A few words from the leader explained to his followers that the new-comers were friends. Their money was instantly restored to them, and those who a few minutes before were so eager to hurry them to execution were profuse in their apologies and demonstrations of respect. The Poles regarded England as a friendly power, and were eagerly watching the war in the Crimea, hoping that the strength of Russia would be so exhausted there that she would be obliged to weaken her hold on Poland. So far, however, great as were the number of troops that Russia had poured down to meet the Allies, she had in no way weakened her hold upon Poland. Indeed even larger numbers of troops than usual were massed in that country. The insurrection at present going on was intended rather as a proof to Europe that Poland yet lived, ground down though she was under the heel of Russian tyranny, than as a movement from which success could be reasonably hoped for. The lads were now able to look round at the wild group which filled the clearing. The greater portion were peasants, although the dress and bearing of several proclaimed that they belonged to a superior class. Some of the peasants were armed with guns, but these were quite in the minority, the greater portion carrying scythe blades fastened to long handles. These, although clumsy to look at, were terrible weapons in a close onslaught, and the Russian soldiers could seldom be kept firm by their officers when, in spite of their fire, the Polish peasantry rushed among them. The Poles were in high spirits. Their own loss had been small, and they had inflicted great slaughter upon the head of the Russian column, and had gained a considerable number of arms. A party which had attacked the rear of the column at the same moment when the main body fell upon its head, had for a time obtained possession of a wagon with spare ammunition, and had succeeded in carrying off the greater part of it. The leader of the party, having given orders to his men and seen that the wounded were carried away on stretchers roughly formed of boughs, either to their own villages, or when these were too distant, to a collection of wood-cutters' huts in the heart of the forest, returned and took a seat by the lads near the fire. "We have not introduced ourselves yet," he said in Russian, laughing. "My name is Stanislaus Chernatony." Dick named himself and his comrades. "Tell me now," the Pole said, "how you got here, and what are your plans." Dick in reply gave him a narrative of their adventures, and said that they were making their way to the Austrian frontier. "It would be absolutely impossible," the Pole said, "for you to succeed in making your way in safety. Every town is full of Russian troops, who are forever scouring the roads. It would be out of the question for any one except a native to succeed in getting through, and even a Pole would find difficulty, so strictly is every one questioned. Of course their object is to prevent our bands from increasing, and to capture any of us who may be returning to our homes. We only manage to assemble by marching constantly in the woods by paths known only to villagers. You would find it, too, a matter of extreme difficulty to cross the frontier, even should you gain it, as there is a perfect cordon of troops posted along the frontier, to prevent any one from escaping. Once in Austria, you would be safe, but you could not cross into Prussia, even if you succeeded in passing the Russian troops stationed along that line; for Prussia, who is as harsh a master to the Poles under her rule as is Russia, acts as policeman for the latter, and turns all fugitives back who may cross the frontier. At present I fear I can give you no assistance; but there is a talk of a union of several of our bands further west, and in that case you might travel with us, and we might pass you on, and see that you had guides. For the present I can either lodge you in the village where our wounded are now taken, and where it is not likely that the Russians will find you, at any rate for the present; or if you like to join us, I need not say how glad we shall be to receive you as comrades. England has always been the friend of Poland and more than one of your countrymen has fought in the Polish ranks. As England is at war at present with Russia, you will be doing as much service by fighting her here as in the Crimea. Here, too, you will have the satisfaction that you are fighting for an oppressed people struggling for freedom against tremendous odds." The lads asked for twelve hours before giving a final answer, and then, having shared the Pole's rough meal, they chatted with him for a long time upon the progress and chances of the insurrection. The Polish leader told them that there were a score of bands like his own in the forests; but he admitted that he saw but little hope of final success unless Russia were completely crippled in the war with England and France. "But," he said, "we in Poland do not rise only when we consider success possible. We take up arms when we are goaded to it. When some act of Russian tyranny more gross and brutal than usual goads us to desperation, we take up arms to kill and to die. You know not the awful persecution to which we Poles are exposed. Whole villages are destroyed, and the inhabitants banished to Siberia; our young men are taken and compelled to serve in the Russian army. Scores are shot down, after a mockery of a trial, on the pretence of discontent with Russian rule. Women, ay, and ladies, are publicly flogged. Priests are massacred, our churches closed, our very language proscribed. Death is a thousand times preferable to the living torture we undergo, and when we at last rise, it is vengeance and death that we seek rather than with any thought of finally freeing Poland from her oppressors. And now," he said, "you will excuse me if I suggest that we follow the example of my comrades, and turn off to sleep. We have marched fifty miles since yesterday evening, and shall be off before daybreak to-morrow." For half an hour after the Polish leader had rolled himself in his cloak and gone off to sleep, the boys chatted together as to the course they should adopt, and finally resolved to throw in their fortunes with those of the Polish patriots. They saw that it would be impossible for them to make their way on to the frontier alone, and considered that their chance of life was no less if captured in action by the Russians than if found in a village with a number of wounded insurgents. The wrongs of Poland were in those days a subject which moved men's hearts in England, and the midshipmen rejoiced at the thought of striking a blow in so good a cause. These were the reasons which, in talking the matter over, they assigned to each other, but in reality their love of adventure and excitement in no slight degree influenced them. To have taken part in a real Polish insurrection, to join in guerilla attacks and fierce onslaughts on Russian columns, to live a wild life in the woods, were things that appealed strongly to the imagination of the midshipmen; and in the morning they expressed to Stanislas Chernatony their willingness to join him, and fight against the Russians until an opportunity occurred for them to cross the frontier and rejoin the forces before the Sebastopol. "Good," the Pole said. "I am heartily glad to have two English officers fighting under me. The warfare is of a kind very different to that to which you are accustomed, but I can guarantee that you shall see that we Poles, undisciplined, badly armed, and fighting a hopeless battle, can yet die as bravely as your own trained soldiers in the Crimea. We are now going back to the place we left the day before yesterday, and which we regard as our headquarters. We had news that the column we attacked was to set out, and as so far none of our bands had visited this neighborhood, we thought we might take them by surprise. We succeeded in doing them much damage, but our success was not as great as that which we gained in our last fight, when we succeeded in capturing two cannons. By the way," he said, "you as marine officers, are accustomed to artillery." "Yes," Dick replied, "we are drilled, not only with heavy ship's guns, but with light field-pieces, of which every large vessel carries a few to be used in case of a landing." "Capital!" the Pole exclaimed. "We have not a man who has any idea of artillery, and I will appoint you to the command of the guns. You shall each pick out as many men as you require, and train them as artillerymen. This will be an invaluable service to us." Late at night they reached their halting-place. The guns had been hidden in a thicket, every man having marched with his leader to the attack of the column. The next morning thirty-six men were chosen, eighteen to each gun, in order that the places of those who might be killed could be filled at once, or, should some more pieces be taken, men would be available already trained to the work. For four days drill went on without intermission. The lads found the Polish peasants very intelligent, although it was difficult for them to understand why each movement should be performed with mechanical regularity. At first, too, the boys' ignorance of Polish caused them great difficulty; but Stanislas wrote down for them the translation of the words of command, and the movements were taught by the boys themselves performing them, and insisting upon their motions being accurately imitated. They worked from morning till night, and by the end of the fourth day were satisfied that their men could serve the guns in a workmanlike and regular way. The Poles themselves were delighted when they found how swiftly and smoothly the work could be done now that they had mastered it, and looked forward with anxiety to try the results upon the Russians. They had not long to wait. In a short time friends from the next garrison town brought the news that considerable bodies of fresh troops had arrived there, and that an attack was to be made on the following day by two heavy columns. Messengers were sent off at once, and during the night the insurgents were joined by three other bands, raising their numbers to nearly 1500 men. Stanislas told the lads that he intended to move before daybreak, so as to attack one of the columns as soon as it entered the forest, and while the other was too far away to arrive at the scene of action until all would be over. "I propose," he said, "to fell some trees across the road, arranging them so that the guns can fire between them, while the trunks will afford the gunners some shelter. Half the men will be arranged among the trees on either side, so that while the guns sweep the column we shall attack it upon either flank. I will place a hundred of my best men at the barricade to defend the guns should the column press forward in spite of our efforts; but I believe that we shall have an easy victory. Our recent partial successes have considerably added to our stock of arms, and as this is the first time that we have brought cannon into play, we may rely upon their effect being considerable." The lads begged that they might go forward with the party charged with felling the trees, in order that they might choose the spot, and themselves see to the construction of the defence. Stanislas chose one of his lieutenants who spoke Russian, and, giving him 200 men, ordered him to carry out the instructions of the lads. They set off an hour before daylight, and just as the dawn began, arrived at the spot where the struggle was to take place. They selected a point where a rise of six feet afforded a view of the road far in advance, and placed the guns just so far behind the trees that while they would sweep the road, their muzzles only could be seen by an advancing foe. Two large trees felled and stripped of their boughs were placed across the road in front of the guns, being, when placed, just high enough for the gunners to look over them. A strong party were then set to work to cut sods, and with these an earthwork was thrown up across the road, four feet high. Embrasures were left for the guns, and these were made very narrow, as the fire would be directly in front. On either side trees were felled with their boughs outward, so as to form a chevaux-de-frise, extending at an angle on each side of the road for fifty yards in advance of the guns. Fifty of the men were to remain in the road in the rear of the guns, in readiness to man the earthwork, should the Russians advance to take it by storm, while the rest were to lie down behind the chevaux-de-frise and to open fire upon both flanks of the advancing column. A few green boughs were scattered on the road in front of the battery, and the lads, going along the roads by which the Russians would advance, were pleased to see that at a distance the work was scarcely noticeable. Just as they had finished their preparations Stanislas with the main body arrived, and all were greatly pleased at the position which the boys had constructed. The guns and ammunition wagons had been dragged along by ropes to which hundreds of the peasants had harnessed themselves. The Poles now took up the positions assigned to them for the attack. Stanislas and his principal officers held a consultation with the midshipmen, and it was agreed that the Russian column should be allowed to approach near to the guns before these opened fire, and that their doing so should be the signal for the general attack upon the column. Half an hour later a peasant who had been placed near the edge of the wood announced that the Russian column was in sight, that so far as he could judge from his observations made from a tree-top, it numbered about 2000 infantry, with a battery of artillery. "That is just a fair match for us," Stanislaus said. "The 500 men extra do not count for much, and their superiority of arms will be counterbalanced by our advantages of surprise, and to the effect which cannon brought against them for the first time may exercise on the minds of the soldiers." Presently along the straight road the black column of the enemy could be seen. They were advancing in a heavy mass, some forty men abreast, and were preceded at a distance of 300 yards by an advance guard of 200 men. When distant some 400 yards from them the midshipmen observed the advance guard halt, and guessed that an obstacle of some sort or other across the road had been made out. A mounted officer rode back from the advance guard to the main body, and was there joined by several other mounted men. After some conversation a movement was seen in the column. A mounted officer rode back, and as he did so the column divided, leaving a passage in the centre of the road. There was a long pause, and then the lads could see the Russian guns coming through the line. They halted and formed across the road half-way between the main body and the advance guard, and, unlimbering, prepared to open fire upon the unknown obstacle in their front. The midshipmen had arranged with Stanislas that, as it would be difficult for the parties on the flank of the Russian column to distinguish between the sound of the enemy's guns and their own, a white handkerchief should be hoisted on a long pole when they themselves opened fire, and a chain of men were placed along back in the wood to repeat the signal down to the spot where the Poles were lying ready for attack. The Russians opened fire over the heads of their advance guard, who lay down in the road. The shot for the most part either struck the slope or flew overhead, very few striking the upper part of the battery face, which was alone exposed to their fire. For five minutes the Russians continued to fire. Then, deceived by the absolute silence which reigned, and supposing the obstacle was an accidental one, or that the insurgents had retired, the guns were limbered up, the advance guard again moved forward, and the main column marched on close behind the guns. The whole of the 200 men who had been placed behind the barricade were armed with muskets, and each hidden behind the leafy screen rested his piece on a branch, and prepared to pour his fire into the column as it advanced. It was not until the advance guard was within fifty yards of them that the lads, who had themselves trained the guns to sweep the road, gave the signal, and the silence was broken by the roar of the two guns loaded to the muzzle with grape-shot. The effect was tremendous. Two lanes were literally mown through the ranks of the Russian infantry, the shot which flew high doing terrible execution among the artillery behind them. The echoes had not died away when a tremendous fire of musketry was opened by the Poles hidden behind the abattis. More than half of the advance guard fell under that terrible discharge, and the artillery crowded behind them fell into confusion. The Russian officers strove by voice and example to gather the survivors of the advance guard together; but the consternation which the slaughter had caused was heightened by the sound of a tremendous yell far behind, followed by a steady roll of musketry, showing that the column was hotly engaged there also. The artillery attempted to unlimber and to bring their guns to bear again, but the confusion that prevailed in the crowded spot rendered this next to impossible, and long before it could be accomplished the iron hail again swept through the ranks, and two rattling volleys from their invisible foes behind the flanking abattis again flashed out. The advance guard were annihilated, the artillery in confusion, but the general commanding the main column pushed his men on through the frightened horses of the artillery, and, opening a heavy musketry fire on their unseen foes, pressed forward to the assault. The conflict now became a desperate one. The midshipmen fired their guns alternately as fast as they could load, the Poles working as steadily and coolly as if they had been long-trained artillerymen. Several times the Russians advanced to within twenty yards of the defences, but each time, shattered by the fire of grape-shot and by the storm of bullets from the abattis, they recoiled. In vain they flung themselves upon the trees and tried to hew a way through them. In vain the officers called upon them to gather themselves together and carry the battery at a rush. Receiving no aid from their own artillery, which, mingled in the throng of infantry, were helpless, shaken by the shouts of the assailants, and by the battle raging in their rear which told them their retreat was menaced, the Russians lost heart and began to fall back. Then, retaining only fifty men as a guard to the battery, the midshipmen ordered the rest of the defenders of the abattis to move forward among the trees on the flanks of the Russians, keeping up a constant fire, until they joined the main body in their attack on the Russian rear. In the battery now they could see little of what was going forward. The woods were full of dense smoke. The whole Russian column as it fell back was maintaining a wild fire at random into the bushes around them. But though the lads could see nothing, the road in front afforded them a sure guide for their aim, and ceaselessly the guns kept up their fire into the retreating mass of Russians. For half an hour the roar of guns continued unabated, and then, as it died away, the triumphant shouts of the Pole told them that the victory was won, and that the Russian column, defeated and shattered, had retired from the forest and gained the open country beyond. Then the defenders of the battery raised an answering cheer to their friends in the distance, and, exhausted with their exertions, threw themselves on the ground. Of those working the guns but three had been wounded by rifle bullets which had passed through the embrasures. Several of the riflemen had fallen shot through the head, as they fired over the top of the battery, while thirty or forty lay killed and wounded behind the abattis. After a few minutes' rest the party advanced, and soon joined their friends, who saluted them with loud acclamations. The victory had been a complete one. The whole of the spare ammunition and stores had fallen into the hands of the victors, upon overpowering the rear-guard, had cut the traces and carried off the horses. The column had made a sturdy resistance at this point, and although the desperate onslaughts of the scythe-armed Poles had several times broken their ranks and carried slaughter among them, they had yet stood firm, and it was only the crushing of the head of the column, and its subsequent retreat, which had at last decided the day. For some hundred yards in front of the guns the ground was covered with Russian dead. Most of the artillery horses had fallen, and but two of the guns had been carried off the field. The loss of the enemy in killed and wounded left upon the ground amounted to nearly 800, and the wounded were all killed as soon as discovered by the infuriated peasants. Of the Poles some 250 had been put _hors-de-combat_. The delight of the insurgents was unbounded. It was by far the most important victory which they had won. They had now come into possession of sufficient muskets to arm the whole body, and an abundant supply of ammunition, and had in all a complete battery of artillery, with enough horses, taken from the wagons, to give two to each gun, and leave a sufficient number for the ammunition wagons. The two midshipmen received the warmest thanks of the Polish leader, who attributed his success entirely to the slaughter which the guns had wrought, and to the dispositions taken for their defence. CHAPTER XIX. TO THE RESCUE A consultation was held on the evening of the battle. As was the custom of the Polish peasants after a success, many wished to return for a while to their homes and families. Several plans were proposed among the group of officers, and the leader asked the young midshipmen for their opinion. Dick said that in his ignorance of the circumstances and the geography of the country he could offer none; but Jack, on being appealed to, said,-- "It seems to me that you will never do any good if you confine yourselves to beating back a Russian column occasionally, and then dispersing until they again advance. My opinion is that it is absolutely necessary to follow up the victory we have gained, and to do something which will induce the whole country to believe that there is a prospect of success. We have gained a very fair victory to-day. I propose that while the men are all in high spirits, and the Russians proportionately depressed, we take the offensive and fall upon one of their garrisons. Hitherto, as you say, you have always contented yourselves with attacking the columns sent out against you, and the Russians will be altogether unprepared for an attack on them in their own quarters. If we fall suddenly at night upon Piaski, we ought to succeed in nearly annihilating them. There are about 1200 men of the column whom we have fought, and about 2000 in the other column which marched out against us this morning, but fell back when they heard of the defeat of their comrades. It is probable that pretty nearly the whole force in the town came out, so that altogether there cannot be above 2500 men. If we can fall upon them at night, we ought to be able to defeat them easily. At any rate before they rally we should inflict tremendous damage upon them." Jack's proposition was received with acclamation, and it was decided that the attack should take place on the following night. The officers therefore went among the men, and appealed to them to remain for another forty-eight hours, in order that they might annihilate the garrison of Piaski. The men assented, the more readily that abundant supplies of bread and spirits had been found in the captured wagons, the Russian commander having deemed it probable that the expedition might extend over a period of some days. The next morning all were instructed in the use of the Russian muskets, many of the peasants being wholly unacquainted with the management of fire-arms. It was arranged that each peasant should, in addition to his gun, carry his scythe, his favorite weapon for close conflict. When night came on all was ready for the march. The bands were to advance separately, each under orders of its own leader, and were to unite in the market-place as the clock struck one. There were three barracks, and a certain proportion were told off for the attack of each. Three of the guns were hidden in the forest. The other three, each drawn by four horses, accompanied the column, the duty assigned to them being to blow in the gates of the several barracks. Coarse grass was cut and swathed round the wheels, and the horses' feet were also muffled. The peasants were all clad in sandals, and there was therefore no fear of the noise of their advance being heard. At nine o'clock the column set out for the town, which was nine miles distant, and upon nearing it separated, so as to enter as arranged in different directions. Each column was preceded at a distance of some hundred yards by four or five men, chosen for their activity, their duty being to seize and silence any watchmen they might meet in the streets. The town seemed absolutely asleep when the band of Stanislas, with which for the time were the three cannon, entered it a few minutes before one. Once the lads thought that they could hear a stifled cry, but if so it attracted no attention, for the streets were deserted, and not a single window opened as they passed. The other hands had already arrived in the market-place when that commanded by Stanislas reached it. A few words were exchanged by the leaders, a gun told off to each column, and the bands started to their respective destinations. The contingent of Count Stanislas, to which Jack Archer was attached with his gun, was intended to attack the principal barrack. This was built in the form of a large quadrangle, and contained some seven or eight hundred infantry and a battery of artillery. As the head of the column entered the street leading to the gate, a sentry on the outside challenged. No answer was made, and a moment later a gun was fired. There was no longer any need for concealment, and with a wild cheer the column rushed forward. Some of the men threw themselves with axes upon the postern gate, which the sentry had entered and closed behind him. The gun, which was close to the head of the column, was brought up and placed in position within a few feet of the gate, its muzzle directed towards the lock. The explosion tore a hole in the gate, but a massive bar still kept this in its place. Another discharge broke this also, and the Poles with exulting shouts surged in. As they entered, a scattered fire opened upon them from the windows, but, without pausing, the band broke up into parties, each under its chief, and rushed at the entrances leading to the staircases. Then ensued a desperate conflict. The Russians, taken wholly by surprise, appalled by the suddenness of the attack, and knowing the ferocity with which their assailants fought, in some cases offered but slight resistance, and leaped by scores from the windows at the back, preferring the risk of death or broken limbs to awaiting the rush of their enemies. Others defended themselves desperately, gathering on the top of the stairs, barring the doors, and resisting foot by foot until every man had been cut down. The absence of their officers, who were quartered together in a different part of the barracks, proved fatal to the defenders; accustomed to act like machines, and to move only at the command of their officers, they were bewildered at finding themselves under such circumstances without head or direction, and in ten minutes after the entry had been effected all resistance had ceased, and the barracks remained in the hands of the victorious Poles. The instant that his own part of the work was done, Jack Archer, with a band of fifty men who had been told off to act under his orders, proceeded to the stables. The artillery horses were all brought out and harnessed to the guns and wagons, and by the time that the resistance had ceased these were ready to depart. The Poles, taking the muskets of the Russian soldiers, and lading themselves with blankets and such other articles as they fancied, swarmed out into the courtyard. In the store-rooms of the barracks were found large quantities of uniforms ready for issue to the troops, and a number of these Count Stanislas ordered to be brought out and stowed in an empty wagon. Three minutes later the barrack was set on fire in a dozen places. Then the newly-captured artillery started at a trot for the forest, while the Poles moved away to render any assistance which might be necessary to the other columns. The division to which Dick Hawtry was attached had experienced a success as complete as that which attended the principal column, and the flames were already rising in the air as the latter issued into the town. The other barrack was, however, successfully defending itself. It was supposed that some watchman must have conveyed the news of the advance of the insurgents, for the instant the column appeared within sight of the barracks a musketry fire was opened upon it by the guard at the gate, and two or three minutes later every window bearing upon it was thrown up, and the Russian infantry opened a heavy fire. The gunners in vain attempted to bring up their piece close to the gate. The horses had been shot down, but scores of willing hands pushed forward the gun; but so heavy was the destruction which the Russian bullets wrought among them that these also were brought to a standstill, and when Count Stanislas arrived he found that a furious musketry encounter was raging between the Poles, now scattered all round the barrack, and the Russians pouring from the upper windows. After a hasty consultation with the other leaders, it was agreed that as the victory had been complete so far, two out of the three barracks carried and burnt, 1500 Russians killed, and a battery of artillery taken, it would be a pity to risk a final repulse by an attack upon a building which, now that the garrison were prepared for resistance, could only be carried with a great loss of life. The horns were accordingly sounded, and the assailants drawn off, and the column marched through the town, now illuminated by the flames of the two burning barracks. It was but half an hour since the attack had begun, but the appearance of the town had changed as if by magic. Every house was lit up, every window open, crowds of people thronged the streets, while the windows were filled with women and children. All were delirious with delight, and cheered, shouted, and waved their handkerchiefs as the patriot band marched along. Not a few of the younger men, bidding a hasty adieu to their friends, joined the ranks of their countrymen, and, seizing one of the captured muskets, prepared to take a part in the strife which had been so well begun. Upon gaining the forest a halt was ordered. Great fires were lit, and the companies mustered, when it was found that some eighty of those present had received wounds, and that forty had fallen. All the wounded unable to walk had been carried off, as to leave them where they fell would be to expose them to certain death when found by the Russians. A plentiful supply of spirits had been found in the stores, and several barrels brought off. An ample allowance was now served out, and after an hour's carouse in honor of the victory the band, fatigued by their exertions, went off to sleep. In the morning the guns--now amounting to two complete batteries--were taken some miles farther into the forest. The greater part of the band insisted upon returning to their homes for a few days, and their leader, finding himself powerless to resist the determination gave them leave to do so. All agreed to return at the end of ten days. Some 400 men remained, and from these the count requested the midshipmen to choose a sufficient number to constitute two batteries, each eighty strong, and to drill them as far as possible in the interval. He himself started to visit his estates, which lay about eighty miles from their present position. Here he hoped to raise a further contingent of men, and all who went home were bidden to bring back fresh recruits, and to spread everywhere the news of the victory. Six days elapsed, and the band in the forest had already been increased by many hundreds of new-comers, whom the news of the successes which had been gained had induced to take up arms, and the time of the various leaders was fully occupied in giving some notion of drill and of the use of the musket to the new levies. On the evening of the sixth day a peasant arrived with intelligence which spread dismay in the encampment. Count Stanislas had been captured by the Russians, having been surprised by a body of Russian cavalry, who, doubtless by means of a spy, had obtained news of his return home. He had been conveyed to Lublin, where he would doubtless be at once tried and executed. A council of the leaders was hastily summoned. Lublin was a large town garrisoned by some 5000 Russian troops, and even had the whole of the insurgent bands been collected, they would not have been strong enough to attempt a repetition of their late successful surprise, especially, as after that occurrence, the Russian troops would be everywhere on the alert. All agreed that the loss of their most successful leader would be a death-blow to the revolt in that part of the country. The personal popularity of the young leader was immense, and the prestige which he had won by his several successes had excited the greatest confidence among his followers. So important was his life considered that the midshipmen urged that at all costs his rescue should be attempted, and although the enterprise appeared a desperate one, their proposal was finally agreed to. A few men were at once despatched to Lublin to find out what was going on, and when and where the execution would take place, while 500 chosen men prepared to march through the forests to a point within a few miles of the town, where the spies were to rejoin them. Just as they were starting the idea struck Dick that the Russian uniforms might be utilized, and, much to their disgust, half the party were ordered to dress themselves in the hated garb. The transformation was soon effected, and the band set out on their march. Upon the third evening they arrived at the indicated spot, where several of the spies were already awaiting them. These informed them that the trial would take place on the following day, and that it was generally supposed that the count would be executed the next morning as there could be no doubt what the finding of the court would be. Next day the midshipmen, accompanied by several of the leaders, all in peasants' dress, visited the town to learn its general features, and make themselves acquainted with the approaches to the great square, where it was considered probable the execution would take place. They found the whole population moody and depressed. The news of the successes of the patriot bands had already spread far and wide, and had excited high hopes in every Polish breast. The fact, then, that the most successful leader was in the hands of their enemies had spread universal grief and consternation. After learning all the particulars they desired, the party rejoined their friends in the forest. The greatest difficulty existed from the fact that it would be impossible for the rescuing party to carry either muskets or their long scythes. Some twenty revolvers had fallen into their hands in the two fights, and with these the officers had all armed themselves. A certain portion of the men cut long sticks, like ox-goads, made to fit the bayonets; others fitted short handles to their scythes, while others carried short heavy sticks, to which again bayonets were fitted. A hundred of those dressed as soldiers were to carry their muskets, and, under the orders of one of their leaders, to march boldly down the street, so timing their arrival as to reach the square just at the time at which the execution was to take place, while the rest were to mix with the crowd. Late at night the news was brought to them that proclamations had been posted through the town, saying that the execution would take place at eight in the morning in the grand square. Orders had been issued, it was learnt, that 1000 troops should be present, and the others were ordered to be in readiness in their barracks, in case any sign of popular feeling should be manifested. As it was evident, therefore, that no soldiers in uniform would be loitering in the street, it was determined that the 250 men so dressed should march together to the square with their arms. In the morning the insurgents, in twos and threes, started for the town, and joined the town's-people assembling in the great square. Across the square, within thirty or forty paces of one side, was formed up a strong battalion of Russian infantry, the rest of the square being occupied by the town's-people, all of whom had attired themselves in mourning. In the centre of the square, behind the soldiers, a scaffold had been erected, as by the sentence of the court-martial the count was to die by hanging. The midshipmen and their friends made their way through the crowd to the front, the latter giving way upon a whisper being circulated that an attempt was to be made to rescue the prisoner, and the 250 insurgents were soon gathered in a close body in front of the soldiers standing before the scaffold. Each man had his scythe or bayonet hidden under his long coat, the leaders grasping their pistols. The men had been ordered to refrain from any expression of excitement, and to assume, as far as possible, a look of quiet grief. Behind the infantry were a number of mounted officers, among whom General Borodoff, the governor of the town and district, was pointed out to the midshipmen, and near the general, under a strong guard, the prisoner was standing. All the insurgents, with the exception of those forming the first line, quietly fitted their scythes and bayonets to the handles and waited the signal. Presently there was a movement behind the troops, who were drawn up six deep. Then a man was seen mounting the scaffold followed by the priest, behind whom came the prisoner between two warders. Just at this moment there was a stir in the crowd at the end of the square, and over the heads of the people a line of glittering bayonets could be seen coming down the street. The general looked in that direction with surprise, and immediately gave orders to a mounted officer beside him, who, passing through the line of soldiers, tried to make his way through the crowd. This, however, either from its denseness or an unwillingness to move from the place it had gained, made way for him but slowly, in spite of his angry shouts to the people to clear a way. Meanwhile the column was advancing, the crowd singularly enough melting before it as if by magic, while those on the scaffold who were able to command a complete view of the square, observed with surprise that the rear of the crowd was rapidly dispersing, the people hurrying away down the various streets, while the lookers-on at the windows left them, only a man here and there continuing at his post. The governor, surprised at the continued advance of the column, was suspicious that something unusual was taking place and shouted to the executioner to perform his duty without delay. Then a voice in the crowd shouted, "Long live Poland!" and in an instant scythes and bayonets flashed in the air, and in the centre of the crowd a dense mass of men flung themselves upon the line of troops. Taken wholly by surprise, the latter for a moment fell back, and the leaders of the Poles, using their revolvers rapidly, and followed by the throng, smiting and stabbing right and left with scythe and bayonet, burst a way through. Along the whole line the troops poured a heavy volley into the crowd, which was now scattering wildly in all directions. In the centre, however, a desperate fight was raging. The soldiers, beaten back for the moment, rallied at the orders of the general, and pressed down upon the assailants who had so unexpectedly broken their centre. At this moment, on either side of the insurgents a body of infantry moved forward, but to the stupefaction of the Russians, these, instead of taking the assailants in rear and flank, opened a heavy fire upon the troops. Shouts of " treachery " arose from the bewildered Russians, and, in spite of their numbers and discipline, they wavered. The attack, however, was not pressed. As soon as the insurgents had broken their way through to the foot of the scaffold the prisoner had leaped down among them, and immediately he did so, the signal for retreat was given, and with one more parting volley into the ranks of the Russians, the party commenced their retreat across the square, now strewn with dead and dying, the victims of the fire of the soldiery into the crowd. At this moment, however, when the object of the enterprise appeared to be attained, a heavy column of cavalry was seen coming up the main street at full gallop, the officer in command of the regiment having ordered them out the instant the sound of firing was heard. In another minute they were in the midst of the insurgents, while the infantry in the square, seeing the arrival of friends, advanced upon their rear. This, however, was protected by the soi-disant soldiers, who stood their ground manfully against them. In front all was confusion. A desperate conflict was raging, sabre against scythe. As fast as the cavalry entered the crowd they disappeared from above them, their horses stabbed or hamstrung; but as fresh troops continued to arrive the combat became more and more furious. In vain the leaders encouraged the peasantry by voice and example. They were unable to win a way through the cavalry, while the infantry in the square pressed more and more hotly upon them. At last, by a desperate effort, they drove the cavalry back to a point where two side streets came in to the principal one. Here the leader, with a few of their bravest men, kept the cavalry at bay, while the rest retreated at full speed down the side streets, the word being passed for them to scatter and meet again in the forest, for by this time the whole garrison would be bearing down upon them from different points. Then, with a final charge upon the cavalry, the leaders and their chosen followers dashed after their companions, just as the Russian infantry arrived within fifty yards of them. The two midshipmen had fought side by side, and were among the last to fall back. Dashing at the top of their speed down the street, they took the first turning, and ran for their lives. They heard the cavalry charge along the end in pursuit of the main body of the fugitives, and were congratulating themselves on their escape when a fresh body of cavalry were seen entering the street at the opposite end, while some of those in their rear turned up the street, and took up the pursuit. The position seemed hopeless, but taking another turn, they dashed down a lane at the end of which they could see the open country, too far distant, however, for them to hope to gain it before they were overtaken. END of Chapter XIX CHAPTER XX. IN A LION'S DEN Upon one side of the lane which the fugitives had entered ran a high wall. Upon the other was a very large mansion. Its lower windows were five feet from the ground. As the lads ran they saw an open window. Without a moment's hesitation they placed their hands on the sill, threw themselves into it, and flung down the window. There was a scream as they entered, followed by an exclamation in English. The boys looked round, and saw a young lady who had started back in terror to a corner of the room. "Are you English?" Jack exclaimed in astonishment. "We are English officers escaping from a Russian prison. In heaven's name do not betray us!" As he spoke the Russian cavalry came along the lane at full gallop. "I am English," the young lady said, as she recovered from her astonishment, "I am governess to the younger daughters of the governor. You are now in his palace. But what has taken place? I heard the firing and went to the window to listen." "We have been aiding in the rescue of a Polish leader who was to have been executed this morning," Dick said. "We succeeded in that, but were attacked and cut up afterwards, and had to scatter. I fear that they will suspect we must have entered this place, for they were close behind us, and there was no other escape possible. Can you conceal us? It seems almost like a miracle finding an English lady here." "A great many of the Russian nobility have English tutors or governesses, and although some went back to England at the beginning of the war, the greater number have remained quietly at their work. I fear that the whole palace will be searched if it is suspected that you have taken refuge here. How imprudent of you to have mixed yourselves up in this rebellion!" "We could hardly help ourselves," Jack said, "but it is too late to discuss that now. Will you look out of the window and see if the lane is empty? If so, we had best make off without delay." The young lady went to the window. "No," she replied at once, "there is a soldier on horseback a few yards to the right." "Don't open the window, then," Jack said. "They have evidently put a line of patrols along the lane. We must not get you into trouble," he continued, turning towards her. "If you will show us the way, we will go at once and give ourselves up." "Oh, no," the lady exclaimed. "That must not be. But where can I hide you?" and she stood for a minute or two thinking. "I think the safest place of all," she said at last, "the only place where you would have a chance of escaping, if a search is made, is in the general's own writing-room. It is very bare of furniture, but there are heavy curtains to the windows. No one would think of searching that room, and the chances are that no one will go near the windows." The lads agreed that the plan was a good one, and the young lady hurried away to see if the room, which was not far from her own, was still empty. She returned in a minute, and beckoned to them to follow her. They soon arrived at a room which was simply furnished with a few chairs and an armchair placed at a table. Across the two windows hung heavy curtains, and behind these the midshipmen took their places, the curtains extending far enough beyond the windows for them to stand between them and the walls; so that any one going to the windows would not necessarily see them. Then leaving them with many injunctions to remain quiet, and with a promise to return at the end of the day and release them, she left, being, she said, due with her pupils at nine o'clock. For half an hour the boys conversed in low tones with each other as to their chances of escape. Then footsteps were heard, and the governor entered, followed by several officers. He took his seat at the table. "If," he said to one of them, "your report, that you were so short a distance behind these men that it was impossible they could have reached the end of the lane before you entered it, be correct, it is clear they must have taken refuge here. You did quite right to place a cordon all round the palace. Write an order at once for the chief of police to send down twenty men to search the house thoroughly from top to bottom. Let them visit every room, not excepting even the apartments of my wife and daughters. You say that they were most conspicuous in the attack upon your cavalry, and I myself observed two very young men leading the attack upon the infantry. Well, sir," turning to another officer, "what is your report of the losses?" "Two hundred and three of the cavalry have been killed, sir. There are only ten wounded. One hundred and sixty-three infantry killed, and 204 wounded. We have found the bodies of 133 armed men, who were killed either in the square or in the pursuit, and 97 bodies, apparently those of town's-people in the square." "Put them all down as insurgents," the general said. "They are traitors and rebels, the whole brood. Let strong bodies of infantry patrol the streets. Order all shops to be shut and the inhabitants to keep within doors, and let a body of troops be placed at the disposal of the chief of police for a search from house to house. Some of these scoundrels may be hidden in the town." All day, officers, the bearers of reports, or who came to receive orders, entered and left the room, among them the chief of police, who reported that he had searched the palace from top to bottom, without the omission of a single room, and had failed altogether to find any traces of the fugitives. "If they entered, they must be somewhere," said the general. "Let a close cordon be kept around the house all night, with orders to shoot down any one they may see leaving it. To-morrow you will repeat your search of the house. If they are here, they must be found." The hours seemed intolerably long to the lads, standing upright and motionless against the wall. No one approached their hiding-place. At four o'clock the general gave orders that his horse and escort should be at the door, and a few minutes afterwards he went out, and the room was left deserted. The midshipmen were now able to stand in easier positions, but they did not venture to leave their hiding-places, in case any one should suddenly return. The hours passed slowly on, and it was nine o'clock before the door opened. It closed again, and a voice asked in low tones whether they were still there. The lads joyfully replied that they were. "Follow me, then," she said, "as quietly as you can. There is no one about." They were soon in the room where they had first entered. The curtains were drawn, and candles burning on the table. "You are safe here," the lady said. "I have just dined with my charges, and my duties are over for the day. No one is likely to disturb us here. This is my private sitting-room. My bedroom is next door. If any one is heard coming, you must hide there. I will go in at once and change my dress for a dressing-gown, and I can then lock the door; so that if any one comes, there will be time for you to go in there, and when I open it, and say I am preparing for bed, it will account for the door being locked." She did as she had said, and then produced from a cupboard a box of biscuits and a decanter of wine, which she placed before them. "You must be starving," she said. "I am sorry that I have nothing more to offer you, but it was impossible for me to get any food. I have been thinking all day," she went on, as the boys fell to at the biscuits, "how you are to be smuggled out; I can only think of one plan, and that is a fearfully dangerous one. But I do not know that it is more so than your continued stay here. The palace is to be searched to-morrow afternoon again, even more strictly than to-day, and that was strict enough. They turned every room topsy-turvy, opened every closet, and not only looked under the beds, but pulled the beds to pieces, to assure themselves that nobody was hidden within them. I hear that the general says that he is so convinced that you are here somewhere, that he will keep the soldiers round the house, and search it every day till you are found, if it is a month hence. Consequently, great as is the risk of the plan I have thought of, it is scarcely as great as that of remaining here." The midshipmen expressed their willingness to try any plan, however desperate, rather than remain day after day standing in the governor's room, with the risk of betrayal by a cough or other involuntary movement. "This is my plan, then. The governor's eldest daughters are women as old as myself. They are tall and stout, and as far as figure goes I think you might pass in their places. They go out for a drive every morning. I have this afternoon slipped into their rooms and have borrowed two of their dresses, mantles and bonnets. Fortunately they usually wear veils. They do not generally go to dress until the carriage is at the door, and I propose that you shall boldly walk down and take their places. Of course, the risk is dreadful, but I really see no other chance for your escape. What do you say?" The midshipmen at once agreed to make the attempt, and were soon dressed in the clothes which their friend had brought them. Walking about the room, she gave them lessons in carriage and manner, imitated herself the air with which the general's daughters bowed to the officers as they saluted them as they passed, and even gave them instructions in the tone of voice in which they should order the driver to take the way to the public promenade. At length she pronounced that they ought to pass muster at a casual inspection, and then, bidding them good-night, she retired to her own room, while the lads were soon asleep, the one on the couch, the other on the hearthrug. At seven o'clock their friend, who had told them that her name was Agnes Sinclair, came into the room dressed, unlocked the door, and then led them into her bedroom, as she said that at half-past seven the servants would come to do up the sitting-room, light the fire, and prepare breakfast. "I am my own mistress," she said, "till nine o'clock, and as the servants do not go into my bedroom till I have gone to my pupils, you will be quite safe. You must have some more biscuits for breakfast, for I am a very small eater, and it would not do were it noticed that a greater quantity of food than usual had disappeared." The boys were now again dressed in the clothes prepared for them, and this time put on gloves which Miss Sinclair had also brought, and into which it needed all the boys' efforts to pass their hands. Fortunately the bonnets of the time completely enveloped the head, concealing the back half, and coming well forward over the face, and when the veils were dropped Miss Sinclair said that unless she had known the truth, she should not have suspected the deception. When the servant knocked at the door, and said that breakfast was ready, the governess left them, and presently returned, bringing them the biscuits. "Now," she said, "in a quarter of an hour the carriage will be at the door. It always comes punctually at nine. From the window of the opposite room I can see when it arrives. Now, you quite understand? You walk straight along this passage. At the end is a wider one to the right, which will take you into the great hall. Here there will be several servants, and perhaps some officers standing about. All will bow as you pass through them. You are to bow slightly as I have shown you. If any of the officers come up to speak, as is possible, though not likely, for none of high enough rank to do so are likely to be there so early, answer only in a word or two in the voice you practised last night. Two servants will show you into the carriage. As you take your seats, you will say to the coachman, 'To the promenade.' After that you must do as you judge best. There is one drawback, I forgot to tell you, an escort of two soldiers always rides fifty or sixty yards behind the carriage." "So that we once get through the town," Jack said, "we shan't care much for the two soldiers, for we still have our revolvers. Now you promise, Miss Sinclair, that when you come to England you will let our people know. We have given you the addresses. They will want to thank you for our escape if we get away, and for your kindness even if the worst comes to the worst. I do hope that there is no possibility of a suspicion falling upon you about the missing dresses." "Oh, no," Miss Sinclair said, "I'm sure no one saw me go to their rooms, and it will be supposed that you were hidden somewhere there, and have taken them yourselves. I shall make the things you have taken off into a bundle, slip into a room close to theirs, and throw them under a bed. If it were known that you are English, it is possible that some suspicion might fall upon me. As it is, there is no reason why I more than any one else should have been concerned in the matter. Now, it is just nine o'clock. I will go across into the other room, and look out. Fortunately it is unoccupied." Three minutes later she returned. "It is at the door," she said. "Wait two or three minutes. I will go straight now, hide your clothes, and take my place with my pupils as usual. I am always punctual to the minute." With another word or two of thanks the boys said good-bye to her, and Miss Sinclair at once went on her way with a final warning, "Be sure and be leisurely in your movements. Do not show the least haste. Peep out before you start, so as to be sure there's no one in this passage, as otherwise you might be seen coming from this room." The boys waited another minute or two, and then, seeing that the passage was clear, moved along it, walking slowly and stiffly as they had been directed, with short steps and gliding movement. Both had their pistols in their pockets ready to hand, as they were resolved to be killed rather than taken. Fortunately there was no one in the next passage into which they turned, and they reached the grand hall unnoticed. Here were a number of servants and officers, who bowed deeply on perceiving, as they supposed, the daughters of the governor. Two servants threw open the grand door, and an official preceded them to the carriage. The boys bowed slightly and passed on. No one accosted them, and they took their seats in the carriage with the deliberation and dignity which had been impressed upon them. The official spread a bear-skin rug over their knees, and demanded which way they would go. Jack replied, "To the promenade." The carriage--which was an open one--proceeded on its way at a rapid pace, and the boys' hopes rose higher and higher. They had not gone far when they heard a horse's hoofs behind them, and, turning round, saw an officer galloping rapidly. "Keep steady, Jack," Dick whispered. When the officer reached the side of the carriage he reined in his horse, and took off his cap. "Ladies," he said, "his excellency the governor saw you drive away, and ordered me to ride after you, and tell you that he did not know you were going out, and that he considered it more prudent for you to remain at home for a day or two until the excitement of the late events has cooled down." "Thank you," Dick said in his best Russian, and speaking in a feigned voice. "Will you tell my father that we will return in a few minutes? Drive on," he said to the coachman. The officer sat for a minute looking after them, for something in the accent with which Dick spoke seemed strange to him, but being fortunately unacquainted with the ladies of the general's family, he suspected nothing wrong. It was evident to the boys, however, that the coachman was struck with the sound of the voice, as he rapidly spoke to the man sitting next him, and the latter once or twice endeavored privately to glance back. They had now reached the promenade, which, owing to the governor's order that all inhabitants should keep their houses, was entirely deserted, except by a few Russian officers walking or riding. These all saluted as the general's carriage passed them. On reaching the end of the drive the coachman was about to turn, when the lads jumped to their feet, and commanded him to stop. The coachman looked round astonished, but at the sight of two pistols pointed at their heads, he and his fellow-servant, with a cry of alarm and astonishment, leaped from the box. Jack in an instant scrambled over and seized the reins. The soldiers had halted upon seeing the carriage stop, and remained stupefied with astonishment as they saw the two servants leap off, and one of the ladies climb into their seat. Nor did they move until the servants, running up hastily, explained what had happened. Then, putting the spurs into their horses, they galloped forward. Dick, who was looking back, saw at the same moment several horsemen at full gallop appear at the other end of the promenade. "The general has found out the trick, Jack," he said. "Keep them going steadily and steer straight. I can answer for those fellows behind. They can't be sure yet what's up." As the soldiers approached, Dick leaned his pistol on the back of the carriage and took a steady aim, and when they were within twenty yards, fired, aiming at the head of one of the horses. In an instant there was a crash, and the horse and rider were on the ground. The other soldier at once reined up his horse, bewildered at what had happened, and not knowing even now that the carriage was not occupied by the general's daughters. "That's right, Jack," Dick said. "We have got nearly half a mile start of the others, and the forest is, Miss Sinclair said, scarce three miles away. Let them go it, but be sure you steer straight." The horses were now tearing along at a furious gallop. Presently another long, straight bit of road enabled them to see their pursuers again. The horsemen had been increased in number by the officers who had been riding in the promenade, and were now some twenty in number. Of these, at least half whose helmets glistening in the sun showed Dick that they were soldiers, had already fallen in the rear, the others had gained upon them considerably. They were now, however, fully half way to the forest. "That's right, Jack, keep them going," Dick said, as Jack flogged the animals to their highest speed. "We shall have plenty of time to get away into the wood before they come up, only for goodness' sake keep us straight." When they reached the forest their pursuers were still some hundreds of yards in the rear. Checking the horses where the underwood was thickest, the midshipmen leaped out, gave a parting lash to the horses, which started them again at full speed, and then dashed into the thicket. Any one who had seen them would have been astounded and amused at the spectacle of two fashionably-dressed ladies dashing recklessly through the thick brushwood. After a quarter of an hour's run they paused breathless. Jack dashed his bonnet to the ground. "For goodness' sake, Dick!" he said, shaking off his mantle, "unhook the back of my dress, and let me get rid of the thing. I used to laugh at my sisters for not running as fast as I could. Now I wonder how on earth they manage to run at all." Their borrowed finery was soon got rid of, and in their shirts and trousers the boys proceeded. Presently they came suddenly upon four peasants seated on the ground, who upon seeing them leaped to their feet and greeted them with signs of vehement joy, making signs to them to follow them, and presently led them to a spot where the remains of the insurgent band were gathered. A shout greeted them as soon as they were recognized, and Count Stanislas, running forward, threw his arms round their necks and embraced them, while the other leaders crowded round. "It is indeed happiness to see you again," the count said. "We feared you had fallen into the hands of the Russians. I sent spies last night into the town, but they brought back word that the streets were absolutely deserted, and they dared not enter. I resolved to wait for a day or two until we could hear with certainty what had befallen you. Now tell us all that has happened." The midshipmen recounted their adventures, saying that they had remained concealed in the very writing-room of the governor, and giving full details of their escape dressed as his daughters; saving only the part which Miss Sinclair had played, for they thought that in case any of the band fell into the hands of the enemy, they might under the influence of the torture, which the Russians freely administered to their captives, reveal all that they had heard. They then inquired what were the count's intentions. "I shall move farther west," he said, "and after gathering my old band together, move to join some others, who I hear have been doing good work in that direction. We shall not be far from the frontier; and, much as I shall regret to lose you, I will, if you wish it, lead a party to the frontier, and cut a way through the cordon of troops there for you." The boys gladly accepted the offer. They had had more than enough of insurrectionary warfare, and longed to be back again with their comrades at Sebastopol. Three days' marching took the band back to the forest, where some 1500 men were assembled, awaiting anxiously the return of the party. A day was given for rest, and then horses were harnessed to the two batteries of artillery, and moving by little-frequented roads through the forest, the small army marched west. For ten days the march continued, for the roads were heavy and the horses unable to accomplish such marches as those of which the peasants were capable. At last they effected a junction with the band which they had come to join, whose numbers amounted to nearly 4000 men. Their arrival, and especially the advent of the artillery, was greeted with enthusiasm, and it was at once proposed to take the offensive. Count Stanislas said, however, that his horses were completely knocked up with the fatigue they had undergone, and that a rest of two or three days was necessary in order to recruit. "Now," he said to the midshipmen, "I will redeem my promise. The frontier is only fifty miles distant. I will send on a man at once to ascertain some point at which there are boats on this side of the river. I will march at daylight with 150 picked men, and no fear but with a sudden attack we shall break through the patrols." The plan was carried out. The boys, inured to marching, made the fifty miles journey before nightfall. They were met by the spy, who stated that the boats had almost all been removed, but that a number were gathered at a village which was occupied by 200 Russian infantry. The midshipmen proposed that they should steal through and endeavor to get one of the boats, but their friend would not hear of their running such a risk, and after taking some hours of rest the party proceeded on their march. It was an hour before daybreak when they entered the village. Just as they reached it a sentry fired his musket, and with a rush the Poles charged forward. It had been arranged that the count and the midshipmen with five men should run straight through the village down to the water-side, and that the rest of the force were to commence a furious attack upon the houses inhabited by the troops, who, believing that they were assailed by superior forces, would be some time before they took the offensive. CHAPTER XXI. BACK AT THE FRONT Aroused by the sound of the sentry's musket, the Russian soldiers rushed to their windows and doors and opened a scattering fire, which was heavily responded to by the Poles. The midshipmen with their party ran hastily down the village. There were two sentries over the boats, but these, alarmed by the din in the village and the sight of the approaching figures, fired their muskets and fled. Dick uttered a low exclamation. "What is the matter, Dick? are you hit?" "Yes," Dick said. "My arm is broken. Never mind, let us push on." They leaped into a boat. Jack seized the sculls, the rope which fastened them to the shore was cut, and with a last shout of farewell to the count, they pulled off into the stream. For a few minutes the sound of battle continued, and then suddenly died away, as Count Stanislas, his object accomplished, drew off his men. A few minutes' rowing brought the boat to the opposite bank. Here they found Austrian sentries, who accosted them in German. As, however, the Austrian Government offered no obstacle to Polish fugitives entering the frontier, the lads were conducted to the officer of the troops at the little village which faced that on the Russian bank. Here they were questioned, first in Polish and then in German, but upon the boys repeating the word "English," the officer, who spoke a little French, addressed them in that language, and Dick explained that they were English naval officers taken prisoners at Sebastopol, and making their escape through Poland. He then asked if there was a surgeon who could dress his wound, but was told that none was procurable nearer than a town fifteen miles away. A country cart was speedily procured and filled with straw, and upon this Dick lay down, while Jack took his seat by the peasant who was to drive the cart. It was eleven o'clock in the day when they entered the town, and the peasant drew up, in accordance with the instructions he had received, at the best hotel, the landlord of which was in no slight degree surprised at such an arrival, and was disposed to refuse them admittance. Jack, however, produced a bundle of Russian notes, at which sight the landlord's hesitation vanished at once, and in half an hour a surgeon stood by Dick's bedside dressing his wound. It was a severe one, the bone being broken between the elbow and shoulder. The next day Dick was in a state of high fever, due more to the hardship and exposure through which he bad passed than to the wound, and for a week lay between life and death. Then he began to mend, but the doctor said that it would be long before he could use his arm again, and that rest and quiet were absolutely necessary to restore him. A week later, therefore, the midshipmen left the town, Dick having determined that he would travel home by easy stages, while Jack, of course, would journey direct to join his ship. He had written immediately upon his arrival to acquaint his family, and that of Dick, that both were alive and had escaped from Russia. The tailors had been set to work, and the midshipmen presented a respectable appearance. Dick was still so weak that he could scarcely stand, and Jack tried hard to persuade him to stay for another week. But Dick was pining to be home, and would not hear of delay. A day's travel in a diligence brought them to a railway station, and twelve hours later they arrived at Vienna. Here they stopped for a day in luxurious quarters, and then Jack, after seeing his friend into the train on his way home, started to travel over the Semmering pass down to Trieste, where he knew he should find no difficulty in obtaining a steamer to Constantinople. After forty-eight hours' diligence travelling, Jack reached the pretty seaport on the northern shore of the Adriatic. He found to his satisfaction that one of the Austrian Lloyd's steamers would sail for Constantinople on the following morning. He spent the evening in buying a great stock of such articles as he had most found the want of in camp, and had accumulated quite a respectable stock of baggage by the time he went on board ship. After six days' steaming, during which they were never out of sight of land, they cast anchor opposite Constantinople. Jack did not report himself to the naval authorities here, as he thought it quite possible that the "Falcon" had been recalled or sent on other service, and he hoped that in that case he would, upon reaching the front, be appointed to some other ship. There was no difficulty in obtaining a passage to Balaklava, for two or three transports, or merchantmen laden with stores, were going up every day. He paused, however, for three days, as it was absolutely necessary for him to obtain a fit-out of fresh uniforms before rejoining, and at Galata he found European tailors perfectly capable of turning out such articles. Jack felt uncommonly pleased as he surveyed himself in a glass in his new equipment; for it was now eight months since he had landed in the Crimea, and the dilapidation of his garments had from that time been rapid. The difficulties of toilet had, too, been great, and white shirts were things absolutely unknown; so that Jack had never felt really presentable from the time when he landed. The day he had obtained his outfit he took a passage in a ship laden with stores, and sailed for the Crimea. He had already learned that the "Falcon" was still there, and when the vessel entered the harbor he was delighted at seeing her lying as one of the guard-ships there. An hour later, one of the ship's boats conveyed him and his baggage to the side of the "Falcon." The first person he saw on reaching the deck was Mr. Hethcote. The officer stared when Jack saluted and reported himself in the usual words, "Come aboard, sir," and fell back a pace in astonishment. "What, Jack! Jack Archer!" he exclaimed. "My dear boy, is it really you?" "It's me, sure enough, sir," Jack said, and the next moment Mr. Hethcote was shaking his hand as if he would have wrung it off. "Why, my dear Jack," he exclaimed, "the men all reported that both you and poor Hawtry were killed. They said they saw him shot, and, looking back, saw you killed over his body. It was never doubted a moment, and your names appeared in the list of the killed." "Well, sir, we are alive nevertheless, and Dick is by this time at home with his people. He would have come on and joined with me at once, sir, only he got his arm broken, and was laid up with fever after some fighting we had among the Polish insurgents." "Among what!" Mr. Hethcote exclaimed, astonished. "But never mind that now; I am glad indeed to hear that Hawtry also is alive, but you must tell me all about it presently. There are your other friends waiting to speak to you." By this time the news of Jack's return had spread through the ship. The midshipmen had all run on deck, and the men crowded the waist, or, regardless of discipline, stood on the bulwarks. Jack had been a general favorite. The gallantry which he and his comrade had displayed on the night of the storm had greatly endeared them to the crew, and the men had bitterly regretted that they had not stood with him over Hawtry's body; but, indeed, it was not until they had passed on, and it was too late to return, that they had noticed his absence. As Jack turned from Mr. Hethcote, his messmates crowded round him, and the men broke into a hearty cheer, again and again repeated. Jack, gratified and touched by this hearty welcome, could scarce reply to the questions which his comrades poured upon him, and was speedily dragged below to the midshipmen's berth, where he gave a very brief outline of what had happened since he saw them, a story which filled them with astonishment and some little envy. "I will tell you all about it fully, later on," Jack said, "but it would take me till night to give you the full yarn now. But first you must tell me what has happened here. You know I have heard nothing, and only know that Sebastopol is not yet taken." The recital was a long one, and Jack was fain to admit that the hardships which he had gone through were as nothing to those which had been borne by our soldiers in the Crimea during the six months he had been away from them. The trials and discomforts of the great storm had been but a sample of what was to be undergone. After Inkerman, it had been plain to the generals in command that all idea of taking Sebastopol must be abandoned until the spring, and that at the utmost they could do no more than hold their position before it. This had been rendered still more difficult by the storm, in which enormous quantities of stores, warm clothing, and other necessaries had been lost. It was now too late to think of making a road from Balaklava to the front, a work which, had the authorities in the first place dreamt that the army would have to pass the winter on the plateau, was of all others the most necessary. The consequence of this omission was that the sufferings of the troops were terrible. While Balaklava harbor was crowded with ships full of huts, clothing, and fuel, the men at the front were dying in hundreds from wet, cold, and insufficient food. Between them and abundance extended an almost impassable quagmire, in which horses and bullocks sank and died in thousands, although laden only with weights which a donkey in ordinary times could carry. Had the strength of the regiments in front been sufficient, the soldiers might have been marched down, when off duty, to Balaklava, to carry up the necessaries they required. But so reduced were they by over-work and fatigue, that those fit for duty had often to spend five nights out of seven in the trenches, and were physically too exhausted and worn-out to go down to Balaklava for necessaries, even of the most urgent kind. Many of the regiments were almost annihilated. Large numbers of fresh troops had come out, and drafts for those already there, but the new-comers, mostly raw lads, broke down under the strain almost as fast as they arrived, and in spite of the number sent out, the total available strength did not increase. One regiment could only muster nine men fit for duty. Many were reduced to the strength of a company. The few survivors of one regiment were sent down to Scutari until fresh drafts should arrive and the regiment could be reorganized, and yet this regiment had not been engaged in any of the battles. Scarce a general of those who had commanded divisions and brigades at the Alma now remained, and the regimental officers had suffered proportionally. The regiments which had won the Alma still remained before Sebastopol, but their constituents had almost entirely changed, and the proportion of those who had first landed in the Crimea that still remained there when Jack returned was small indeed. The sufferings of the French, although great, had not been nearly so severe as our own. Their camps were much nearer to their port, the organization of their services was far better and more complete, and as in the first place the siege work had been equally divided between them, the numbers at that time being nearly the same, the work of our men had become increasingly hard as their numbers diminished, while that of the French grew lighter, for their strength had been trebled by reinforcements from home. Thus, while our men were often five nights out of the seven on duty in the cold and wet, the French had five nights out of seven in bed. This gave them far greater time to forage for fuel, which was principally obtained by digging up the roots of the vines and brushwood--every twig above the surface having long since been cleared away--to dig deep holes under their tents, to dry their clothes and to make life comfortable. At last the strength of the English diminished to such a point that they were at length incapable of holding the long line of trenches, and they were obliged to ask the French to relieve them, which they did by taking over the right of our attack, a measure which placed them opposite to the two Russian positions of the Mamelon and Malakoff batteries, which proved to be the keys of Sebastopol. As spring came on matters brightened fast. English contractors sent out large bodies of navvies, and began to lay down a railway from Balaklava to the front, reinforcements poured in, and the health of the troops began to improve. Troops of transport animals from every country on the Mediterranean were landed. A village of shops, set up by enterprising settlers, was started two miles out of Balaklava. Huts sprang up in all directions, and all sorts of comforts purchased by the subscriptions of the English people when they heard of the sufferings of their soldiers, were landed and distributed. The work of getting up siege guns and storing ammunition for a re-opening of the bombardment in earnest, went on merrily, and the arrival of 15,000 Turkish troops, and of nearly 20,000 Sardinians, who pitched their camps on the plain, rendered the allies secure from an attack in that direction, and enabled them to concentrate all their efforts on the siege. So far the success had lain wholly with the Russians. For every earthwork and battery raised and armed by the allies, the Russians threw up two, and whereas when our armies arrived before it on 25th September, Sebastopol was little more than an open town, which could have been carried by the first assault, it was now a fortified place, bristling with batteries in every direction, of immense strength, and constructed upon the most scientific principles. Many of their works, especially the Mamelon, Malakoff, and Tower batteries, were fortresses in themselves, with refuges dug deeply in the earth, where the garrison slept, secure from the heaviest fire of our guns, and surrounded by works on every side. In the trenches it was the Russians who were always the aggressors. Sortie after sortie was made throughout the winter, and in these the Russians often obtained possession for a time of portions of our trenches or those of the French. Along in front of their works the ground was studded with rifle-pits, sometimes so close to our works that it was impossible for a man to show his head above them, and the artillerymen were frequently unable to work their guns, owing to the storm of bullets which the Russians sent through the embrasures whenever a sign of movement was discerned. In the desperate fights in darkness in the trenches we lost more men than in either of the pitched battles of the campaign; and it was only the dogged courage of our soldiers and the devotion of the officers which enabled us to maintain our footing in the trenches before the city which we were supposed to be besieging. Throughout the winter the fleet had lain inactive, although why they should have done so none knew, when they had it in their power, by attacking the Russian forts in the Sea of Azof, to destroy the granaries upon which the besieged depended for their supplies. The midshipmen, however, were able to tell Jack that they had not been altogether idle, as the fleet had at last, on the 22d of May, been set in motion, and they had but two days before returned from their expedition. All the light vessels of the English and French fleets had taken part in it. The fort of Yenikale which commanded the entrance of the Bay of Kertch had been captured, the batteries silenced, and the town occupied, and in four days after the squadron had entered the straits of Kertch they had destroyed 245 Russian vessels employed in carrying provisions to the Russian army in the Crimea. Besides this, enormous magazines of corn and flour were destroyed at Berdiansk, Genitchi and Kertch, and at the latter place immense quantities of military and naval stores also fell into our hands. Had this expedition taken place in October instead of May, it is probable that the Russians would have been unable to maintain their hold of Sebastopol. A portion of the fleet had remained in possession of the Sea of Azof, and thenceforth the Russians had to depend upon land carriage. This, however, mattered comparatively little, as the country was now firm and dry, and all the roads from Russia to the Crimea were available. All their comrades had taken share in the work in the batteries and Jack learned to his surprise that Captain Stuart had been transferred to a larger ship, and that Mr. Hethcote had got his promotion, and now commanded the "Falcon," Jack, in the first excitement of meeting him, not having noticed the changes in uniform which marked his advance. After two hours' conversation with his friends, Jack received a message that Captain Hethcote invited him to dine in his cabin, and here a quarter of an hour later he found not only the captain, but the first and second lieutenants. After dinner was over, Jack was requested to give a full narrative of his adventures, which greatly astonished his auditors, and was not concluded until late in the evening. The lieutenants then retired, and Jack was left alone with the captain, who signified that he wished to speak further with him. "Well, Jack," he said, when they were alone, "I did not think when I offered my uncle to get you a midshipman's berth, that I was going to put you in the way of passing through such a wonderful series of adventures. They have been sadly cut up at home at the news of your death. I hope that you wrote to them as soon as you had a chance." "I wrote on the very day I crossed the frontier, sir," Jack said. "Besides I wrote twice from Russia, but I don't suppose they ever got the letters." "And so you speak Russian fluently now, Jack?" "I speak it quite well enough to get on with, sir," Jack said. "You see, I was speaking nothing else for five months. I expect my grammar is very shaky, as I picked it all up entirely by ear, and no doubt I make awful mistakes, but I can get on fast enough." "I shall report your return to-morrow to the Admiral," Captain Hethcote said. "It is not improbable that he will at once attach you to the battery in front again. The bombardment is to re-open next week, and the generals expect to carry the town by assault; though, between ourselves, I have no belief that our batteries will be able to silence the enemy's guns sufficiently to make an assault upon such a tremendous position possible. However, as they expect to do it, it is probable that they will like having an officer who can speak Russian at the front, as interpreters would, of course, be useful. I suppose you would rather stay on board for a bit." "Yes, sir; I have had such a lot of knocking about since I left Breslau, that I should certainly have liked a month's quiet; but of course, I am ready to do as ordered, and, indeed, as the fun seems about to begin at last, I should like to be in it." The next morning the captain sent his report to the Admiral, and received in reply a message that the Admiral would be glad if Captain Hethcote would dine with him that day, and would bring Mr. Archer with him. Admiral Lyons was very kind to the young midshipman, and insisted upon his giving him an account in full of all his adventures. He confirmed Captain Hethcote's opinion as to Jack's movements, by saying, as he bade him good-bye, that in the morning he would receive a written order to go up to the front and to report himself to the officer in command of the naval brigade there. The next morning, being that of the 5th June, Jack received his order, and an hour later he started for the front, with two sailors to carry his baggage. He was astonished at the change which had been wrought at Balaklava. A perfect town of wooden huts had sprung up. The principal portion of these was devoted to the general hospital, the others were crammed with stores. The greater part of the old Tartar village had been completely cleared away, the streets and roads were levelled, and in good order. Such troops as were about had received new uniforms, and looked clean and tidy. Everywhere gangs of laborers were at work, and the whole place wore a bright and cheerful aspect. Just outside the town an engine with a number of laden wagons was upon the point of starting. The sun was blazing fiercely down, and at the suggestion of one of the sailors, who, though ready enough for a spree on shore, were viewing with some apprehension the prospect of the long trudge along the dusty road to Sebastopol, Jack asked the officer in charge of the train for permission to ride up. This was at once granted, and Jack, his trunk and the sailors, were soon perched on the top of a truck-load of barrels of salt pork. Jack could scarcely believe that the place was the same which he had last seen, just when winter was setting in. A large village had grown up near the mouth of the valley, wooden huts for the numerous gangs of navvies and laborers stood by the side of the railway. Officers trotted past on ponies, numbers of soldiers, English, French, Turkish, and Sardinian, trudged along the road on their way to or from Balaklava. The wide plain across which our cavalry had charged was bright with flowers, and dotted with the tents of the Turks and Sardinians. Nature wore a holiday aspect. Every one seemed cheerful and in high spirits, and it needed the dull boom of the guns around Sebastopol to recall the fact that the work upon which they were engaged was one of grim earnest. Upon arriving at the camp, Jack found that its aspect was not less changed than that of the surrounding country. Many of the regiments were already in huts. The roads and the streets between the tents were scrupulously clean and neat, and before many of the officers' tents, clumps of flowers brought up from the plain had been planted. The railway was not yet completed quite to the front, and the last two miles had to be traversed on foot. Upon presenting his written orders to the officer in command of the naval brigade, Jack was at once told off to a tent with two other midshipmen, and was told that he would not, for the present, be placed upon regular duty, but that he would be employed as aide-de-camp to the commander, and as interpreter, should his services in that way be required. CHAPTER XXII. THE REPULSE AT THE REDAN The first impulse of Jack, after having stowed his traps in the tent and introduced himself to his new mess-mates, was to make his way to the lines of the 33d. Here he found that Harry had been sent home sick in January, but that he had sailed from England again with a draft, and was expected to arrive in the course of a few days. Jack found but few of the officers still there whom he had before known. Several, however, were expected shortly back either from England or from the hospitals at Scutari. Greatly relieved to find that his brother was alive and well, Jack returned to the naval camp, where he speedily made himself at home. When he first mentioned to his messmates, two lads about his own age, that he had been a prisoner in Russia, the statement was received with incredulity, and when, at their request, he proceeded to tell some of his adventures, they regarded him with admiration as the most stupendous liar they had ever met. It was long indeed before his statements were in any way believed, and it was only when, upon the occasion of one day dining with the officer in command of the brigade, Jack, at his request, related in the presence of several officers his adventures in Russia, that his statements were really accepted as facts; for it was agreed that whatever yarns a fellow might invent to astonish his comrades, he would not venture upon relating them as facts to a post-captain. This, however, was later on. On the morning after his arrival all was expectation, for it was known that the bombardment was about to recommence. At half-past two o'clock the roar of 157 guns and mortars in the British batteries, and over 800 in those of the French, broke the silence, answered a minute or two later by that of the Russian guns along their whole line of batteries. The day was hot and almost without a breeze, and the smoke from so vast a number of guns hung heavily on the hill-side, and nothing could be seen as to the effect which the cannonade was producing. It was not until next morning that the effect of the fire was visible. The faces of the Russian batteries were pitted and scarred, but no injury of importance had been inflicted upon them. All day the fire continued with unabated fury on the side of the allies, the Russians replying intermittently. Presently the news circulated through the camp that an assault would be made at six o'clock, and all officers and men of duty thronged the brow of the plateau, looking down upon the town. At half-past six a body of French troops were observed to leave their trenches, and, in skirmishing order, to make their way towards the Mamelon. The guns of the Russian fort roared out, but already the assailants were too close for these to have much effect. Soon a great shout from the spectators on the hill proclaimed that the Zouaves, who always led the French attacks, had gained the parapet. Then, from within, a host of figures surged up against the sky, and a curious conflict raged on the very summit of the work. Soon, however, the increasing mass of the French, as they streamed up, enabled them to maintain the footing they had gained, and pouring down into the fort, they drove the Russians from it, the French pouring out in their rear. Twice fresh bodies of Russian reserves, coming up, attempted to roll back the French attack; but these, exultant with success, pressed forward, and, in spite of the fire which the guns of the Round Tower fort poured upon them, drove their enemies down the hill. It was growing dark now, and it could with difficulty be seen how the fight was going. Fresh masses of French troops poured from their advance trenches into the Mamelon, and there was no question that that point was decidedly gained. Still however, the battle raged around it. The Zouaves, flushed with success, attempted to carry the Round Tower with a rush, and swept up to the abattis surrounding it. The Russians brought up fresh supports, and the whole hill-side was alive with the flicker of musketry. The Russian guns of all the batteries bearing upon the scene of action opened it, while those of our right attack, which were close to the French, opened their fire to aid our allies. Had the Zouaves been supported, it is probable that they would have carried the Round Tower with their rush, but this was not in the plan of operations, and, after fighting heroically for some time, they fell back to the Mamelon. The fight on the British side had been less exciting. With a sudden rush our men had leaped on the advance trenches and driven the Russians from their position in the quarries. Then, rapidly turning the gabions of the trenches, they prepared to hold the ground they had taken. They were not to maintain their conquest unmolested, for soon the Russians poured down masses of troops to retake it. All night long the flash of fire flickered round the position, and six times the Russian officers led up their troops to the attack. Our assaulting force was over 1000 men, and out of these 365 men and thirty-five officers were killed or wounded. Had a stronger body been detailed, there is no doubt that the Redan, which was near the quarries, could have been taken, for it was almost empty of troops, and our men, in the impetuosity of their first assault, arrived close to it. Great discontent was felt that measures should not have been taken to follow up the success, and both our allies and our own troops felt that a great opportunity had been missed, owing to the want of forethought of their generals. The next day there was an armistice, from one till six, to collect and bury the dead, and the officers and men of the contending parties moved over the ground which had been the scene of conflict, chatting freely together, exchanging cigars and other little articles. Jack, who had gone down with his commanding officer, created no slight astonishment among the Russians by conversing with them in their own language. In answer to their questions, he told them that he had been a prisoner among them, and begged them to forward a note which he had that morning written to Count Preskoff at Berislav, acquainting him that he had made his escape across the Russian frontier, and had rejoined the army, for he thought it probable that the letter which he had given to Count Stanislaus to post, after he left him, might never have come to hand. At six o'clock the guns again re-opened; the Russians having made good use of their time in arming fresh batteries to counteract the effect of the works we had carried. We had indeed hard work in maintaining our hold of the quarries, which were commanded by several batteries, whose position placed them outside the range of our guns. Our loss was very heavy, as also was that of the French in the Mamelon, which was made a centre for the Russian fire. On the nights of the 16th and 17th some of the British and French ships stood in close to Sebastopol, and kept up a heavy fire upon the town. On the 16th it was decided by Marshal Pelissier and Lord Raglan that the assault should take place on the morning of the 18th of June, and every arrangement was made for the attack. The British force told off for the work consisted of detachments of the light, second, and third divisions, and was divided into three columns. Sir John Campbell had charge of the left, Colonel Shadforth of the right, and Colonel Lacy Yea of the centre column. General Barnard was directed to take his brigade of the third division down to a ravine near the quarries, while General Eyre moved his brigade of the same division still farther along. His orders were that in case of the assault on the Redan being successful, he should attack the works on its right. On the French left, three columns, each 6000 strong, under General De Salles, were to attack three of the Russian bastions; while on their right, three columns of equal force were to attack the Russian positions: General D'Autemarre assailing the Gervais battery and the right flank of the Malakoff, General Brunet to fall upon the left flank of the Malakoff and the little Redan from the Mamelon, while General Mayrau was to carry the Russian battery near the careening creek. Thus the French were to assault in six columns, numbering in all 36,000 men, with reserves of 25,000. Our assaulting columns contained only 1200 men, while 10,000 were in reserve. The attack was to commence at day-break, but by some mistake the column of General Mayrau attacked before the signal was given. In a few minutes they were repulsed with great loss, their general being mortally wounded. Four thousand of the Imperial Guard were sent to their assistance, and three rockets being fired as a signal, the assault was made all along the line. The Russians, however, had been prepared for what was coming by the assault on their left. Their reserves were brought up, the Redan was crowded with troops, the guns were loaded with grape, and as the little English columns leaped from their trenches and rushed to the assault, they were received with tremendous fire. The inevitable result of sending 1000 men to attack a tremendously strong position, held by ten times their own strength, and across a ground swept by half a dozen batteries, followed. The handful of British struggled nobly forward, broken up into groups by the irregularity of the ground and by the gaps made by the enemy's fire. Parties of brave men struggled up to the very abattis of the Redan, and there, unsupported and powerless, were shot down. Nothing could exceed the bravery which our soldiers manifested. But their bravery was in vain. The three officers in command of the columns, Sir John Campbell, Colonel Shadforth, and Colonel Yea, were all killed. In vain the officers strove to lead their men to an attack. There were indeed scarce any to lead, and the Russians, in mockery of the foolishness of such an attack, stood upon their parapets and asked our men why they did not come in. At last, the remnants of the shattered columns were called off. Upon the left, the brigade under General Eyre carried the cemetery by a sudden attack. But so hot a fire was opened upon him that it was with difficulty the position could be held. This, however, was the sole success of the day. Both, the French columns were repulsed with heavy loss from the Malakoff, and although Gervais battery was carried, it could not be maintained. The naval brigade furnished four parties of sixty men to carry scaling-ladders and wool-bags. Two of these parties were held in reserve, and did not advance. Captain Peel was in command, and was wounded, as was Mr. Wood, a midshipman of H.M.S. "Queen," who acted as his aide-de-camp. The three officers of one detachment were all wounded, and of the other one was killed, and one wounded. Jack had in the morning regretted that he was not in orders for the service, but when at night the loss which those who bad taken part in it had suffered was known, he could not but congratulate himself that he had not been detailed for the duty. The total British loss was twenty-two officers and 247 men killed, seventy-eight officers and 1207 men wounded. The French lost thirty-nine officers killed, and ninety-three wounded, 1600 men killed or taken prisoners and about the same number wounded; so that our losses were enormously greater than those of the French in proportion to our numbers. The Russians admitted a loss of 5800 killed and wounded. Jack was with many others a spectator of this scene from Cathcart Hill; but it must not be imagined that even a vague idea of what was passing could be gleaned by the lookers-on. The Redan, which was the point of view immediately opposite, was fully a mile away. In a few minutes from the commencement of the fight the air was thick with smoke, and the din of battle along so extended a front was so continuous and overpowering that it was impossible to judge by the sound of firing how the fight was going on at any particular point. Upon the night before there was a general sanguine feeling as to the success of the attack, and many a laughing invitation was given to future dinners in the hotels of Sebastopol. Great, then, was the disappointment when, an hour after its opening, the tremendous roll of musketry gradually died away, while the fire of the allied batteries angrily opened, telling the tale that all along the line the allies had been defeated, save only for the slight success at the cemetery. Eagerly were the wounded questioned, as, carried on stretchers, or slowly and painfully making their way upon foot, they ascended the hill. In most of them regret at their defeat or anger at the incompetence of those who had rendered defeat certain, predominated over the pain of the wounds. "Be jabers," said a little Irishman, "but it was cruel work entirely. There was myself and six others and the captain made our way up to a lot of high stakes stuck in the ground before the place. We looked round, and divil another soul was there near. We couldn't climb over the stakes, and if we had got over 'em there was a deep ditch beyond, and no way of getting in or out. And what would have been the good if we had, when there were about 50,000 Russians inside a-shouting and yelling at the top of their voices, and a-firing away tons of ammunition? We stopped there five minutes, it may be, waiting to see if any one else was coming, and then when four of us was killed and the captain wounded, I thought it time to be laving; so I lifted him up and carried him in, and got an ugly baste of a Russian bullet into my shoulder as I did so. Ye may call it fightin', but it's just murder I call it meself." Something like this was the tale told by scores of wounded men, and it is little wonder that, sore with defeat and disappointment, and heart-sick at the loss which had been suffered, the feelings of the army found vent in deep grumblings at the generals who had sent out a handful of men to assault a fortress. The next day there was another truce to allow of the burial of the dead and the collection of the wounded who lay thickly on the ground between the rival trenches. It did not take place, however, till four in the afternoon, by which time the wounded had been lying for thirty hours without water or aid, the greater portion of the time exposed to the heat of a burning sun. Ten days later Lord Raglan died. He was a brave soldier, an honorable man, a most courteous and perfect English gentleman, but he was most certainly not a great general. He was succeeded by General Simpson, who appears to have been chosen solely because he had, as a lad, served in the Peninsula; the authorities seeming to forget that for the work upon which the army was engaged, no school of war could compare with that of the Crimea itself, and that generals who had received their training there were incomparably fitter for the task than any others could be. Two days after the repulse at the Redan, Jack was delighted by the entry of his brother into his tent. Harry had of course left England before the receipt of Jack's letter written when he had crossed the frontier, and was overwhelmed with delight at the news which he had received ten minutes before, on arriving at the camp, that his brother was alive, and was again with the naval brigade close by. Jack's tent-mates were fortunately absent, and the brothers were therefore able to enjoy the delight of their meeting alone, and, when the first rapture was over, to sit down for a long talk. Jack was eager to learn what had happened at home, of which he had heard nothing for six months, and which Harry had so lately left. He was delighted to hear that all were well; that his elder sister was engaged to be married; and that although the shock of the news of his death had greatly affected his mother she had regained her strength, and would, Harry was sure, be as bright and cheerful as ever when she heard of his safety. Not till he had received answers to every question about home would Jack satisfy his brother's curiosity as to his own adventures, and then he astonished him indeed with an account of what he had gone through. "Well, Jack, you are a lucky fellow!" Harry said, when he had finished. "To think of your having gone through all those adventures and living to tell of them. Why, it will be something to talk about all your life." "And you, Harry, are you quite recovered?" "I am as well as ever," Harry said. "It was a case of typhus and frost-bite mixed. I lost two of my toes, and they were afraid that I should be lame in consequence. However, I can march well enough for all practical purposes, though I do limp a little. As to the typhus, it left me very weak; but I soon picked up when the wind from England was blowing in my face. Only to think that all the time I was grieving for you as dead and buried by the Russians among the hills over there that you were larking about with those jolly Russian girls." "Oh, yes, that's all very well," Jack said. "But you must remember that all that pretty nearly led to my being hung or shot; and it was a hot time among those Poles, too, I can tell you." The next few days passed quietly. On the 12th of July Jack rode out with his commanding officer, who, with many others, accompanied the reconnaissance made by the Turks and French, on a foraging and reconnoitring party, towards Baidar, but they did not come in contact with the Russians. Both parties still worked steadily at their trenches. The French were fortunate in having soft ground before them, and were rapidly pushing their advances up towards the Malakoff. This position, which could without difficulty have been seized by the allies at the commencement was in reality the key of the Russian position. Its guns completely commanded the Redan, and its position would render that post untenable, while the whole of the south side of Sebastopol would lay at our mercy. In front of the English the ground was hard and stony, and it was next to impossible to advance our trenches towards the Redan, and the greater portion of the earth indeed had to be carried in sacks on men's backs from points in the rear. The working parties were also exposed to a cross-fire, and large numbers of men were killed every day. On the 31st a tremendous storm broke upon the camp, but the soldiers were now accustomed to such occurrences, the tents were well secured, and but little damage was suffered. Save for a few sorties by the Russians, the next fortnight passed quietly. The cavalry were now pushed some distance inland, and the officers made up parties to ride through the pretty valleys and visit the villas and country houses scattered along the shores. CHAPTER XXIII. THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA On the evening of the 15th of August several Tartars brought in news that the Russians were preparing for an attack; but so often had similar rumors been received that little attention was paid to their statements. It was known indeed that they had received very large reinforcements, and the troops had been several times called under arms to resist their repeated attacks. These, however, had all passed off quietly, and when the troops retired to rest none thought that a great battle was going to take place on the morrow. The Tchernaya, after leaving the valley of Baidar, flows between a number of low swells of ground, and formed the front of the allied armies on the plains. On the extreme right the Turks were stationed. Next them came the Sardinians, whose position extended from a stream flowing into the Tchernaya at right angles to an eminence known as Mount Hasfort. In front, and divided from it by an aqueduct which, too, ran parallel to the river, was another hillock accessible from the first by a stone bridge at which the Sardinians had a breastwork. Their outposts extended some distance on the other side of the Tchernaya. The French occupied a series of hillocks to the left of the Sardinians, guarding the road leading from Balaklava to McKenzie's farm. The river and aqueduct both flowed along their front. The road crossed the former by a bridge known as the Traktia Bridge, the latter by a stone bridge. In front of the Traktia Bridge was a breastwork. At dawn a strong body of Russians were seen upon the heights opposite to those occupied by the Sardinians, and thence, being on ground higher than that upon our side of the river, they commanded both the Sardinian and French positions. The bridge was held by a company of infantry and a company of Bersaglieri, and General Della Marmora at once despatched another company of Bersaglieri to enable the advance to hold their post until the army got under arms. They mounted the opposite plateau, but this was so swept by the Russian guns, that they were forced at once to retire to the bridge. Soon the artillery opened along the whole line on both sides. The French outposts had also been driven in, and before the troops were fairly under arms, the Russians had crossed the bridge, and were charging forward. The aqueduct, which was nine or ten feet wide and several feet deep, now formed the front of the French defence. It ran along on the face of the hill, with a very steep slope facing the Russians. In spite of the fire of the French artillery in front, and of the Sardinian artillery which swept them in flank, the Russian soldiers pressed most gallantly forward, crossed the aqueduct, and tried to storm the height. The Sardinian fire, however, was too severe, and after ten minutes the Russians fell back. It met another column advancing at the double, and uniting, they again rushed forward. While they forded the river, two guns crossed by the bridge and another by a ford, and opened upon the French. The infantry, rushing breast deep through the water, began to scale the heights. But the French met them boldly, and after a fierce fight drove them down and across the bridge. On their left another column had attacked the French right, and in spite of the Sardinian guns which ploughed long lanes in their ranks, crossed the aqueduct and scaled the heights. But as they reached the plateau so terrible a storm of grape and musket-balls swept upon them, that the bead of the column melted away as it surmounted the crest. Fresh men took the place of those that fell, but when the French infantry, with a mighty cheer, rushed upon them, the Russians broke and ran. So great was the crowd that they could not pass the river in time, and 200 prisoners were taken, while the French and Sardinian artillery swept the remains of the column, as it retreated, with a terrible cross fire. At the bridge, however, the Russians made one more effort. The reserves were brought up, and they again crossed the river and aqueduct. The French, however, were now thoroughly prepared, and the attack was, like the preceding one, beaten back with terrible slaughter. The Russians fell back along their whole line, covered by the fire of their artillery, while five regiments of cavalry took post to oppose that of the allies, should they attempt to harass the retreat. The loss of the French was nine officers killed and fifty-three wounded, 172 men killed and 1163 wounded. The Sardinians had two officers killed and eight wounded; sixty-two men killed, and 135 wounded. The Russian loss was twenty-seven officers killed, and eighty-five wounded; 3329 men killed, 4785 wounded. Never were the advantages of position more clearly shown, for the Russians lost fifteen times as many killed as the allies, four times as many wounded, although they had all the advantages of a surprise on their side. The English had only a battery of heavy guns under Captain Mowbray engaged. These did good service. Jack Archer saw but little of this battle. It commenced at daybreak and lasted little over an hour, and when Jack, with hundreds of other officers and soldiers, reached points from which a view of the plain could be commanded, a thick cloud of smoke was drifting across it, through which nothing could be seen until the heavy masses of Russians were observed making their way back covered by their cavalry, and the dying away of the cannonade told that the battle was over. Life in camp was very cheery now. The troops were in splendid health and high spirits. Races were got up in each division, for almost all officers possessed ponies of some kind or other, and great amusement was caused by these events. Some of the lately-arrived regiments had brought their regimental bands with them, and these added to the liveliness of the camps. A good supply of eatables and wine could be obtained from the sutlers, and dinner-parties were constantly taking place. Altogether life in camp was very enjoyable. The French, who during the winter had fared much better than ourselves, were now in a very inferior condition. The full publicity which had been given to the sufferings of our troops had so roused the British public, that not only had they insisted that Government should take all measures for the comfort of the soldiers, but very large sums had been collected, and ships laden with comforts and luxuries of all kinds despatched to the seat of war. Consequently our troops were now in every respect well fed and comfortable. Upon the other hand, the details of the sufferings of the French troops had been carefully concealed from the French people. Consequently nothing was done for them, and their food was the same now as it had been at Varna in the previous year. They were consequently exposed to the attacks of the same illness, and while the British army was enjoying perfect health, the French hospitals were crowded, and many thousands died of cholera and fever. After the Tchernaya, as there was no probability of a renewal of the bombardment for a short time, Jack asked leave to spend a few days on board ship, as his services as interpreter were not likely to be required. This was readily granted. Here he had perfect rest. Captain Hethcote did not put him in a watch, and every day, with some of his messmates, he rowed out of the harbor, and coasted along at the foot of the lofty cliffs, sometimes fishing, sometimes taking a bath in the cool waters. This week's rest and change did Jack a great deal of good, for he had been feeling the effects of the long strain of excitement. He had had several slight touches of fever, and the naval doctor had begun to speak of the probability of sending him down to the hospital-ship at Constantinople. The week's rest, however, completely set him up, and he was delighted with the receipt of a budget of letters from home, written upon the receipt of his letter announcing his safety. None but those who have gone through a long and tedious campaign, or who may be living a struggling life in some young colony, can know how great is the delight afforded by letters from home. For a time the readers forget their surroundings, and all the toil and struggle of their existence, and are again in thought among the dear ones at home. Retiring to some quiet place apart from their comrades, they read through their letters again and again, and it is not till every little item is got by heart, that the letters are folded up and put away, to be re-read over and over again until the next batch arrive. Jack, of course, had heard much of his family from his brother, but the long letters of his father and mother, the large, scrawling handwriting of his little brothers and sisters, brought them before him far more vividly than any account could have done. Enclosed in his father's letter was one with a Russian postmark, and this Jack found was from Count Preskoff. It had been written six weeks after he had left them, and had, curiously enough, arrived in England on the very day after his own letter had reached home. The count wrote expressing their anxiety regarding him, and their earnest hopes that he had effected his escape. He said that his wife and daughters diligently read every paper they could get from end to end, but having seen no notice of the capture of two young Englishmen in disguise, they entertained strong hopes that their friends had effected their escape. The count said he was sure that Jack would be glad to hear that things in Russia looked brighter; that it was rumored that the Emperor Alexander intended on the occasion of his coronation to proclaim a general emancipation of the serfs, and that other measures of reform would follow. The party of progress were strong in the councils of the new monarch. The decree for his own banishment from court had been cancelled, and he was on the point of starting for St. Petersburg with his wife and daughters. A personal friend of his own had been appointed commandant of Berislav, and the late deputy commandant had been sent to join his regiment in the Crimea. The countess and his daughters were well, and Olga was studying English. He said that when the war was over he intended with his family to make a tour through the capitals of Europe, and hoped that they should see Jack in England. This was very welcome news, and Jack returned to the naval camp at the front in high glee. One morning a lieutenant named Myers, asked Jack if he would like to accompany him on a reconnaissance, which he heard that a party of the Sardinian cavalry were going to push some little distance up the Baida Valley. Jack said that he would like it very much if he could borrow a pony. Mr. Myers said that he could manage this for him, and at once went and obtained the loan of a pony from another officer who was just going down into the battery. A quarter of an hour afterwards, having taken the precaution to put some biscuits and cold meat into their haversacks, and to fill their flasks with rum and water, they started and rode across the plain to the Sardinian camp. The lieutenant had obtained the news of the proposed reconnaissance from an officer with whom he was acquainted on the Sardinian staff. The news, however, had been kept secret, as upon previous occasions so many officers off duty had accompanied these reconnaissances as to constitute an inconvenience. On the present occasion the secret had been so well kept that only some four or five pleasure-seekers had assembled when the column, consisting of 400 cavalry, started. Jack, accustomed only to the flat plains of southern and western Russia, was delighted with the beauty of the valley through which they now rode. It was beautifully wooded, and here and there Tartar villages nestled among the trees. These had long since been deserted by the inhabitants, and had been looted by successive parties of friends and foes, of everything portable. Presently they turned out of the valley they had first passed through and followed a road over a slope into another valley, similar to the first. For an hour they rode on, and then some distance ahead of the column they heard the report of a shot. "The Cossacks have got sight of us," Mr. Myers said. "We shall soon learn if the Russians have any troops in the neighborhood." Presently a scattered fire was opened from the walls of a country house, standing embowered in trees on an eminence near what appeared to be the mouth of the valley. The officer in command of the party dismounted one of the squadrons, and sent the men up in skirmishing order against the house. Two other squadrons trotted down the valley, and the rest remained in reserve. A sharp musketry conflict went on for a short time around the chateau. Then the Sardinians made a rush, and their shouts of triumph and the cessation of musketry proclaimed their victory. At the same moment a soldier rode back from the cavalry that had gone up the valley, to say that a strong body of the enemy's horse were approaching across the plain. The order was given for a general advance, and the cavalry trotted down the valley to join the party in advance. "Now, Mr. Archer," Lieutenant Myers said, "the best thing for us to do will be to ride forward to that house up there. See, the attacking party are coming back to their horses. We ought to have a good view over the plain, and shall see the fight between the Sardinians and the enemy. Besides, we may pick up some loot." They soon reached the house, and, tying up their horses, entered. It was a fine chateau, handsomely furnished, but short as was the time that the Sardinians had held possession, they had already tumbled everything into confusion in their search for plunder. Tables and couches had been upset, closets and chiffoniers burst open with the butt-ends of the swords or with the discharge of a pistol into the lock. Looking-glasses had been smashed, valuable vases lay in fragments on the floor, bottles of wine whose necks had been hastily knocked off stood on the table. In the courtyard were signs of strife. Three or four Cossacks and two Sardinian horsemen lay dead. "We will go out to the terrace in front of the house," Mr. Myers said. "From that we ought to have a view over the country." Owing, however, to the trees which grew around, they were obliged to advance 100 yards or so from the house before they could see the plain. Then some half-mile out they saw the blue mass of Sardinian cavalry advancing by squadrons. Still farther two bodies of Russian horse, each nearly equal in strength to the Italians, were seen. There was a movement among the Sardinian horse. They formed into two bodies and dashed at the Russians. There was a cloud of dust, swords could be seen flashing in the sun, a confused mèlèe for a minute or two, and then the Russians broke and rode across the plain, pursued by the Sardinians. "A very pretty charge," Mr. Myers said. "Now we'll go in and look at the house. It will be fully half an hour before they return again." They went in and wandered from room to room. The place had evidently been tenanted until quite lately. Articles of woman's work lay upon the table. A canary bird was singing in his cage. A fire burnt in the kitchen, and a meal was evidently in course of preparation when the first alarm had been given. The officers wandered from room to room, and collected a number of little trifles to take home as remembrances, small pictures of the Greek saints, such as are found in every Russian house, a little bronze statuette, two or three small but handsomely bound books, a couple of curious old plates; and Jack took possession, as a present for his elder sister, of a small work-box beautifully fitted up. Having made two bundles of their plunder, they prepared to go out again to see if the Sardinians were returning, when Jack, looking out of the window, uttered an exclamation of surprise and alarm. One of the thick fogs which are so common in the Black Sea, and on the surrounding coasts, had suddenly rolled down upon them, and it was difficult to see five yards from the window. Jack's exclamation was echoed by Mr. Myers. "This is a nice business!" the latter exclaimed. "We had better find our ponies and make our way down into the valley at once. Seeing how thick the fog has come on, the Sardinians may not return here at all." So saying, they hurried to the spot where they had tied up their ponies, and, leading them by the reins, descended into the valley. "The fog is getting thicker and thicker," Mr. Myers said. "I cannot see three yards before me. We must listen for them as they pass, and then join them, although it's by no means impossible that we may be received with a shot." Half an hour passed, and they grew more and more anxious. Another half-hour, and still no sound was heard. "I do not think they can possibly have passed without our seeing them, Mr. Archer. The valley is a quarter of a mile wide, but we should be sure to hear the trampling of the horses and the jingling of the sabres." "Yes, sir, I'm sure they have not passed since we got here. But they may possibly have seen the fog coming on and have ridden rapidly back, and passed before we came down, or they may have gone round by the mouth of the valley parallel to this, which we left to cross into this one." "That is just what I have been thinking." Mr. Myers said. "What do you think we had better do? It is quite impossible that we can find our way back through such a fog as this." "Quite impossible, sir," Jack said. "If we were to move from where we are, we should lose all idea of our bearings in three minutes, and should be as likely to go into the plain as up the valley." "It's a most awkward position," Mr. Myers said anxiously. "Now, Mr. Archer, you have had some sort of experience of this kind before. Tell me frankly what you think is the best thing to be done." "I have been thinking it over, sir, for the last half, hour," Jack said, "and it appears to me that the best thing to do would be for me to find my way up to the house again. I can't well miss that, as we came straight down hill. I will bring back two of those Cossacks' cloaks and lances. Then we had better move about till we come on a clump of trees, and make ourselves as comfortable there as we can. These fogs last, as you know, sometimes for two or three days. When it gets clear, whether it is to-day or to-morrow, we will look out and see whether there are any of the enemy about. Of course, as they know the way, they can come back in the fog. If we see any of them, we must put on the Cossack's cloaks, take their lances, and boldly ride off. They are always galloping about in pairs all over the country; so that we shall attract no attention." "But if they catch us," the lieutenant said, "we shall be liable to be shot as spies." "I suppose we shall, sir," Jack answered; "but I would rather run the risk of being shot as a spy than the certainty of being caught as a naval officer, and imprisoned till the war is over." "Well, Mr Archer, I certainly can suggest nothing better," the lieutenant said. "Will you go up, then, and, get the cloaks you speak of?" Leaving his pony with the lieutenant, Jack made his way up the hill. Fortunately, in their descent they had followed a small track worn by persons going to and from the chateau from the valley, and he had, therefore, but little difficulty in finding the house. He paused when he reached the courtyard, for he heard voices in the chateau. Listening attentively, he discovered that they were Russians, no doubt some of the party who had been driven thence by the Sardinians, and who had, upon the retirement of the latter, ridden straight back from the plain. Fortunately, the fog was so thick that there was no probability whatever of his movements being discovered, and he therefore proceeded to strip off two of the long coats, reaching almost down to the heels, which form the distinctive Cossack dress, from the dead men. He took possession also of their caps, their bandoliers for cartridges, worn over one shoulder, and of their carbines and lances, and then retraced his steps down the hill to his companion. Leading their ponies, they wandered aimlessly through the fog for a considerable time before they came to some trees. "If you will hold my horse, sir," Jack said, "I will just look round, and see if this is a small wood. I shall lose you before I have gone a yard, so when you hear me whistle, please whistle back, but not loud, for there may be enemies close by for aught I know. I thought I heard voices just now." Searching about, Jack found that the clump of trees extended for some little distance. Returning to the lieutenant, they entered the wood, and moved a little way among the trees, so as to be out of sight if the fog lifted suddenly. Then they loosened the saddle-girths, gathered some sticks and lit a fire, and using the Cossack coats for rugs, began to discuss the meal they had brought with them. "If the Russians really advance again, and get between us and Balaklava, I do not see how on earth we are to pass through them," Mr. Myers said. "No, sir, I don't think we could," Jack answered. "I should propose that we make a wide sweep round so as to come down upon the shore some distance away. As you know, boats from the ships often land at some of the deserted places along there in search of loot; so that we ought to be able to be taken off. If, when we are riding, we come upon any Russian troops suddenly, so that we cannot move away in any other direction without exciting suspicion, you must put a good face on it. My Russian is good enough to pass muster as a Cossack. All we have to do is to avoid any of these fellows, for they would detect at once that I did not belong to them." "Well, Mr. Archer, you take things very coolly, and I hope you will get us out of the scrape we have got into. If I had been by myself, I should have ridden up and surrendered to the first Russians I saw." "That would have been the best way, sir, had it not been for those poor beggars having been killed up above there; for in our naval dress we could not have hoped to have escaped. As it is, if we have any luck, we shall soon be back at Balaklava again." CHAPTER XXIV. A FORTUNATE STORM The fog seemed to get thicker and thicker as the day went on. At nightfall, when it became evident that no move could be made before morning, they gave a biscuit to each of their ponies, cut some grass and laid it before them, and then, wrapping themselves in the Cossack cloaks to keep off the damp fog, were soon asleep. At day-break the fog was still thick, but as the sun rose it gradually dispersed it, and they were shortly able to see up the valley. They found that in their wandering in the mist they must have moved partly in a circle, for they were still little more than a quarter of a mile from the point where they had left it to ascend to the chateau. Round this they could see many soldiers moving about. Looking up the valley, they perceived lines of horses, picqueted by a village but a few hundred yards away. "Those were the voices I thought I heard, no doubt, when we first came here," Jack said. "It's lucky we found these trees, for if we had wandered about a little longer, we might have stumbled into the middle of them. Now, sir, we had better finish the biscuits we put aside for breakfast, and be off. It is quite evident the direct way to the camp is close to us." Saddling up their horses, and putting on the Cossack black sheepskin caps and long coats, and taking the lances and carbines, the latter of which were carried across the saddle before them, they mounted their ponies and rode off, quitting the wood at such a point that it formed a screen between them and the cavalry in the distance, until they had gone well down the valley. They were unnoticed, or at any rate, unchallenged by the party at the chateau, and, issuing from the valley, rode out into the open country. Far out in the plain they saw several Russians moving about, and judged that these were occupied in searching those who had fallen in the cavalry fight of the preceding day. They did not approach them, but turning to the right, trotted briskly along, skirting the foot of the hills. They passed through two or three Tartar villages whose inhabitants scarcely glanced at them, so accustomed were they to the sight of small parties of Cossacks riding hither and thither. In one, which stood just at the mouth of the valley which they had determined to enter, as a road running up it seemed to indicate that it led to some place, perhaps upon the sea-shore, they found several Russian soldiers loitering about. Lieutenant Myers would have checked his pony, but Jack rode unhesitatingly forward. An officer came out of one of the cottages. "Any news?" he asked. "None," Jack said. "The enemy's horse came out yesterday, through the Baida valley, but we beat them back again." "Where are you going?" the Russian asked. "Down towards the sea," Jack answered, "to pick up stragglers who land to plunder. A whole sotina is coming down. They will be here presently," so saying, with a wave of his hand, he resumed his way up the valley, Lieutenant Myers having ridden on, lest any questions should be addressed to him. The road mounted steadily, and after some hours' riding they crossed a brow, and found themselves at the head of a valley opening before them, and between the cliffs at its end they could see the sea. They could scarcely restrain a shout of joy, and, quickening their speed, rode rapidly down the valley. Presently they perceived before them a small village lying on the sea-shore, to the left of which stood a large chateau, half hidden among trees. "Do you think it's safe to ride in?" Mr. Myers asked. "Most of these villages have been found deserted, sir," Jack said, "by our fellows when they landed. I'm afraid we are beyond the point to which they come, for I should think we must be twenty miles from Balaklava. However, there are not likely to be any troops here, and we needn't mind the Tartars." They found, as they expected, that the village was wholly deserted, and, riding through it, they dismounted at the chateau. The doors were fastened, but, walking round it, they perceived no signs of life, and, breaking a window, they soon effected an entrance. They found that the house, which was of great size and evidently belonged to a Russian magnate, was splendidly furnished, and that it had so far not been visited by any parties from the ships. Some fine pictures hung on the walls, choice pieces of statuary were scattered here and there, tables of malachite and other rare stones stood about, and Eastern carpets covered the floors. "We are in clover now, sir," Jack said, "and if we could but charter a ship, we should be able to make a rich prize. But as our ponies can only carry us, I'm afraid that all these valuables are worthless to us." "I'd give the whole lot of them," the lieutenant said, "for a good meal. At any rate, we are sure to find something for the ponies." In the stables behind the house were great quantities of forage and the ponies soon had their fill. The officers, taking some corn, of which also there was an abundance, hammered a quantity between two flat stones, and moistening the rough flour so obtained, with water, made two flat cakes, with which, baked over a wood fire, they satisfied their hunger. A consultation was held while they ate their meal, and it was agreed that as the place was evidently beyond the range of boats from Balaklava, they had better ride along the cliffs till they reached some village, where, as they would find from the state of the houses, parties were in the habit of coming. After a couple of hours' stay to give the horses time to rest, they again saddled up and took the road along the coast. After riding two miles along the edge of the cliffs, they simultaneously checked their horses, as, upon mounting a slight rise, they saw before them the tents of a considerable party of Russian soldiers. As they had paused the moment their heads came above the level, they were themselves unobserved, and turning, they rode back to the chateau they had quitted, where, having made their ponies comfortable, they prepared to pass the night. There were plenty of luxurious beds, and they slept profoundly all night. In the morning they went down to the sea. Not a vestige of a boat was to be seen, and they began to question whether it would not be possible to make a small raft, and to paddle along the foot of the cliffs. "We need not trouble about that now," Lieutenant Myers said, "for, unless I am mistaken, we're going to have a regular Black Sea gale in an hour or two. The wind is freshening fast, and the clouds banking up." The lieutenant was not mistaken. In an hour the wind was blowing in furious gusts, and the sea breaking heavily in the little bay. Having nothing to do, they sat under the shelter of a rock, and watched the progress of the gale. The wind was blowing dead along the shore, and grew fiercer and fiercer. Three hours passed, and then Lieutenant Myers leaped to his feet. "See," he said, "there is a boat coming round the point!" It was so. Driving before the gale was a ship's boat, a rag of sail was set, and they could see figures on board. "She is making in here!" the lieutenant exclaimed. "Let us run down and signal to them to beach her at that level spot just in front of the village. No doubt it is some ship's boat which came out to picnic at one of the villages near Balaklava, and they have been blown along the coast and have been unable to effect a landing." The boat's head was now turned towards shore, the sail lowered, and the oars got out. So high was the sea already, that the spectators feared every moment she would be swamped, but she was well handled, and once in the little bay the water grew smoother, and she soon made her way to the spot where the officers were standing. The latter were astonished when the men leaped out instantly, and, without a word, rushed at them, and in a moment both were levelled to the ground by blows of stretchers. When they recovered from the shock and astonishment, they found the sailors grouped round them. "Hallo!" Jack exclaimed in astonishment, "Mr. Simmonds, is that you? What on earth are you knocking us about like that for?" "Why, Jack Archer!" exclaimed the officer addressed, "where on earth did you come from? and what are you masquerading as a Cossack for? We saw you here, and of course took you for an enemy. I thought you were up at the front." "So we were," Jack replied, "but, as you see, we are here now. This is Lieutenant Myers, of the 'Tartar.'" "I'm awfully sorry!" Mr. Simmonds said, holding out his hand, and helping them to their feet. "It was not your fault," Mr. Myers answered. "We forgot all about our Cossack dresses. Of course you supposed that we were enemies. It is fortunate indeed for us that you came here. But I fear you must put to sea again. There is a Russian camp two miles off on the hill, and the boat is sure to have been seen." "It will be awkward," Lieutenant Simmonds said, looking at the sky, "for it is blowing tremendously. I think, though, that it is breaking already. These Black Sea gales do not often last long. At any rate, it would be better to take our chance there than to see the inside of a Russian prison." "If you send a man along the road to that crest," Lieutenant Myers suggested, "he will see them coming, and if we all keep close to the boat, we may get out of gunshot in time." A sailor was accordingly despatched up the hill. The instant he reached the top he was seen to turn hastily, and to come running back at full speed. "Now, lads," Mr. Simmonds said, "put your shoulders to her. Now, all together, get her into the water, and be ready to jump in and push off when Atkins arrives." When the sailor was still a hundred yards away the head of a column of Russian infantry appeared over the crest. When they saw the boat they gave a shout, and breaking, ran down the hill at full speed. Before they reached the village, however, Atkins had leaped into the boat, and with a cheer the men ran her out into the surf, and scrambled in. "Out oars, lads, and row for your lives!" Mr. Simmonds said, and, with steady strokes the sailors drove their boat through the waves. The Russians opened fire the instant they reached the beach, but the boat was already 150 yards away, and although the bullets fell thickly round, no one was hit. "I think, Mr. Myers," Lieutenant Simmonds said, "we had better lay-to, before we get quite out of shelter of the bay. With steady rowing we can keep her there, and we shall be out of range of the Russians." Mr. Myers assented, and for two hours the men, rowing their utmost, kept the boat stationary, partly sheltered by the cliffs at the mouth of the bay. The Russians continued to fire, but although the boat was not wholly beyond their range, and the bullets sometimes fell near, these were for the most part carried to leeward by the wind, and not a single casualty occurred. "The wind is falling fast," Lieutenant Simmonds said. "We could show a rag of canvas outside now. We had best make a long leg out to sea, and then, when the wind goes down, we can make Balaklava." For four or five hours the boat was buffeted in the tremendous seas, but gradually, as the wind went down, these abated, and after running twenty miles off the land, the boat's head was turned, and she began to beat back to Balaklava. It was eleven o'clock that night before they reached the "Falcon," officers and men completely worn out with their exertions. Jack found to his satisfaction that no report of his being missing had been received by the captain, and next morning at daybreak he and Lieutenant Myers walked up to camp, regretting the loss of their ponies, which would, however, they were sure, be found by the Russians long ere they finished the stores of provender within their reach. Upon reaching camp they found that their absence had not been noticed until the afternoon of the second day of their absence. They had been seen to ride away together, and when in the evening they were found to be absent, it was supposed that they had gone down to Balaklava and slept there. When upon the following day they were still missing, it was supposed that the admiral had retained them for duty on board ship. The storm, which had scattered everything, had put them out of the thoughts of the commanding officer, and it was only that morning that, no letter respecting them having been received, he was about to write to their respective captains to inquire the cause of their absence. This was now explained, and as they had been detained by circumstances altogether beyond their control, they escaped without a reprimand, and were indeed warmly congratulated upon the adventures they had passed through. In the meantime the cannonade had been going on very heavily in front. The Russian outworks were showing signs of weakness after the tremendous pounding they were receiving. The French were pushing their trenches close up to the Malakoff, and upon both sides the soldiers were busy with pick and shovel. On the night of the 30th August a tremendous explosion took place, a Russian shell exploding in a French ammunition wagon, which blew up, killing and wounding 150 officers and men. On the following night the naval brigade astonished the camp by giving private theatricals. The bill was headed "Theatre Royal, Naval Brigade. On Friday evening, 31st August, will be performed, 'Deaf as a Post,' to be followed by 'The Silent Woman,' the whole to conclude with a laughable farce, entitled 'Slasher and Crasher.' Seats to be taken at seven o'clock. Performance to commence precisely at eight. God save the Queen. Rule Britannia." The scenes were furnished from H.M.S. "London." The actors were all sailors of the brigade, the ladies' parts being taken by young boatswains' mates. Two thousand spectators closely packed were present, and the performance was immensely enjoyed in spite of the fact that the shell from the Russian long-range guns occasionally burst in the neighborhood of the theatre. The French had now pushed forward their trenches so far that from their front sap they could absolutely touch the abattis of the Malakoff. On the 3d the Russians made a sortie, and some heavy fighting took place in the trenches. The time was now at hand when the last bombardment was to commence. The French began it early on the morning of the 5th. They had now got no less than 627 guns in position, while the English had 202. The news that it was to commence was kept a profound secret, and few of the English officers knew what was about to take place. Our own trenches were comparatively empty, while those of the French were crowded with men who kept carefully out of sight of the enemy. Suddenly three jets of earth and dust sprung into the air. The French had exploded three mines, and at the signal a stream of fire three miles in length ran from battery to battery, as the whole of their guns opened fire. The effect of this stupendous volley was terrible. The iron shower ploughed up the batteries and entrenchments of the Russians, and crashed among the houses far behind. In a moment the hillside was wreathed with smoke. With the greatest energy the French worked their guns, and the roar was continuous and terrible. For a time the Russians seemed paralyzed by this tremendous fire; lying quietly in their sheltered subterranean caves, they had no thought of what was preparing for them, and the storm which burst upon them took them wholly by surprise. Soon, however, they recovered from their astonishment, and steadily opened fire in return. The English guns now joined their voices to the concert, and for two hours the storm of fire continued unabating on both sides. After two hours and a half the din ceased, the French artillery-men waiting to allow their guns to cool. At ten o'clock the French again exploded some mines, and for two hours renewed their cannonade as hotly as ever. The Russians could be seen pouring troops across the bridge over the harbor from their camps on the north side, to resist the expected attack. From twelve to five the firing was slack. At that hour the French again began their cannonade as vigorously as before. When darkness came on, and accurate firing at the enemy's batteries was no longer possible, the mortars and heavy guns opened fire on the place. The sky was streaked with lines of fire as the heavy shells described their curves, bursting with heavy explosions over the town. Presently a cheer rose from the spectators who thronged the crest of the bill, for flames were seen bursting out from one of the Russian frigates. Higher and higher they rose, although by their light the Russians could be perceived working vigorously to extinguish them. At last they were seen to be leaving the ship. Soon the flames caught the mast and rigging, and the pillar of fire lit up the whole town and surrounding country. Not a moment did our fire slacken, but no answering flash now shot out from the Russian lines of defence. All night the fire continued, to prevent the enemy from repairing damages. The next morning the English played the principal part in the attack, our batteries commencing at daylight, and continuing their fire all day. The Russians could be seen to be extremely busy. Hitherto they had believed that the allies would never be able to take the town; but the tremendous fire which the allies had now opened, and the close approach of the French to the Malakoff, had clearly shaken their confidence at last. Large quantities of stores were transported during the day to the north side, and on the heights there great numbers of men were seen to be laboring at fortifications. The Russian army in the field was observed to be moving towards Inkerman, and it was believed that it was about to repeat the experiment of the Tchernaya and to make a desperate effort to relieve the town by defeating the allied armies in the field. All that night the bombardment continued without intermission, the troops in the trenches keeping up a heavy musketry fire upon the enemy's works, to prevent them from repairing damages in the dark. The next day was a repetition of those which had gone before it. The Russians replied but seldom, and occasionally when the smoke blew aside, it could be seen that terrible damage was being inflicted on the Russian batteries. At dusk the cannonade ceased, the shell bombardment took place, and at eleven a tremendous explosion occurred in the town. The Russians from time to time lit up the works with fire-balls and carcasses, evidently fearing a sudden night attack. During the day a great council of war was held; and as orders were sent to the surgeons to send all the patients in the hospital down to Balaklava, and to prepare for the reception of wounded, it was known that the attack would take place next day. Although the Russian fire in reply to the bombardment had been comparatively slight, from the 3d to the 6th we had three officers and forty-three men killed; three officers and 189 men wounded. During these days Jack had been on duty in the batteries, and the sailors had taken their full part in the work. There was some disappointment that night in the naval camp when it was known by the issue of the divisional orders that the sailors were not to be engaged in the assault. Jack, however, aroused the indignation of his tent-mates by saying frankly that he was glad that they were not going to share in the attack. "It is all very well," he said, "to fight when you have some chance of hitting back, but to rush across ground swept by a couple of hundred guns is no joke; and to be potted at by thousands of fellows in shelter behind trenches. One knows what it was last time. The French send 12,000 men to attack a battery, we try to carry an equally strong place with 1000. If I were ordered, of course I should go; but I tell you fairly, I don't care about being murdered, and I call it nothing short of murder to send 1000 men to attack such a position as that. We used to say that an Englishman could lick three Frenchmen, but we never did it in any battle I ever heard of. Our general seems to think that an Englishman can lick ten Russians, although he's in the open, and they're behind shelter, and covered by the fire of any number of pieces of artillery." "But we're certain to get in to-morrow, Jack." "Are we?" Jack questioned; "so every one said last time. It's all very well for the French, who are already right under the guns of the Malakoff, and have only twenty yards to run. When they get in and drive the Russians out, there they are in a big circular fort, just as they were in the Mamelon, and can hold their own, no matter how many men the Russians bring up to retake it. We've 300 yards to run to get into the Redan, and when we get in where are we? Nowhere. Just in an open work where the Russians can bring their whole strength down upon us. I don't feel at all sure we're going to take the place to-morrow." "Why, Archer, you're a regular croaker!" one of the others said. "We shall have a laugh at you to-morrow evening." "I hope you will," Jack said; "but I have my doubts. I wish to-morrow was over, I can tell you. The light division are, as usual, to bear the brunt of it, and the 33d will do their share. Harry has had good luck so far, but it will be a hotter thing to-morrow than anything he has gone into yet, unless indeed the bombardment of the last three days has taken all heart out of the Russians. Well, let's turn in, for its bitterly cold to-night, and I for one don't feel disposed for talking." CHAPTER XXV. THE CAPTURE OF SEBASTOPOL The morning of the 8th of September was bitterly cold, and a keen wind blowing from the town raised clouds of dust. The storming parties were to be furnished by the light and second divisions. The first storming party of the light division was to consist of 160 men of the 97th regiment, who were to form in rear of a covering party of 100 men, furnished by the second battalion, Rifle brigade. They were to carry ladders for descending into the ditch of the Redan. Behind them were to come 200 men of the 97th and 300 of the 90th. The supports consisted of 750 men of the 19th and 88th regiments. Therefore the assault was to be made by about 750 men, with an equal body in support, the remainder of the light division being in reserve. The covering party of the second division consisted of 100 men of the 3d Buffs; the storming party, with ladders, of 160 of the 3d Buffs, supported by 260 of the 3d Buffs, 300 of the 41st, with 200 of the 62d, and 100 of the 41st. The rest of the second division were in reserve. The first and Highland divisions were to be formed in the third parallel. The orders were that the British attack was not to commence until the French had gained possession of the Malakoff. This they did with but slight loss. The storming columns were immensely strong, as 30,000 men were gathered in their trenches for the attack upon the Malakoff. This was effected almost instantaneously. Upon the signal being given, they leaped in crowds from the advanced trench, climbed over the abattis, descended the ditch and swarmed up the rugged slope in hundreds. The Russians, taken wholly by surprise, vainly fired their cannon, but ere the men could come out from their underground caves, the French were already leaping down upon them. It was a slaughter rather than a fight, and in an incredibly short time the Malakoff was completely in the possession of the French. In less than a minute from the time they leaped from the trenches their flag floated on the parapet. The Russians, recovered from their first surprise, soon made tremendous attempts to regain their lost position, and five minutes after the French had entered, great masses of Russians moved forward to dispute its possession. For seven hours, from twelve to dusk, the Russians strove obstinately to recover the Malakoff, but the masses of men which the French poured in as soon as it was captured, enabled them to resist the assaults. At length, when night came on, the Russian general, seeing that the tremendous slaughter which his troops were suffering availed nothing, withdrew them from the attack. As the French flag appeared on the Malakoff, the English covering parties leaped from the trenches, and rushed forward. As they did so a storm of shot and shell swept upon them, and a great number of men and officers were killed as they crossed the 250 yards between the trenches and the Redan. This work was a salient, that is to say a work whose centre is advanced, the two sides meeting there at an angle. In case of the Redan it was a very obtuse angle, and the attacks should have been delivered far up the sides, as men entering at the angle itself would be exposed to the concentrated fire of the enemy behind the breastworks which ran across the broad base of the triangle. The projecting angle was, however, of course the point nearest to the English lines, and, exposed as they were to the sweeping fire of the enemy while crossing the open, both columns of assault naturally made for this point. The Russian resistance was slight, and the stormers burst into the work. The abattis had been torn to pieces by the cannonade, and the men did not wait for the ladders, but leapt into the ditch and scrambled up on the other side. The Russians within ran back, and opened a fire from their traverses and works in the rear. As the English troops entered, they halted to fire upon the enemy, instead of advancing upon them. The consequence was that the Russians, who were rapidly reinforced, were soon able to open a tremendous concentrated fire upon the mass of men in the angle, and these, pressed upon by their comrades who flocked in behind them, impeded by the numerous internal works, mixed up in confusion, all regimental order being lost, were unable either to advance or to use their arms with effect. In vain the officers strove by example and shouts to induce them to advance. The men had an idea that the place was mined, and that if they went forward they would be blown into the air. They remained stationary, holding their ground, but refusing to go forward. Every minute the Russians brought up fresh reserves, and a terrific fire was concentrated upon the British. The officers, showing themselves in front, were soon shot down in numbers, and success, which had been in their hands at first, was now impossible. For an hour and a half the slaughter continued, and then, as the Russian masses poured forward to attack them, the remnant who remained of the storming parties leaped from the parapet and made their way as best they could through the storm of bullet and shot, back to the trenches. The fight had lasted an hour and three quarters, and in that time we had lost more men than at Inkerman. Our loss was 24 officers and 119 men killed; 134 officers, and 1897 men wounded. Had the regiments engaged been composed of the same materials as those who won the heights of the Alma, the result might have been different, although even in that case it is questionable whether the small force told off for the assault would have finally maintained itself against the masses which the Russians brought up against them. But composed as they were of young troops, many being lads sent off to the front a few weeks after being recruited, the success of such an attack, so managed, was well-nigh impossible from the first. It was a gloomy evening in the British camps. We were defeated, while the French were victorious. The fact, too, that the attack had failed in some degree owing to the misconduct of the men added to the effect of the failure. It was said that the attack was to be renewed next morning, and that the Guards and Highland Brigade were to take part in it. Very gloomy was the talk over the tremendous loss which had taken place among the officers. From the manner in which these had exposed themselves to induce their men to follow them, their casualties had been nearly four times as large as they should have been in proportion to their numbers. Jack Archer was in deep grief, for his brother had been severely wounded, and the doctors gave no strong hopes of his life. He had been shot in the hip, as he strove to get the men of his company together, and had been carried to the rear just before the Russian advance drove the last remnants of the assailants from the salient. Jack had, with the permission of his commanding officer, gone to sit by his brother's bedside, and to give his services generally as a nurse to the wounded. At eleven o'clock the hut was shaken by a tremendous explosion, followed a few minutes afterwards by another. Several of the wounded officers begged Jack to go to Cathcart's Hill, to see what was doing. Jack willingly complied, and found numbers of officers and men hastening in the same direction. A lurid light hung over Sebastopol, and it was evident that something altogether unusual was taking place. When he reached the spot from which he could obtain a view of Sebastopol, a wonderful sight met his eye. In a score of places the town was on fire. Explosion after explosion followed, and by their light, crowds of soldiers could be seen crossing the bridge. Hour after hour the grandeur of the scene increased, as fort after fort was blown up by the Russians. At four o'clock the whole camp was shaken by a tremendous explosion behind the Redan, and a little later the magazines of the Flagstaff and Garden batteries were blown up, and the whole of the Russian fleet, with the exception of the steamers, had disappeared under the water, scuttled by their late owners. At half-past five two of the great southern forts, the Quarantine and Alexander, were blown up, and soon flames began to ascend from Fort Nicholas. The Russian steamers were all night busy towing boats laden with stores, from the south to the north side, and when their work was done, dense columns of smoke were seen rising from the decks. At seven o'clock in the morning the whole of the Russian troops were safely across the bridge, which was then dismembered and the boats which composed it taken over to the north side. By this time Sebastopol was, from end to end, a mass of flames, and by nightfall nothing save a heap of smoking ruins, surrounded by shattered batteries, remained of the city which had, for so many months, kept at bay the armies of England and France. All through the night Jack Archer had travelled backwards and forwards between the crest of the hill and the hospital; for so great was the interest of the wounded in what was taking place that he could not resist their entreaties, especially as he could do nothing for his brother, who was lying in a quiet, half-dreamy state. The delight of the English army at the fall of the south side of Sebastopol was greatly tempered by the knowledge that it was due to the capture of the Malakoff by the French. Their own share in the attack having terminated by a defeat, and the feeling which had been excited by the fact that the Guards and Highlanders, who had taken no part whatever in the trench-work during the winter, and who were in a high state of efficiency, should have been kept in reserve, while the boy battalions bore the whole brunt of the attack, found angry expression among the men. All that day the allied armies remained quiescent. It was useless to attempt to occupy the burning town, and the troops might have been injured by the explosions which took place from time to time of stores of powder. The Zouaves, however, and our own sailors made their way down in considerable numbers, and returned laden with loot from houses which had so far escaped the conflagration. Happily the success of the French, and our own failure, did not create any feeling of unpleasantness between the troops of the two nations. As the remnants of the French regiments, engaged in the Malakoff, marched in the morning to their camps, the second division was drawn up on parade. As the leading regiment of Zouaves came along, the English regiment nearest to them burst into a hearty cheer, which was taken up by the other regiments as the French came along, and as they passed, the English presented arms to their brave allies and the officers on both sides saluted with their swords. The next day the officers thronged down to see the ground where the fighting had taken place. Around the Malakoff the ground was heaped with dead. Not less had been the slaughter outside the work known as the Little Redan, where the French attack had been repulsed with prodigious loss. The houses of the portion of the town nearest the batteries were found full of dead men who had crawled in when wounded in front. As a considerable number of the Russian steamers of war were still floating under the guns of their batteries on the north side, preparations were made at once to mount two heavy guns by the water-side; but the Russians, seeing that the last remains of their fleet would speedily be destroyed, took matters in their own hands, and on the night of the 11th the six steamers that remained were burnt by the Russians. After the din which had raged so fiercely for the previous four days, and the dropping fire which had gone on for a year, the silence which reigned was strange and almost oppressive. There was nothing to be done. No turn in the trenches or batteries to be served, nothing to do but to rest and to prepare for the next winter, which was now almost upon them. A week after the fall of Sebastopol the anniversary of the battle of Alma was celebrated. What great events had taken place since that time! None of those who had rested that night on the vine-clad hill they had won, dreamed of what was before them, or that they were soon to take part in the greatest siege which the world has ever known. Small indeed was the proportion of those who had fought at the Alma now present with the army at Sebastopol. The fight of Inkerman, the mighty wear and tear in the trenches, the deadly repulses at the Redan, and above all, the hardships of that terrible winter, had swept away the noble armies which had landed in the Crimea, and scarcely one in ten of those who heard the first gun in the Alma was present at the fall of Sebastopol. The naval camp was now broken up, the sailors returned on board ship, and the army prepared to go into winter quarters, that is to say, to dig deep holes under their tents, to erect sheltering walls, and in some instances to dig complete subterranean rooms. A week after the assault Harry Archer was carried down to Balaklava and put on board ship. The surgeons had in vain endeavored to extract the bullet, and were unable to give any cheering reply to Jack's anxious inquiries. His brother might live; but they owned that his chances were slight. It was a question of general health and constitution. If mortification did not set in the wound might heal, and he might recover and carry the bullet about with him all his life. Of course he had youth and health on his side, and Jack must hope for the best. The report was not reassuring, but they could say no more. Weeks passed on, and the two armies lay watching each other from the heights they occupied. At last it was determined to utilize the magnificent fleet which had hitherto done so little. Accordingly an expedition was prepared, whose object was to destroy the forts at Kinburn and occupy that place, and so further reduce the sources from which the Russians drew their food. The sight was an imposing one, as the allied squadrons in two long lines steamed north past the harbor of Sebastopol. The British contingent consisted of six line-of-battle ships, seventeen steam frigates and sloops, ten gun-boats, six mortar vessels, and nine transports. On board the men-of-war were 8340 infantry, and 1350 marines. The transports carried the Royal Artillery, the medical commissariat and transport corps, stores of all kinds, and the reserve of ammunition. The French fleet was nearly equal in number to our own. Steaming slowly, the great squadrons kept their course towards Odessa, and cast anchor three miles off the town. Odessa is one of the most stately cities of the sea; broad esplanades lined with trees, with a background of stately mansions; terrace after terrace of fine houses rising behind, with numbers of public buildings, barracks, palaces and churches; stretching away on the flanks, woods dotted with villas and country houses. Odessa possessed forts and batteries capable of defending it against the attack of any small naval force; but these could have made no defence whatever against so tremendous an armament as that collected before it. With telescopes those on board were able to make out large numbers of people walking about or driving on the promenade. Long lines of dust along the roads showed that many of the inhabitants were hastily leaving or were sending away valuables, while on the other hand the glimmer of bayonets among the dust, told of the coming of troops who were hurrying in all directions to prevent our landing. Odessa was, however, clearly at our mercy, and considerable controversy took place at the time as to whether the allies should not have captured it. Being defended by batteries, it ranked as a fortified town, and we should have been clearly justified in destroying these, and in putting the town under a heavy contribution, which the wealthy city could readily have paid. However, it was for some reason decided not to do so, and after lying at anchor for five days, the greater portion of which was passed in a thick fog, the great fleet steamed away towards Kinburn. The entrance to the gulf into which the Dneiper and Bug discharge themselves, is guarded by Fort Kinburn on the one side and by Fort Nikolaev on the other, the passage between them being about a mile across. On the 17th fire was opened on Fort Kinburn, and although the Russians fought bravely, they were unable to withstand the tremendous fire poured upon them. Twenty-nine out of their seventy-one guns and mortars were disabled, and the two supporting batteries also suffered heavily. The barracks were set on fire, and the whole place was soon in flames. Gradually the Russian fire ceased, and for some time only one gun was able to answer the tremendous fire poured in upon them. At last, finding the impossibility of further resistance, the officer in command hoisted the white flag. The fort on the opposite shore was blown up by the Russians, and the fleet entered the channel. The troops were landed, and Kinburn occupied, and held until the end of the war, and the fleet, after a reconnaissance made by a few gun-boats up the Dneiper, returned to Sebastopol. The winter was very dull. Exchanges of shots continued daily between the north and south side, but with this exception hostilities were virtually suspended; the chief incident being a tremendous explosion of a magazine in the centre of the camp, shaking the country for miles away, and causing a loss to the French of six officers killed and thirteen wounded, and sixty-five men killed and 170 wounded, while seventeen English were killed, and sixty-nine wounded. No less than 250,000 pounds of gunpowder exploded, together with mounds of shells, carcasses and small ammunition. Hundreds of rockets rushed through the air, shells burst in all directions over the camp, and boxes of small ammunition exploded in every direction. The ships in the harbors of Balaklava and Kamiesch rocked under the explosion. Mules and horses seven or eight miles away broke loose and galloped across the country wild with fright, while a shower of fragments fell over a circle six miles in diameter. On the last day of February the news came that an armistice had been concluded. The negotiations continued for some time before peace was finally signed. But the war was at an end, and a few days after the armistice was signed the "Falcon" was ordered to England, to the great delight of all on board, who were heartily sick of the long period of inaction. CHAPTER XXVI. CONCLUSION The "Falcon" experienced pleasant weather until passing the Straits of Gibraltar. Then a heavy gale set in, and for many days she struggled with the tempest, whose fury was so great that for several hours she was in imminent danger of foundering. At last, however, the weather cleared, and two days later the "Falcon" cast anchor at Spithead. The next day the crew were paid off, and the vessel taken into dock for much-needed repairs. Jack's father had already come down to Portsmouth, on the receipt of his letter announcing his arrival. The day after the ship was paid off they returned home, and Jack received a joyful greeting from his family. They found him wonderfully grown and aged during the two years of his absence. Whereas before he had promised to be short, he was now above middle height. His shoulders were broad and square, his face bronzed by sun and wind, and it was not till they heard his merry laugh that they quite recognized the Jack who had left them. He soon went down to the town and looked up his former schoolfellows, and even called upon his old class-master, and ended a long chat by expressing his earnest hope that the boys at present in his form were better at their verses than he had been. A month later Harry, who had quite recovered, joined the circle, having obtained leave, and the two young fellows were the heroes of a number of balls and parties given by the major and his friends to celebrate their return. Six months later Jack was again appointed to a berth in a fine frigate, commanded by his cousin. The ship was ordered to the China seas, where she remained until, at the outbreak of the Indian Mutiny, she was sent to Calcutta. On their arrival there Jack found that Captain Peel, under whom he had served before Sebastopol, was organizing a naval brigade for service ashore. Jack at once waited upon him, and begged to be allowed to join the brigade. His request was complied with, and as he had now nearly served his time and passed his examination he received an appointment as acting lieutenant, obtaining the full rank after the fight in which the brigade were engaged on their march up to Cawnpore. He was present at the tremendous struggle when the relieving force under Lord Clyde burst its way into Lucknow and carried off the garrison, and also at the final crushing out of the rebellion at that spot. At the conclusion of the war he rejoined his ship, and returned with her when she finally left the station for England, after an absence of five years. He was now three-and-twenty, and having been twice mentioned in despatches, was looked upon as a rising young officer. A month or two after his return he received a letter from Count Preskoff, with whom he had, at intervals corresponded ever since his escape from captivity. The count said that he, with the countess and his youngest daughter, Olga, were at present in Paris. The two elder girls had been for some years married. The count said that he intended, after making a stay for some time in Paris, to visit England, but invited Jack to come over to pay them a visit in Paris. Jack gladly assented, and a few days later joined his Russian friends at the Hotel Meurice, in the Rue Rivoli. They received him with the greatest warmth, and he was soon upon his old terms of familiarity with them. He found, to his great pleasure, that Olga could now speak English fluently, and as he had forgotten a good deal of his Russian, and had learned no French, she often acted as interpreter between him and her parents. Jack's Russian, however, soon returned to him, and at the end of a fortnight he was able to converse fluently in it again. He found Olga very little altered, but she, on her part, protested that she should not have known him again. He had thought very often of her during the years which had passed, but although he had steadfastly clung to the determination he had expressed to his friend Hawtry, of some day marrying her if she would have him, he was now more alive than before to the difference between her position and his. The splendid apartments occupied by the count, his unlimited expenditure, the beauty of his carriages and horses, all showed Jack the difference between a great Russian seigneur and a lieutenant on half-pay. Feeling that he was becoming more and more in love with Olga, he determined to make some excuse to leave Paris, intending upon his return to apply at once to be sent on active service. One morning, accordingly, when alone with the count, he said to him that he feared he should have to leave for England in a few days, and it was probable he should shortly join his ship. The count looked keenly at him. "My young friend," he said, "have we been making a mistake? The countess and I have thought that you were attached to our daughter." "I am so, assuredly," Jack said. "I love your daughter with all my heart, and have loved her ever since I left her in Russia. But I am older now. I recognize the difference of position between a penniless English lieutenant and a great Russian heiress, and it is because I feel this so strongly that I am thinking that it is best for my own peace of mind to leave Paris at once, and to return to England and to embark on service again as soon as possible." "But how about Olga's happiness?" the count said, smiling. "I dare not think, sir," Jack said, "that it is concerned in the matter." "I fear, my young friend, that it is concerned, and seriously. When you left us in Russia, Olga announced to her mother that she intended to marry you some day, if you ever came back to ask her. Although I would, I confess, have rather that she had married a Russian, I had so great an esteem and affection for you, and owed you so much, that her mother and myself determined not to thwart her inclination, but to leave the matter to time. Olga devoted herself to the study of English. She has, since she grew up, refused many excellent offers, and when her mother has spoken to her on the subject, her only answer has been, 'Mamma, you know I chose long ago.' It was to see whether you also remained true to the affection which Olga believed you gave her, that we have travelled west, and now that I find you are both of one mind, you are talking of leaving us and going to sea." "Oh, sir," Jack exclaimed, delighted, "do you really mean that you give me permission to ask for your daughter's hand!" "Certainly I do, Jack," the count replied. "I am quite sure that I can trust her happiness implicitly to you. The fact that you have nothing but your pay, matters very little. Olga will have abundance for both, and I only bargain that you bring her over to Russia every year, for two or three months, to stay with us. You will, of course, my boy, give up the sea. Now," he said, "that you have got my consent, you had better ask Olga's." Jack found that the count had not spoken too confidently as to the state of Olga's feelings towards him, and a month later a gay wedding took place at St. James' Church, the count and his wife staying at the Bristol Hotel, and Jack's father, mother, and elder brother and sisters coming up to the wedding. To Jack's great pleasure, he happened to meet in the streets of London, two or three days before his wedding, his friend Hawtry, whom he had not seen since they parted on the Polish frontier, as their ships had never happened to be on the same station. Hawtry was rejoiced to hear of his friend's good fortune, and officiated at the wedding as Jack's best man. A handsome estate in Sussex was purchased by the count, and this, with the revenues of the estate in Poland, were settled upon her at her marriage. There does not exist, at present, a happier couple in England than Mr. and Mrs. Archer; for Olga refused to retain her title of countess. Except when, at times, the cares of a young family prevented their leaving home, they have, since their marriage, paid a visit every year to Russia. The count and countess are still alive, although now far advanced in life. The count is still hoping for the reforms which he believed thirty years ago would do so much for Russia, but he acknowledges that the fulfilment of his hopes appears to be as far off now as it was then. Hawtry is now an admiral, but is still a bachelor, and he generally spends Christmas with his old comrade, Jack Archer. 
32930	----	A Gallant Grenadier, by Captain F.S. Brereton, RAMC. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ A GALLANT GRENADIER, BY CAPTAIN F.S. BRERETON, RAMC. CHAPTER ONE. PHILIP WESTERN. "You positively annoy me, Joseph, and make me feel more angry than I care to admit. The matter is a serious one, and I am deeply distressed. After thirteen years of the most careful bringing-up there is complete and absolute failure. It is a miserable reward. And then, to make matters worse, you laugh at me, and egg the lad on to even greater crimes!" "Fiddlesticks, sir! Humbug! A miserable reward indeed!" was the spirited answer. "No one but yourself would admit it. He is a fine lad, though a little wild I will own; but for all that a generous, good-hearted boy. Let him alone! Don't worry him with all these goody-goody ideas. There is plenty of time for him to settle down, and meanwhile he will come to no harm, and, I'll be bound, will bring no discredit on you." The speaker shook his head knowingly, and helped himself to a large pinch of snuff. "How can you argue like that, Joseph, when you know what the lad has done?" the former speaker replied with much sternness. "I hold practical joking to be at any time disgraceful, but when one's adopted son is one of three who actually laid a booby-trap for the mayor of this town in broad daylight, and made him a laughing-stock for all, then discreditable is the least one can say of it. It is positively scandalous." "Nonsense, Edward! Barrington deserved all he got. He is an odious man, and the fright those youngsters gave him will teach him to mind his own business in future, and not meddle with other people's affairs. Serve him right, I say! Just because a lad breaks one of his windows with a catapult, and by pure accident, he gets the following half-holiday stopped for the whole school. If he hadn't blustered so much, and looked so fierce, I've no doubt the culprit would have given himself up; but he was afraid of the consequences, and most naturally, too. Ha, ha, ha! It was funny! I saw his worship immediately after he had fallen a victim to the joke. He was quivering with mingled fear and rage, and the laughter of the by-standers did not help to soothe him." Joseph threw himself violently back in his chair, causing it to creak in an alarming manner and almost overturn, and gave vent to roars of laughter, followed by chuckles of intense amusement, produced in such deep tones that they seemed to come from the smart Wellingtons he wore. He was a stout, comfortable-looking man of middle height, with a round, clean-shaven face, which, now that he was laughing, was as red as fire and wrinkled in all directions. He had a shiny head, almost devoid of hair, and a double chin which half hid the wide collar and large bow he wore, while smartly-cut trousers and coat, a wide expanse of shirt front, and a double-breasted waistcoat, which seemed almost too small to reach across his massive chest and "corporation", completed an appearance which made Joe Sweetman remarkable. He looked a gentleman all over, and his merry laugh and jovial manner made one certain at once that he was a general favourite. Opposite him, seated in an uncomfortable armchair, and hugging one knee with his bony hands, was a big, gaunt man, whose heavy face and dull leaden-looking eyes seemed never to have lightened with a smile. A square chin, set off by long Dundreary whiskers, and knitted brows showed him to be a man of fixed purpose; one who, having made up his mind upon a subject of any importance, would adhere to his decision with exasperating stubbornness, refusing to be persuaded by any argument, and holding firmly to his convictions, though their falseness was apparent to everyone but himself. A hard, bigoted man was Edward Western, and even good-natured Joe Sweetman was often within an ace of losing his temper when conversing with him. An educated man, and in his younger days an officer in a line regiment, Edward had suddenly taken it into his head that a soldier's life was not the calling he should follow. Once convinced of this he sent in his papers, and now for years had acted as the vicar of Riddington, a town of some importance in Hampshire. A wife, holding somewhat similar views to his own, and an adopted son of sixteen completed his family, while Joe Sweetman, his brother-in-law, was so constantly at the house that he might be said to form one of the establishment. The one great aim and object of Edward Western's life was that his adopted son, Philip, should follow in his footsteps, and one day fill his place as vicar of the town. Fortune had decreed that he should be childless, and at first this had not been a matter for regret. But for many years the vicar of Riddington had declared to all his parishioners, when lecturing to them and advising them as to the training of their children, that by careful education they could make them what they wished. "Neglect your offspring," he would say solemnly, shaking a warning finger at his audience, "and they will become the evil-doers of the future. They will disgrace you, and even make you almost long to disown them. But with diligence, with never-ceasing care, you will instil into their minds all that is good, and will train them to follow that profession which you have decided they shall enter. There should be no need to worry yourselves in the future as to what your sons should be. Choose now, while they are infants, and bring them up according to your wishes." This was all, undoubtedly, very true and excellent advice to give, but Mr Western went further. "There is no such thing as `breeding' and `noble blood'," he would declare. "Take a lad from the gutter, and I will engage that by using towards him the same amount of care as is devoted to the child of gentlefolks, you will make him a gentleman." So strongly did he feel upon the subject that, after mature consideration, he decided to prove the truth of his sayings to all in the parish. To decide was to act. In spite of Joe Sweetman's remonstrances he inserted an advertisement in the papers, in which it was set forth that a certain clergyman, living in a country town, was anxious to adopt a son. No difficulty was thrown in his way. An answer reached him by return of post, stating that a widow with many children would be glad to dispose of one of them if a good home were offered. A hurried visit and a few questions satisfied the vicar that the woman was truthful, and that to relieve her of a child would be an act of charity. A few guineas were handed to the widow, and Phil Reach, a fair-haired, blue-eyed boy of two, was hugged in his mother's arms, smothered with kisses and big tears, and finally, wondering no doubt what all the commotion meant, was handed over to Mr Western. He was an interesting little mite too, always happy and bright, and ever ready for a romp. And to do them justice, Mr Western and his wife proved a devoted father and mother to their adopted son. They lived for him, and never for a single moment forgot what was the object of their lives. When the child was four years old his training commenced, and from that day it had proceeded unceasingly. Had his days been made bright and joyous, success might have attended the efforts of the worthy vicar and his wife; but Phil Western--as he was now called--seldom knew what it was to be really happy. Living with an eccentric couple, whose austerity would have tried an adult, and deprived of playmates, he soon began to mope and pine. So much so, that at last the doctor ordered home lessons to be given up, and after a good deal of persuasion his adopted parents were prevailed upon to send him to the local school. What a change it was! From sorrow to sunlight. Phil rapidly picked up his health, and before long had hosts of friends. But at home the old life still continued. The training was never for one moment forgotten, and if only the desired end had been attained, Phil would have developed into one of those abnormally good boys who never do wrong, and whose lives are a pattern to all others. But, unfortunately, this was not the case. Phil, indeed, grew up to be scarcely the studious and sober-minded lad his adoptive parents had hoped to see. Bottled up by the strictness of life at home, his spirits simply boiled over when once he left the house, and at school his masters knew him as a mischievous but good-hearted youngster, whose courage and lively nature often led him into doing stupid things, for which he was afterwards full of regret. There was not a prank played of which he was not the ringleader, and any batch of culprits mustered outside the doctor's study, waiting for punishment, was certain to number him in its ranks. And yet he was not a bad boy. "He is simply incorrigible. I can do nothing with him, and you must take him away at the end of the term," the worthy doctor had said when discussing with Mr Western the affair of the booby-trap laid for the mayor. "I shall be sorry to lose the lad, for he is upright and truthful, and has done much for the school in the way of sports and athletics. But he is never out of mischief, and the example he sets is simply destroying the discipline of the school. Be advised by me, Western, and send him away. He is by no means dull at his work, and at a school where there is more opportunity of controlling him, and where he will be separated from his present companions in mischief, he will do well, I feel sure, and be a credit to you." But no amount of reasoning could convince Phil's father that his son was all that the Doctor had said. "He has disgraced me," he said bitterly to Joe Sweetman, "and all our care has been thrown away. I hoped that he would grow up a quiet and well-behaved young fellow; but he is never out of mischief, so much so that I am now obliged to send him to a boarding-school, an institution of which I have the greatest dislike. And I suppose he will soon be sent away from there. I really am more than grieved, and how I shall dare to meet his worship the mayor, after what has occurred, I do not know!" "Bother the mayor! He's a prig, and got what he deserved!" Joe answered, with a sniff and a snap of his fingers. "Send Phil away and I'll swear he'll be thankful to you. Of course I know it was foolish and very wrong of those young monkeys to play their tricks on old Barrington, but then you yourself know what an unpopular man he is. Did he not try to put an end to the annual procession of the Riddington boys through the town, on the plea that they made too much noise? That put the youngsters' backs up; and then he must needs force his way into the school and demand that the lad who broke his miserable window should be caned, and in the event of his not being found that the whole school should lose a holiday. A pig of a fellow, sir, and I'm glad Phil and his pals paid him out." This indignant outburst, and the roar of laughter which followed on Joe's remembering the unhappy mayor's fright, roused Edward Western's ire. He sat rigidly in his chair, staring blankly before him, with a fixed expression of annoyance on his face. "I cannot compel him to follow the profession I have chosen for him," he said sternly, "but let him disgrace me again and I will pack him off to London and there find a position for him as a clerk, where he will be tied to his desk, and where he will have fewer opportunities of doing wrong." "Pooh! pooh! You're too hard on Phil by a long way," exclaimed Joe Sweetman earnestly, springing from his chair and pacing up and down the room. "Give him a chance. Every dog must have his day, you know. Let him get rid of some of his wild spirits, and then perhaps he will be quite ready to fall in with your wishes. You accuse me of constantly egging the lad on. I deny that charge, Edward, and I do most sincerely wish that you could see the facts as they are. Perhaps I should not speak, for he is your protege, not mine; but, just for a moment look squarely at the facts. Does the lad lead a happy life in his home? I tell you that he does not. He has comfort and plenty of good food, but the house is not brightened for the boy, and once within its walls he has learnt to subdue and cloak a naturally sunny nature simply because gay laughter and light-hearted chatter are disapproved of. Can you wonder, then, that he is inclined to run riot outside? His high spirits get the better of him, and he is ready for any fun--fun, mark you, Edward, on which you and I might look and never feel ashamed--for, mischievous though he is, he has a healthy mind." Joe tossed his head in the air, thrust his fat hands beneath the tails of his coat, and leaned against the mantel-piece, staring hard at Mr Western. "Come," he continued, with an easy laugh, "think better of it, Edward. Pack the lad off to school, and leave him more to himself. He'll go straight, I'll wager anything upon it." "Thank you, Joseph! I do not bet," Mr Western replied. "But I will do as you say. Philip shall go away, and his future must depend upon himself. Not all the arguments in the world will persuade me that there is any truth in the saying that it is good for young fellows to sow their wild oats before settling down to the serious business of life. Now let us go into the garden." Mr Western rose slowly from his chair, and, opening a large glass door, stepped on to a verandah which surrounded his house and formed a most charming spot in which to sit during the heat of a summer's day. Joe followed him, still chuckling at the memory of the mayor's discomfiture, and together they stood looking out across the well-kept garden, with its beds of bright-coloured flowers, its splashing fountain, and its walls lined by rows of carefully-pruned trees. It was a scene which differed greatly from the monotony and lack of joyousness which marked Phil Western's daily life at home. Within the house all was dull and sombre. Scarcely a laugh or a smile brightened his existence. Stern and full of earnestness, his adoptive parents gave themselves up to their work, the religious education of the parishioners and the careful bringing-up of their son. Outside there was a landscape teeming with life and movement; a town of some size in the hollow below, its streets filled with country folk who had come in to attend the market, and across the haze caused by the smoke rising lazily from the chimneys, a huge vista of green trees and fields, broken here and there by a wide silvery streak which marked the course of the river, twisting and twining, now hidden by the foliage, and again running through the open fields, flashing in the brilliant sun, and bearing upon its smooth surface a host of tiny boats filled with townspeople out for an afternoon's enjoyment. A hundred yards or more beyond the outskirts of Riddington was a large, red-brick building, almost smothered in creeper, and bearing in its centre a tall tower from the four sides of which the face of a clock looked out. It was Riddington High School, and the hands of the clock were pointing close to the hour of four. A moment later there was a loud "whirr", and then the first stroke of the hour, followed almost instantly by a hubbub in the building below. Hundreds of shrill voices seemed to have been let loose, and after them the owners; for from all sides of the school lads appeared, rushing out in mad haste, some hatless, others jamming their hats upon their heads, and all in the same condition of desperate hurry. A minute later they had streamed across the playground and were racing towards the river, to a spot where an old waterman stood guard over some dozen boats. Charging down the hill the mob of excited lads swept the old man aside, laughed merrily at his expostulations, and in a twinkling were aboard and shoving off from the river-bank. But not all the scholars of Riddington High School had joined in the excited rush. A tall, big-boned lad of some fifteen years, with hair which was almost red in colour, and a boyish, open face, strode from one of the doors accompanied by two others. Flinging his hat jauntily upon his head, Phil Western, for it was none other than he, walked across the asphalt which formed the playground of the school, and, putting his two forefingers in his mouth, produced a loud and prolonged whistle. Twice he repeated it, and after a minute's silence shouted "Rags! Rags! where are you?" In the distance a series of short barks answered, and very soon a fox-terrier dog came racing across the grass. "Ah, he's waiting all right for his master!" exclaimed Phil, with a short grunt of satisfaction. "Good dog!--the best in the whole of Riddington. Now, you fellows," he went on, after having greeted his canine friend with a pat, "what's the order for to-day? We're all agreed to give that old concern an airing. The last time the good people of this town had a chance of looking at it was in the year of the queen's coronation; and that was thirteen years ago. It's getting musty, and must certainly have an airing." "That's exactly what we think, Phil," chimed in one of the other lads, a merry-looking youngster of fifteen. "Riddington started a state barge a hundred years ago, to take the mayor and councillors across the river to the church on great occasions. On other days they rowed over in ordinary boats or went by the bridge--when it wasn't washed away by the floods. Then a new stone bridge was built, and for a few years they kept up the old custom. But for a long while now it has fallen through--sunk into oblivion, as `old Tommy' would say. It is clearly our duty to revive this extremely interesting--I may say this unique-- old custom." "Bah! Stop it!" exclaimed Phil, with a laugh, snatching his comrade's hat from his head and throwing it at his face. "Tell me what arrangements you have made." "Simple. Simple as daylight, Phil. We saunter down to the river-side, and as soon as Peter looks the other way we enter the boat-house. Here's the key. It hangs over the pater's mantel-piece, where it has been for the last two years. He's keeper of the state barge and the bargemen's costumes." "Splendid, Tommy! Splendid! We'll be off at once. Come on, you fellows. Here, Rags!" Phil hurried off with his companions in mischief towards an old and somewhat dilapidated boat-house. The lad who had been addressed as Tommy slipped up to the door, and a few moments later all three entered and closed it behind them. A match was produced and a small piece of candle lighted. "This way, you fellows," cried Tommy, leading the way along a narrow shelf to the back of the house. Here there was a small room with a worm-eaten table and chairs and a heavy oak chest. "It's no use doing things by halves, is it?" asked Tommy, with a broad grin on his face. "Here, in this old chest, are all the costumes, and if we don't make that old barge look as well as it ever did, I shall be astonished." "You'll probably get licked, you mean," laughed Phil. "But, all the same, it's a splendid idea. We won't spoil the show for a ha'porth of tar. Let's see how these things fit." Ten minutes later, had any councillor of Riddington had sufficient interest to pay a casual visit to the boat-house, he would have seen a sight which would certainly have given a rude shock to his nerves. For in the old and musty building stalked three figures gorgeously attired in costumes of red velvet, slashed in all directions with what had once been white, red stockings and big-bowed shoes, heavy chains of brass round their necks, and huge beef-eater hats upon their heads. Beneath the hats, where bearded faces should have been, were the merry countenances of three boys who were bent upon a piece of mischief. "Look here, Phil, you boss this show," said Tommy shortly, looking at the other lad to see if he agreed. "We're ready. Give your orders and we'll get aboard." "Right, Tommy! Help with this tarpaulin. That's right. Now jump inside, you fellows, and fish out the rowlocks, and see that a couple of oars are handy. The rudder is already there. Now we can start. Hop in there and take your places. I'll open the gates and push her out." Waiting to see that all was ready, Phil pulled the bolt of the gates which closed the exit to the river, and threw them open. Then he guided the old state barge, all bedecked with gold and colours and curious devices, out into the river, giving a lusty push off, and springing in just at the last moment. "Out oars!" he cried. "Tommy, what are you grinning at? Remember you are a bargeman." "Beg pardon, sir. Sorry, I'm sure," replied the irrepressible Tommy, with a broad smile on his face. "I say, Phil, what a sight you do look in those togs! and sha'n't we catch it when they find out who we are? Old Barrington will be furious. He said he'd have our blood--or something like that--when we held him up the other day." "Oh, bother Barrington! I know he said we were a disgrace to the town, and that he'd keep a special eye upon us in future," answered Phil, with a laugh. "But pull hard, you fellows. I'll run up past the town; there are lots of boats there that we'll go close to. Let's make 'em believe all's correct. Keep straight faces, and pass them as though nothing were wrong." "My eye, what fun!" chuckled Tommy. "But, all right, Phil! we'll do as you say." Slowly, and with a stately stroke, the two lads plied their oars, while Phil, looking almost double his real size in his strange costume, sat upright in the stern, the dog Rags by his side, and steered the barge straight up the centre of the river. Soon they were close to the boats, and not many minutes had passed before their presence caused a sensation. "Blest if it bain't his wushup, the mayor!" cried a hulking countryman out for a day on the river. "Row along, boys, and let's get closer." From every side cries and shouts of astonishment and pleasure resounded, and all pressed towards the centre. And through them all the old barge swept grandly on its way, while its bargemen and the steersman kept a rigid silence and hastily jerked down their caps to hide the giggles which would come in spite of all their efforts. On they swept, and soon a throng of boats was following in their wake, while others ahead lay on their oars and waited. Suddenly, as they approached one of these, Phil leant forward and, shading his eyes with his hand, stared at the occupants. "Keep on, you fellows," he muttered. "There's a boat ahead of us with my pater and mater aboard, and I believe the mayor too. There'll be trouble now, I expect." And this was exactly the case. It was a lovely day, and, persuaded by Joe Sweetman, Mr and Mrs Western had engaged a boat, and, happening to meet the mayor before embarking, had invited him to join the party. Even as the barge appeared in sight, Mr Western was apologising for his son's disgraceful behaviour, and telling the mayor what a disappointment Phil was to him. "Why, as I live," exclaimed Joe Sweetman suddenly, "that's the old state barge! What is happening, Barrington?" "State barge! Yes, so it is. What can it be doing out here?" the mayor, a fat-faced personage, replied. "I have not given my permission. We must see to this, Mr Western." A moment later the barge slipped past, and in spite of Phil's efforts to conceal his identity he was recognised. "It's that rascal Western!" exclaimed the mayor, getting red with anger. "Stop, sir! What do you mean? Are you stealing that barge?" At the mayor's angry order Tommy and his companion ceased rowing, and, seeing that all was discovered, Phil swept his hat from his head and politely wished all "good afternoon." Mr Barrington almost exploded with rage. "Take that barge back at once, you young rascal," he shouted. "I'll have you up for stealing. How dare you? Take it back at once!" But meanwhile a crowd had gathered, and quickly understanding the joke, they laughed long and loudly and cheered the three boys. As for Joe Sweetman, he was convulsed, and this added not a little to the mayor's ill-temper. Mr Western had not spoken a word. All the while he gazed sternly at Phil, as though he could not trust himself to speak, and he had landed at the steps and was on his way home before he opened his lips. "The mayor is right," he said bitterly. "Philip is a disgrace, and I will not allow him to stay at home a single day longer than I can help. I know an excellent institution where boys of his character can be urged into obedience. He shall go there, and nothing shall persuade me to remove him till he has changed utterly and completely." "What! You would send Phil to a school for backward and incorrigible boys?" exclaimed Joe Sweetman. "Yes, that is exactly the class of institution I mean. I know of one close to London, and will send him there, so that he may be tamed into obedience." "Then I tell you that you will do that boy a grievous wrong," cried Joe, roused to anger by Edward Western's words. "Only boys of vicious nature are sent to such schools. Of the backward ones I say nothing, for Phil's wits are as ready as any boy's, and he is decidedly not a dunce. Nor is he vicious, as you seem to think. For Heaven's sake look with a more open mind at the matter. Here is a merry, good-hearted lad whom, because he gets into mischief, you would pack off to a school for unruly boys. I hope you will not insist on sending him to this place, for, as I have said, he is not so bad as you think." "Yes, I insist, Joseph, and no amount of argument will alter that decision." "Ah, I wish I had the power to compel you to do so!" said Joe bitterly. "But perhaps it is all for the best. Such schools, no doubt, are much as the others, save that a boy starts as it were with a black mark against his name. Let us hope that the headmaster of the one in your thoughts will see at a glance what sort of a lad he has in reality to deal with, and treat him accordingly." CHAPTER TWO. OLD BUMBLE. Mr Western was as good as his word, and within a week of his last escapade Phil was despatched to a certain school, situated in the outskirts of London, where only backward and incorrigible lads were received. "I am thoroughly displeased and disappointed with you," said the vicar severely, as he lectured Phil just before his departure. "I lifted you from poverty, provided you with a home, and for years have devoted all my spare hours to you. You know what my wishes and hopes were. They are still the same. Disappoint me again, get into further disgrace, and I will disown you." "I'll do my best to keep out of trouble," Phil answered, with a catch in his voice, for the lad was at heart fond of his home and of his guardians. "I will not promise to follow your wishes though. I don't know why it is, but I loathe the thought of being a clergyman. I love a free and open life; and besides, a clever man is required for the Church, and I am scarcely that. Still, father, I will try my best, and should I do anything wrong, it shall not be such as to cause you to feel any shame." "Then we shall see, Philip. But remember my warning," answered the vicar. That evening a cab stopped outside a big stone building in Highgate and deposited Phil and his baggage on the pavement. For a moment he looked round in bewilderment, for this was the first time he had been in the neighbourhood of, or in fact, anywhere near, the great city; but a gruff "Five bob fare, please", and "that there's Ebden's School", recalled his wandering wits. Phil paid the money, and then, remembering that he would require someone to help him with his baggage, asked the surly driver to get off his seat. "Not if I knows it, young un," was the answer. "I've got me fare, and you've got to yer journey's end. So good-day to yer! Hope yer won't find it too precious warm in there. I passes by most every day and hears horrid yells a-coming from the 'ouse. Get up, won't yer!" and with a tug and a spiteful lash at his horse, this cheerful Jehu drove off with such a jerk that the dilapidated top hat he wore started backward, and, bounding from the box, was crushed beneath the wheels. Phil, who had for the moment been somewhat taken aback by the man's ominous words, roared at the cabman's discomfiture and at the rage into which he promptly worked himself. Then, taking no notice of his growling, and seeing no one at hand to help him, he shouldered his box, pushed open the iron gate which formed the entrance of his new home, and mounted the steps. A double knock, sounding hollow and rumbling, was answered quickly by an individual who performed at once the duties of butler and general fatigue man of the school. "Name, sir?" he asked politely. "Western," answered Phil. "Ah! you're the new boy, sir! Glad to see you. Let me help you with the box;" and in a twinkling Phil was relieved of his baggage. Then he was ushered into a big room, where he waited, not without some feelings of uneasiness, for the appearance of the master. "I wonder what he'll be like!" he thought. "I've heard of masters of his sort before. I wonder whether that cabby was rotting! Perhaps he wasn't, and perhaps I shall really be catching it hot. Never mind. I was happy at Haddington, and will be here too." Phil was in the act of sketching for himself a big, heavy-looking man, with a hard unrelenting face, as his master, when there was a quick step outside, the door burst open, and a clean-shaven little gentleman, with a smiling, pleasant face, entered the room. "By Jove! He's awfully like Uncle Joe, and would be just his image if he were a little fatter," Phil thought in an instant. "Ah, Philip Western, the boy who has been in difficulties, I believe!" said the stranger, extending a hand and shaking Phil's heartily. "Glad to see you, my lad. Let me look at you. Yes--we shall be good friends, I hope." Then, murmuring to himself, he continued, "Larky-- high-spirited--full of go, but no vice--no vice, I will swear. Yes, we shall be good friends." Mr Ebden--for he it was--pushed Phil into the light and rapidly surveyed him, muttering audibly all the while. "So you are a disappointment to your father!" he continued. "Come, tell me all about it, my lad. Let there be no secrets between us. Tell me the whole trouble; why you have come here, and in what manner you have proved such a deep worry to your people." "I can't help it, sir," Phil blurted out. "I've done my level best to act as father wished, but somehow or other I am always in trouble. They said I was upsetting the discipline of the school, and that is one of the reasons for which I was sent away." Then he proceeded to describe what had happened, and how he had laid a booby-trap for the mayor, and afterwards played a prank with the town barge. Mr Ebden listened, and, much to Phil's relief, laughed heartily when he heard how he and his friends had afforded the townspeople of Riddington one more glance at an old-fashioned relic. "That was a piece of pure, boyish mischief," he exclaimed, "and only deserved a lecture; but the other was bad. You ought to have been caned. You would have caught it severely here. However, from this day we start a new book. Turn over that fresh leaf which one so often hears about. I am your friend--remember that, Phil Western. You will meet with no harshness here. A piece of pure frolic I can enjoy; but anything else, any breach of discipline, shall meet with the punishment it deserves. But we will not talk of that. We shall be excellent friends, I feel sure. Now come with me and I will introduce you to your new school-fellows." Mr Ebden led Phil along a passage and through another room into a garden, in which were some twenty boys. "There they are," he said, giving him a push. "Go and make friends with them too." Somewhat bewildered with the very pleasant greeting he had already received, and more than pleased with the difference between his forebodings and the reality, Phil walked forward and looked at the lads before him, wondering which one he should address first. And they too stared hard at Phil, and summed him up in a moment. Here was a boy with a big loose frame that wanted some filling out, long legs and arms that looked as though a little exertion would push them far through his clothing, and a well-tanned and freckled face; not exactly good-looking, but distinctly pleasing, and possessing eyes which looked straight at you, and a mouth with a queer little line beneath it, which told that, though smiling now, it could become hard and stem on occasion. The whole, capped by close-cropped, almost reddish hair, made up an appearance which was taking. "A decent chap. He must be a good fellow," was the half-muttered thought of the boys, the tallest of whom advanced and at once entered into conversation with Phil. The others joined in, and in a few minutes he was quite at his ease, and feeling more certain than ever that the change of schools was decidedly not for the worst. Time proved that he was right, for there was no doubt that Mr Ebden had a wonderful power over his scholars. From the first he made friends of them, and endeavoured to keep them so. Indeed he seldom failed. A lad who had elsewhere been sullen and morose, and in many cases unmanageable, became under the new regime bright and laughing, and ready at all times to do his best to master his lessons. It was just the difference between the careless neglect and misunderstanding that had been his lot before, and the keen interest in all that concerned him that was shown in every word and act of his new ruler. A little kindness goes a long way with many an awkward, nervous boy, and Mr Ebden had proved this. "Make a friend of him," he would say cheerily. "Forget sometimes that you are the master and he the boy. Coax him into trying by taking an interest in all he does, and you can make a convert anywhere." He was right, as has been proved over and over again, for nowadays there is scarcely a school where the masters do not join heart and soul with the boys in their games, ay, and feel themselves the happier and the younger for it too? Thus did Mr Ebden conquer the lads sent to him as a last resource. Before a week had passed, Phil had become quite popular in the school, and his love of athletics helped him not a little. To these a fair proportion of the day was allotted, and as the school enclosure opened into a large and well-kept garden, which was the common property of the row of houses in which Mr Ebden's stood, there was plenty of opportunity for cricket. In the centre was a smooth stretch of lawn, with a carefully-laid pitch, and here Ebden's did battle with sundry neighbouring teams. But it is not to be supposed that Phil and his comrades were always out of mischief. They were a high-spirited lot, and ever eager for adventure. Indeed, our hero had only been a year at his new home when he was once more in the deepest trouble. It happened in this way. The Highgate Wanderers had taken their departure in high dudgeon at the easy victory that Ebden's had scored over them, and Phil and his friends lay on the grass, full length, beneath the shade of a pleasant oak-tree. They were lolling idly and merely waiting for the hour to strike to go in and prepare for tea. Suddenly one of the number, a lad named Fat Bowen, pointed towards the farther end of the garden and exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, "Look, you chaps, there's old Bumble inspecting his statues again!" All looked in the direction indicated, to see a stout old gentleman waddling slowly round an artificial lake, and halting at every other step to inspect and admire two statues which stood on pedestals placed in the centre of the water. "Good Old Bumble!" cried Phil, with a laugh; "he spends his days in admiring that plaster Hercules. If you were close to him you would hear him muttering, `Beautiful! Grand! Masterpieces! I will have two like these in my own garden'. Poor old boy! he's quite cracked on the subject. What would happen if they were to disappear?" "There'd be a row, that's certain," answered Fred Wheeler, a particular friend of Phil's. "Yes, there'd be ructions, I expect. But what a joke it would be to take them away for a time!" "Couldn't be done. Too heavy to move," answered Phil promptly. "But we might do something else," he added, nothing loth for a piece of mischief. "Now what could we do, you fellows?" Various suggestions were offered, but none of them was practicable, and the hour striking a few moments later, the boys departed to the school and left the stout gentleman still gazing lovingly at his statues. "Old Bumble", as he was generally, known to Ebden's boys, was a gentleman of the name of Workman, Mr Julius Workman, a wealthy merchant of the city of London, who owned vast property in the neighbourhood of Highgate, and, indeed, was landlord of the houses which formed the terrace in which the school stood. Consequently he was a man of some position; in fact in Mr Ebden's eyes he was one with whom it was well to be on the best of terms, and to treat with that amount of deference due to a man of consequence who holds one's fortune in his hands. To tell the truth, Mr Julius Workman was not altogether an agreeable person. Fat and ungainly, he was far from being the good-natured individual one might have expected. Increasing riches had not softened his nature, for he was grumpy and fussy, and apt to ride the high horse on every occasion. His tenants stood in awe of him, and, strange as it may seem, Mr Ebden, the strong-minded man, who could successfully rule a number of high-spirited boys, feared him more than all the rest. But there was good reason for this. For fifteen years Ebden's School had been in existence, and its increasing popularity had been a source of satisfaction to its head. Now to change the locality of the school and alter that paragraph in the advertisement which ran "at a charmingly-situated building, in the salubrious neighbourhood of Highgate" might have been to diminish the popularity of the school. Highgate was thought much of by fond parents, and more than one pupil had been sent to Ebden's in order that he might be in that part of London. Therefore it was of paramount importance that Mr Julius Workman should be kept in good-humour. "Boys are nuisances, terrible nuisances," he had often remarked testily to Mr Ebden, "and 'pon my word those you have nearly worry me out of my life. There is no peace in the terrace. All day one can hear their chatter, and, out in the gardens behind, their shouts are simply unbearable. Be good enough to see that they are less noisy in future, please, for not only do they annoy me, but the neighbours complain, and I have no intention of allowing Silverdale Terrace to be depopulated on their account." There was always a scarcely-veiled threat about the man's words. If he had put them into plainer sentences they would have run: "Your boys are nuisances, and if I am worried again, I will give you notice to leave." "Bother the surly old chap!" Mr Ebden would exclaim under his breath, "he has me fairly on the hip. I am a good tenant and he knows it, but for all that I can never have a long lease of the house. Two years is as much as he will allow; if he were to give me notice to quit, I should have precious little time to look about me, and then--supposing I had to go elsewhere--what would become of the school? I should lose half my pupils and half my income at one blow." Consequently Mr Ebden took care to conciliate the old man; but not so his pupils. Amongst those mischievous lads Mr Julius Workman was known as "old Bumble." "Old Bumble" was voted a bore and a cantankerous Johnny, and each lad, finding that a shout annoyed him, took particular pains to lift his voice to the highest pitch whenever "Bumble" was in the vicinity. Now the old gentleman was inordinately proud of the two plaster statues in the centre of the lake, and the lads at Ebden's knew it well. Often before had they thought of playing some practical joke at "Bumble's" expense, but never had they given it such deep consideration as upon this night. As they filed in to tea each was bothering his brains as to how a joke could be played upon him, and afterwards, as they sat at "prep." with their books in front of them, the glorious life and deeds of Caesar were forgotten in a vision of "Bumble" surveying his statues. "Wheeler, what are you gazing at? Go on with your work, sir," Mr Ebden's voice suddenly rapped out. Wheeler buried his head in his hands, and pretended to be very deep in his book. There was silence in the big room for a few minutes, and Mr Ebden once more bent over the letter with which he was occupied. A faint rustle in a far-off corner then attracted the attention of the boys, and, looking up, Phil watched a lad named Carrol spell off some words on his fingers. "I've got it," they ran. "It's about Old Bumble's statues." Then, as the lad's excitement increased, the message became unintelligible, and Phil sent back, "Can't make it out. Start again." By this time all the boys were on the _qui vive_ and staring hard at Carrol. But a sudden movement on Mr Ebden's part and a sharp "Go on with your work, boys!" disturbed them. Another attempt failed for the same reason, and then Carrol seemed to give it up altogether. But a few minutes later, keeping a wary eye upon the master, who was sitting at his desk in the centre of the room, Carrol held up a slate upon which was written in large letters, "We'll tar and feather Old B.'s statues." Instantly a suppressed giggle went round the room, and the lads looked at one another with eyes which clearly said: "By Jove! he's got it. What a joke it will be!" That night, when Ebden's was supposed to be buried in profound sleep, a council of war was held in Phil's cubicle, at which the details of the plot were worked out. "We're certain to catch it hot," Phil remarked, with a smile, as, dressed in a flimsy night-gown, he sat on the edge of his bed, and surveyed the three lads squatting on the floor in front of him. "Old Bumble will suspect us at once, and will do his best to find out which of us played the joke. But we'll do it, if only to show that we can. By Jove, I wonder what the old boy will do when he sees Hercules dressed like a hen? He'll simply blow up with rage, and I wouldn't miss the sight for worlds." "There's safe to be a ruction," Wheeler broke in complacently, "and some of us will get a licking. But what does it matter? Ebden will talk at us till we feel as limp as rags, and then he'll cane us till we go as stiff as any poker. Then it will all be over, and we'll be as good friends as ever. It'll be a fine spree, and I vote we see about it to-morrow." "I take a share in it at any rate," cried Carrol, looking round at the others to see if they agreed, for he was usually left in the background. "I invented the joke, remember that, you chaps." "We're all four of us in it," Phil answered gaily; "and now how about the stuff? The feathers and the tar, I mean. Then we shall want a raft. I know we can buy some tar at Streaker's, and a call at the poultry shop will get us heaps of feathers. We'll manage that to-morrow, and dress our statue in the evening, between tea and prep." The details of the prank to be played were quickly arranged, and soon Phil's companions slipped off like ghosts, and he tumbled into bed and fell into a deep sleep. The following evening, after dusk had fallen, four figures, each carrying a long school-form, slipped out through the back gate of Ebden's, and stole down to the lake. "Now for the raft," whispered Phil. "Place them alongside one another and lash them with the rope." In a few minutes a raft was constructed, but to the disgust of all the lads it was so light and frail that it was not even sufficient to support one of them. "We're done. Bother it!" exclaimed Carrol. The others stood without a word, and stared at the raft in deep vexation. "It's all right. I've got it, you chaps," Phil suddenly cried in tones of excitement and pleasure. "The lake's only a foot deep. We'll shove one form out, and then put another in front of it, and so on till we reach the statue. The bottom is made of stone, so there's no fear of toppling over or sinking in mud." A half-suppressed shout of joy answered him, and all at once set to work to make the bridge. It was easier than they had hoped, and before very long, by means of two extra forms, Hercules was reached. Then began the work of tar-and-feathering, an act of vandalism for which each and every one of them deserved a good thrashing, done though it was as a piece of pure boyish mischief, and in all thoughtlessness. At length it was finished, and with hands and faces smeared with tar, and feathers sticking to their clothes, Phil and his boon companions returned silently to the house, and having hastily washed themselves took their places in "prep." as though nothing had happened. But a scarcely-suppressed bubble of excitement and huge grins of amusement showed that all at Ebden's were conscious of the prank, save the worthy head himself, who, if he had only known, would there and then have gone out and done his best to clean the statue before the light of day disclosed it to Mr Julius Workman. On the following afternoon a game of cricket was in progress, when a cry of "Here's old Bumble!" put a sudden stop to it, and the boys at once selected the nearest and best hiding-places from which to look on safely and observe all that happened. Stalking pompously down the path leading from his own residence, Mr Julius Workman scarcely deigned to acknowledge the polite salute which two of the lads gave him. He walked--or rather waddled--along towards the lake, and, arrived there, sniffed, drew his snuff-box from a pocket in the tail of his coat, and helped himself to a liberal pinch. Then he drew out a highly-coloured silk handkerchief, and, holding it in one hand, was in the act of patting it to his nose, when his eye lit upon the statue. Unable to believe that what he saw was real, he wiped his glasses and stared again. Then his face assumed a livid hue, his cheeks puffed out, and for the moment he looked as though he were on the point of exploding, or of having an apoplectic fit. "Tarred and feathered, as I live!" he shouted, dancing from foot to foot in his rage, and shaking his stick threateningly. "Some wretch has destroyed my statue, the most beautiful I ever saw. It is a piece of wickedness; yes, wickedness! and I will search Highgate--ay, and even the whole of London--to find the culprit." For a moment he stopped for lack of breath, and behind their shelters Phil and his friends enjoyed the scene to their hearts' content. "Ah, I know!" the old gentleman suddenly shouted; "it's one of those rascally boys. I know it. It must be their work. They shall pay for it, the young scamps, and so shall Ebden!" and, still shaking his stick, and in a towering rage, he went off to the school to interview its head. "By George, the fat's in the fire now!" cried Wheeler, with a laugh which was not altogether cheerful. "Phil, there'll be an awful row. What shall we do?" "Wait and see," answered Phil easily. "We've had our joke, and a good one it was, and perhaps we shall have to pay for it." Meanwhile Mr Julius Workman had reached the school, and had asked for Mr Ebden. He was shown into the library, and there, as he waited and thought over the matter, his rage, instead of decreasing, grew even more violent, so that when the pleasant-faced little master entered, and in his cheery voice said, "Ah, Mr Workman! this is a pleasure I had not expected," the stout old gentleman was beyond himself, and could scarcely speak. "Pleasure, sir! Pleasure!" he spluttered at last. "It's no pleasure to me, sir; let me tell you that. I have a serious complaint to make. What have you to say, sir?" He stared at Mr Ebden as though the latter had had a hand in the prank. "A complaint, Mr Workman? I don't understand," said Mr Ebden with astonishment. "Yes, you do, sir; yes, you do," the irate old gentleman shouted rudely. "Why don't you look after your boys? I told you they were a nuisance, and now they've played a trick on me and ruined my statue of Hercules." When Mr Ebden had heard the full details of the prank he too was extremely angry, or pretended to be so, and at once accompanied Mr Workman to inspect the ruined statue. Then, with a heavy frown on his usually pleasant face, he returned and summoned all the boys before him. Mr Julius Workman was also present, and glowered round at them as though he would like to do everyone some mischief. "You've got to find out who did it, or there'll be trouble," he remarked significantly to Mr Ebden, as the latter was about to speak. Now, the boys at Ebden's were, naturally, unaware of the peculiar reason their master had for keeping on good terms with "Old Bumble", but this remark struck them as peculiar, and Phil, thinking it over, and being a quick-witted lad, grasped its meaning, and determined at once to give himself up. "I'm the biggest fellow here," he thought, looking round at his companions, "and though I'm not the eldest by some months, I'm usually the leader in these scrapes." "Boys," said Mr Ebden severely, scrutinising each one of them in turn, and speaking slowly and distinctly, "a foolish and most objectionable prank has been played upon one of the statues in the gardens. Mr Workman declares that one of you is guilty. Is this so?" "Of course it is," grunted "Old Bumble" angrily. "What's the good of asking if they did it? Of course they did!" Mr Ebden took no notice of the interruption, but looked at his pupils, who stared guiltily at one another, knowing well that each had been a party to the plot, and yet waiting for one to give the lead before the others acknowledged. Phil stepped forward in front of his comrades, and with upright head, and eyes fixed straight on Mr Ebden's, said: "Yes, sir, it is so. I tarred and feathered the statue, and I'm sorry Old B--Mr Workman--is so angry." "Old B! What did the scamp almost call me?" shouted Mr Workman, working himself into another rage. "You are a scamp, sir, and a disgrace to the school!" "I am sorry, sir," Phil said again. "I did it for a joke only, and now I'll clean the statue if Mr Ebden will allow me." But this was out of the question. The boys were dismissed, and a long conversation ensued between Mr Ebden and the irate old gentleman. After that work proceeded as usual, but, knowing that it was Mr Ebden's invariable rule to allow twenty-four hours to elapse before deciding upon the punishment for any serious offence, Phil did not permit his hopes to rise, or imagine that he was to get off easily. And, as it turned out, he was right. After mature consideration Mr Ebden summoned the boys, and having read them a lecture, gave Phil the severest caning he had ever experienced in his life, all of which that high-spirited lad bore without so much as a whimper. Then he punished somewhat more mildly the three others who had helped in the prank, and who, not to be behindhand or allow one to suffer for the fault of all, had addressed a note to the headmaster the previous evening confessing their guilt. "I cannot tell you how annoyed I am," said Mr Ebden in cold tones, which hurt his pupils far more than the cane. "You have aided and abetted one another in destroying a work of art, and you have deeply offended one with whom it was a matter of policy for me to be on good terms. Those four who did the actual tarring will have to pay for another statue out of their own pockets, and I shall communicate with their parents. Now you may go, and let there be no more of this foolishness." CHAPTER THREE. OUT INTO THE WORLD. Letters did not travel so rapidly in the year 1850 as nowadays, and the fact that a week elapsed between the despatch of Mr Ebden's note and its receipt at the vicarage at Riddington was not a matter to lead to abuse of the postal authorities; for the town in which Mr Western lived was somewhat remote, and well away from the main line, and epistles which were addressed to its residents usually lay for a day or more at a post-office twenty miles away, from which they were removed at most twice a week. However, arrive the letter did at last, and Mr Western, gloomier and more severe if possible than ever, sat in his study reading it for the second time. "Look at that," he said icily, tossing it across to Joe, who stood in his favourite position, leaning against the mantel-piece, with his hands beneath the tails of his coat. "Humph! The young rascal!" Joe exclaimed with a chuckle, as soon as he had glanced through it. "Got himself into trouble, and his master too. Young donkey! Mischievous young donkey, that's what he is, Edward; and now he won't have a penny to bless himself with till his share of the statue is paid for." Then aside to himself he muttered as he helped himself to snuff: "Humph! Must send him a tip. A few shillings are always welcome to a school-boy." Mr Western stared gloomily at the fire and kept silent for a minute or more. Then, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table, he exclaimed fretfully: "The boy worries me. What makes him wish to play these pranks? I have done my best, and so has your sister. He has had warning enough, and surely ought to keep out of these troubles. I believe he is wilfully mischievous, yes wilfully mischievous, and a bad boy at heart, and I will have no more to do with him. I will give him one more start, and leave him to make his way in the world as best he can. If he fails then he must look to himself, and thank himself alone for the trouble he has fallen into." Joe started and looked uneasily at his brother-in-law. "Nonsense, Edward! Nonsense!" he said sharply. "I cannot make you out; and, to be perfectly candid, you are as much a mystery to me as the lad seems to be to you. Cannot you understand that he is simply full of spirit, and though, no doubt, he is sorry afterwards for the pranks he plays, yet they are the result of thoughtlessness and an abundance of good health and animal spirits? Bless my life! where would England have been but for lads of his nature? A sunny, cheerful lad he is, and I tell you plainly you do him an injustice when you say he is bad at heart. Look at the letter again. Doesn't Mr Ebden admit that he owned up like a gentleman? What more do you want? Would you have the boy a girl?" Joe snorted indignantly, and blew his nose so violently that Mr Western started. "The misunderstanding is not on my side," he retorted. "I who have watched him all these years should know; and it is you, Joseph, who have helped to ruin him. You have egged him on, and now, when he should be quiet and steady, he is simply unmanageable. But we will not wrangle about the matter. Philip shall leave Mr Ebden's house at the end of this term, and shall take a position as clerk in the office of a friend of mine. After that he must look to himself, for I will have no more to do with him." "Then I tell you the lad will not submit to your proposal," Joe said hotly. "He is too free and easy to love one of your offices, and is not the one to sit down tamely and have his spirit broken by long hours of monotonous drudgery, paid for at a rate which would disgust the average workman. But I will say nothing to dissuade him, though, mark my words, he will disappoint you again; and then, if he is thrown on the world, I will look after him. It is not for me, Edward, to remind you of your responsibilities to Phil. You took him from the gutter, as I have often heard you say, and it is your duty to bear with him, however troublesome he may be. When he reaches man's age he will be well able to look to himself, but till then he is a boy, just as thoughtless and high-spirited as I was, and his pranks should not be treated as the deeds of a criminal. "He got into mischief at Riddington High School, and you were asked to remove him, not only that the discipline of the school might not suffer, but also for the sake of the lad himself. By separating him from some high-spirited companions there was a better chance that they and he might settle down and become more sober, and the headmaster fully realised it. But why on that account you should send him to a school specially set aside for incorrigible lads passed my comprehension, and, as you will remember, did not meet with my approval. As a matter of fact Mr Ebden is a clever man, and took to leading and encouraging Phil instead of driving him. And now, merely because the foolish young fellow is dragged into another piece of mischief--innocent, clean-minded mischief, mind you--you would punish him severely, and possibly ruin his future by placing him in a position in which all his energies will be cramped, and from which he can scarcely hope to rise. I call it a short-sighted policy, and most unfair treatment of the boy." Joe once more dipped into his snuff-box, blew his nose loudly, and then, seeing that his brother-in-law did not intend to reply, sniffed loudly and stumped out of the room. A month later, when the end of the term arrived, Phil did not return to Riddington for the holidays, but instead took his box to a dingy lodging in the heart of the city, and straightway set to work at his new duties. Mr Western had written a cold and reproving letter to him, warning him that this was the last he could do for him; while Joe had sent him a few characteristic lines telling him to do his best, and never to forget that he had one good friend in the world. Determined to get on well if possible, Phil was most assiduous in his duties at the office, and took pains to master the writing put before him. His employer he saw little of, but whenever they met he was greeted politely, so that he had no cause to find fault in that direction. But lack of friends and lack of outdoor exercise soon told upon him. He lost his healthy looks and became pale and listless, for in those days cycling was not in vogue, and it was seldom that a city clerk was able to shake the soot and dirt of the streets from him and get into the country. "This won't do," thought Phil one evening as, chained to his desk on account of unusual business, he drove his pen till the figures were blurred and his fingers cramped. "If this is the life before me I had rather be a soldier or a sailor and earn my shilling a day, and a little adventure. Fellows have often told me that a steady young soldier is bound to rise, and if he works hard and has a little education, may even reach to commissioned rank. That takes years, of course, but supposing it took ten I should be better off than after spending the same time in this office. Larking has been here fifteen years, and look what he is!" Phil raised his eyes from his work and stared thoughtfully at a bent and prematurely-aged man who sat on his right. "Yes, I'd sooner see the world and run the risk of losing my life in some far-off country than live to grow up like that," he mused pityingly. "At any rate I'll go and have a chat with Sergeant-major Williams." The latter was a veteran of the Foot Guards, who had long ago earned a pension, and now lived with his wife on the same landing as Phil. "Tired of your job, lad, are you?" he remarked, when Phil entered his room that night, saying that he had come for a chat and some advice. "Well, now, I'm not greatly surprised; though, mind you, there's many a poor starving chap as would only be too glad to step into your shoes. What chance has a youngster in the army, you ask? Every chance, sir; every chance. Look at me"--and the old soldier stood upright on the hearth-rug and threw out his chest, thereby showing the row of medals pinned to his waistcoat. "I was your age, my lad, when I first 'listed, and when I had got my uniform and stood on parade for the first time, trying to look as though I knew all about it, with my chest somewhere close to my back and my stomach showing well in front, why, the sergeant-major came along, and I thought to myself he must be the colonel, and miles and miles above me. I never guessed I'd reach his rank some day; but I did, sure enough, and steady, honest work, and being sober, was what lifted me there. But you've got education, and that's the pull. I had to teach myself, and a precious grind it was; but with you it's different, and if you only keep out of scrapes you're certain to go up." "But I'm always in trouble and scrapes of one sort or another; at least I was at school!" exclaimed Phil. "Yes, I dare say you was, and a precious baby you would be if you hadn't been; but that sort of thing don't go down in the army. Discipline's discipline, and so long as you remember that, and the fact that you're filling a man's place and are no longer a school-boy, you're all right. Play your larks in the barrack-room as much as you like, and no one will mind; but never give cheek back to a non-commissioned officer as orders you to stop. It's mighty trying at times, I know. Some young chap as has just been made a corporal gets beyond himself, and pitches into you. Grin and bear it is what you've got to do, and that's discipline, and it's minding that will help you to get on." "Then you think I shall do well to enlist?" asked Phil. "Do well? Of course you will. Why, I'd sooner pick rags than be at the work you're at," answered the sergeant-major. "How much do you earn a week, my lad, if it isn't a rude question?" "Ten shillings, and extra if I'm kept overtime," said Phil. "Then you'll be no worse off in the army," exclaimed the old soldier. "A shilling a day, less washing, and your extra messing, is what you'll have, and it won't be long before you're receiving corporal's pay. Now think it over, lad. I've no wish to persuade you; but if you decide to 'list for the army, I'll put you in the way of joining the finest regiment in the world." Phil thanked the sergeant-major, and retired to bed, only to lie awake thinking the matter over. By the following morning he had quite made up his mind to be a soldier, and went in to see his friend. "Look here, sir," the latter exclaimed, flourishing a morning paper, "you've made up your mind to leave that musty office and join the army, but you're barely seventeen yet, you say. Now, I've something to propose, and something to show you. Before you 'list try what it's like to rough it amongst rough men and earn your own living. Here's an advertisement asking for hands in a kind of private zoo. I know the show, and a friend of mine, an old soldier like myself, is office-man, and keeps the books. Take a job there for a few months and see how you like the life, and then, if roughing it suits you, join the army. Even then you'll be too young; but you're big and strong, and a few months won't make a great deal of difference." "But I know nothing about animals," said Phil doubtfully. "I've ridden a horse occasionally, and always had a dog when possible. What does the advertisement say? Surely far more experience than I have had is wanted?" "Here you are, sir. Read it, and judge for yourself. It's as fine an offer, and as good an opportunity for you to see what life is in the rough, as you could wish for." Phil took the paper and read: _Wanted, a few hands in a large private menagerie. Applicants must be young and active, prepared to make themselves useful in any way, and must not object to travelling_. Then it concluded by giving the address, which was in the suburbs of London. "Well, what do you make of it?" asked the old soldier, who had watched his face closely all the time. "It certainly reads in a most inviting manner," Phil replied hesitatingly; "but still I scarcely think it would suit me, for I really have had no experience to teach me how to make myself useful. I should be a raw hand who was always in the way, and should be dismissed before a week had passed." "You've no need to worry about that, I can assure you, sir," the sergeant-major answered encouragingly. "My friend will see that you have a fair chance given you, and I'll wager that a fortnight will set you on your feet and make you as knowing as those who've been working a year and longer with the firm. Mind you, though, I've scarcely more than an idea what is really required. Anyone can make himself useful if shown the way, but there must be a lot of work that's difficult and p'r'aps dangerous. One thing I've learnt from Timms, and that is, that animals has to be taken by road to various parties, and that means kind of camp or gipsy life at times. Now look you here, my lad. Just you go right off, read the 'vertisement again, and then think the matter over. It don't do to jump into these affairs, for you might find it a case of `out of the frying-pan into the fire'. There's the place; top of the centre column. Come back this evening and tell me what you have decided on." Phil did as the old soldier suggested. He took the paper to the office, and during the day thought the matter out, finally deciding to make the plunge and find out for himself what roughing it really meant. "After all," he mused, as he absently traced lines and figures on the blotting-paper, "I shall be in just the position I might have occupied had not Father taken me from home. My mother was a poor widow, and long ago I should have had to earn my living and help to keep her too. I'll do it. I cannot put up with this office life. A few years later it might be different, but now it stifles me." Many a wiseacre might shake his head at Phil's cogitations, and more emphatically still at his determination to abandon a certain livelihood for an extremely uncertain one. "Do not think of leaving the office," some would say, "till a better place offers itself"; or "Remain where you are till you are thoroughly acquainted with business life, and can command a higher salary." Certainly the majority would be strongly against his applying for the post proposed by the sergeant-major. But deep in Phil's heart was a desire to show his adoptive parents that he had profited by their kindness, and was able to work his way up in the world. He knew that by leaving his present place he would give occasion for more disappointment; but then, after many a chat with others similarly situated, and being, for all his spirits, a thoughtful young fellow who looked to the future, he came to the conclusion that here he had no opportunity of rising. He knew that whenever a vacancy in some business house did occur there were plenty asking for it, and he knew, too, that without means at their disposal those who were selected had prospects none too brilliant. Many did rise undoubtedly from the office-stool to the armchair of the manager. But how many? Why should that good fortune come his way? No, in an office he felt like a canary in a cage; therefore he determined to forsake the life and seek one with more of the open air about it, and a spice of danger and hardship thrown in. Who could say that luck would not come his way? If it did, perhaps it would give him just that necessary heave which would enable him to set foot upon the first rung of the ladder which leads upward to honour and glory, and a position of standing in the world. It was a brilliant prospect, and it must be admitted that Phil built many castles in the air. Yet for all that, once he had descended to _terra firma_, he plainly acknowledged to himself that plenty of hard work, plenty of rough and tumble, and no doubt a share of privation and hardship, must be faced before the height of his ambition could be reached. "I've read the advertisement through," he said that evening, when once more seated in front of the sergeant-major, "and if you will introduce me to your friend I will apply for one of the vacant places. First of all, though, I should like to hear whether they will have me, and then I will give my present employer notice." "Shake hands on it, lad! I'm glad you've decided, and I'll be hanged if you won't make a splendid workman, and one of these days as fine a soldier as ever stepped. Here's wishing you the best of luck. Now we'll go off to Timms right away and see what he has to say." Accordingly the two started off, and in due time reached a big building in which the menagerie had its home. Phil was introduced to Timms, as fine an old soldier as the sergeant-major, and was greatly relieved to hear that his services would be accepted at fifteen shillings a week. "Come in a week, when your notice is up," Timms said pleasantly, "and your job will be waiting for you. You'll look after the horses at first, and perhaps we'll give you one of the cages later on. You'll want rough clothes and strong boots, and, for sleeping, a couple of thick rugs. Get a bag to hold your kit, and that will do for your pillow as well. Set your mind easy, Williams. I'll look after the lad and see that he comes to no harm." That day week Phil left the office on the expiration of his notice, having meanwhile written to Mr Western and to Joe. Then he returned to his room, packed the few valuables he possessed, and a couple of changes of clothing in a waterproof bag, and with this under one arm, and a roll of coarse blankets under the other, set out for the menagerie. "That you, youngster?" Timms asked cheerily. "'Pon my word I hardly expected you. Some fellows back out of a job like this at the last moment. But come along and I'll show you where you will sleep, and who will be your mate. He's a good fellow, and will show you the ropes." Passing outside the building, Timms led the way to a large yard at the back in which was an assortment of the caravans which usually accompany a circus. "Jim!" he shouted. "Here, Jim, your new mate's arrived. Show him round." A jovial and dirty face, with a two-days' growth of beard upon it, was thrust out of a wagon, and a voice called out: "Come right in here, mate. Glad to see yer. Bring your togs along." Phil scrambled up the steep steps and into the wagon, where, having grasped the hand extended to him, he looked round with some curiosity, noticing with much interest the two neat little bunks, one above the other, at the farther end, the diminutive table close to one red-curtained window, and the stove on the other side, filled with paper shavings of all colours, and gold tinsel, with its chimney of brightly-polished brass. "Queer little house, mate, ain't it?" sang out the man who went by the name of Jim, busying himself with a pot of hot water and a shaving-brush and soap. "Yes, I've never been in a van of this sort before," said Phil. "It looks comfortable, and at any rate must be a good shelter on wet nights." "That it is, mate, and you'll find it so precious soon. We start at daylight to-morrow on a long trip to the south, and I tell yer it's mighty pleasant to know as there's a warm fire, and a dry bed to get into, when the water's coming down in buckets, and the wind's that cold it freezes yer to the marrer." Phil noted every little article in the van, and listened to the scrape, scrape of the razor as Jim removed his bristles. When this operation was completed, Jim took him round the horses, and having initiated him into the mysterious duties of a stableman, invited him back to the wagon to tea. "Timms and I sleep here," he remarked, with his pipe firmly clenched between his teeth, "and you'll put your rugs down on the floor. We'll mess together, and you'll find that five bob a week joined to our two fives will feed us well and leave the rest in our pockets. The other chaps has their own messes. I'll take yer round to see them soon. They're a queer lot; some has been sailors and soldiers, and some anything at all. Others has been at this game all their lives. You'll learn to know them all in a few days, and I'll give yer a hint--keep clear of the rowdy ones. They soon gets the sack, for the boss is very particular, and won't have no drinking and such like goings-on. "Now about your job. What do you know of animals, and what class are yer on top of a horse what ain't 'xactly a camel?" "I am sorry to say I am hopelessly ignorant of the first," Phil answered. "I've ridden horses often, and can manage to keep in my saddle as a rule, but cannot boast that I am a good horseman." "Oh, you'll do! besides, I can see you're willing to learn and has got the grit to stick to things that might bother others of your sort. You're to be my mate, and for a time, at any rate, we shall be on the move. The gent who runs this business keeps five and six such vans as this moving most of the year, besides the cages, of course, which follow. "You see, agents in furrin parts collects lions and every sort of animal down to snakes, and sends them to England. No sooner does the ship come alongside the river dock than some of us are there with cages, mounted on wheels and drawn by horses. We unload the animals, slip 'em into the cage, and bring them here. A day or two later, perhaps a week, or even as long after as a month, someone wants one or other of them beasts, and arranges to buy him from the guv'nor. Then in he goes into the travelling-cage again, and off we take him to wherever he's been ordered. Of course there's railroads nowadays; but they are risky things at any time, and the wild beasts we deal in catch cold, and fall sick so easy that it's been found cheaper and safer to take 'em by road. And a very pleasant life it is, to be sure. With two of us on the beat, and drawing our own house, we're as comfortable as chaps could wish for. Every day there's something different to look at and ask questions about, and every evening, when yer pull up on some wayside piece of ground and start to water and feed the animals, there's new scenery and new people around yer, the last always ready to be civil and polite. Yes, it's a free, easy life, with plenty of change and movement to make yer work come pleasant and light. You'll like it, lad. By the way--what's yer name? Ah, Philip Western! Well, Phil, I've told yer pretty nigh all I can think about. Timms and me start early to-morrow, as I told yer, so turn in soon to-night. We'll teach yer all yer want to know while on the road, and if yer only keeps yer eyes open you'll soon get a hold on the work." Jim nodded pleasantly, and having invited Phil to sit down for a short time and rest himself, he ran down the steps of the van and went to complete his daily work. "Of course all this is very different from office life," mused Phil, looking round, and still finding many little things in the quaint travelling house to interest and amuse him, "I can see that any kind of work is expected of me, and I must not be afraid of dirtying my hands. A few months at this will show me whether or not I shall like the army, for I remember the sergeant-major told me that there too the men have numerous fatigues to do, cleaning barracks and quarters, carrying coal, and a hundred-and-one other things. Yes, I've come to rough it, and I'll do my utmost to prove useful. It seems, too, that this travelling with wild beasts is very much liked by the other men. It will be funny to be constantly on the move, and constantly seeing fresh places. Well, I think I shall like it. It will be what I have hankered after--an open-air life,--and since Jim is to be my companion I feel sure I shall be happy, for he looks an excellent fellow." Indeed, though outwardly rough, Jim was a sterling good fellow, with a kind heart beating beneath his weather-stained jacket. Already he had taken a liking to Phil, and seeing that he was altogether different from the new hands usually employed, and moreover having heard something of his story from Timms, he determined to look after his charge and make life as pleasant for him as possible. That evening the three who were to be companions supped at a little coffee-stall standing close outside the menagerie, and, having returned to the van, indulged in a chat before turning-in. Then Jim and the old soldier Timms climbed into their bunks, while Phil spread his blankets on the floor, and with his kit-bag beneath his head soon fell asleep, to be wakened, however, every now and again by the roaring of a big African lion, which had arrived two days before, and was caged close at hand. Day had scarcely dawned when Jim turned over in his bunk, yawned loudly, and, sitting up with a start, consulted a silver watch, of the proportions of a turnip, which dangled from the arched roof of the van. "Five o'clock, and not a soul stirring!" he cried. "Up, up yer get, all of yer. Look lively now, or else we'll be moving before we've had a morning meal." "What! Time for breakfast! Hullo, where am I?" cried Phil, sitting up with a start and staring round in bewilderment. Then the truth dawned upon him, and, throwing off his blankets, he rose to his feet. "What orders, Jim?" he asked. "Come along with me, Phil. That's the orders. Timms'll see to the breakfast, while you and me looks to the horses." Hurriedly throwing on their coats--for they had discarded nothing more when they turned in on the previous night--they ran down the steps to the stables, where they found other men at work busily grooming their animals. Instructed by Jim, Phil started with a brush upon the smooth coat of a fine draught horse which was to form one of their team. From that he went to another, while Jim looked to the other two. That done the animals were fed, and while Phil returned to the van Jim went to see that the lion they were to transport was safely caged and fed in preparation for the journey. Meanwhile Timms had not been idle. As Phil reached the van he emerged from a doorway opposite, bearing a kettle, from the spout of which a cloud of steam was puffing. Already he had placed a rough folding-table on the ground, and now he proceeded to infuse the tea. Then he dived into the van, to reappear immediately with plates and knives and enough cups and saucers. Ten minutes later Jim had returned, and, sitting down, the three hastily swallowed thick slices of bread and butter, washing them down with cups of steaming tea. "That'll keep us quiet for a few hours, I reckon," exclaimed Jim, jumping to his feet and hastily filling a pipe in preparation for a morning smoke. "Now, young un, you and me'll slip off and harness the horses, while our mate cleans up the breakfast things." Half an hour later two fine horses had been yoked to the van, while another pair had been harnessed to the large boxed-in cage on wheels, which enclosed the magnificent animal they were to transport. A sack of corn was placed on the van, and a large joint of horse-flesh hung beneath, and then, fully prepared for the journey, the gates were thrown open, and with nodded adieus from the other hands they issued from the yard and took the road for Brighton, Jim driving the horses in the van, with Phil by his side, while Timms went in front in charge of the lion. Trundling over the London cobbles they crossed one of the bridges, and before very long were out of the great city and enjoying to the full the sunshine and sweet breath of the country. CHAPTER FOUR. A GALLANT DEED. The outdoor life agreed with Phil thoroughly, and he had scarcely been with the menagerie a month before all his paleness had disappeared, and he felt and looked in the best of health. Constantly accompanying Jim and the old soldier upon some journey, the beginning of one week would find them at some sunny spot on the southern sea-coast, while at the end they would be slowly trudging to the north, having called _en route_ at the headquarters in London, there to take possession of some other animal. And while they carried out this work others did the same, for the menagerie was a large and profitable concern. At the London headquarters there were cages and houses innumerable, in which the various animals were kept. But seldom indeed was any particular one a tenant of his cage for more than a fortnight, for, much to Phil's surprise, the demand for lions, tigers, and other wild beasts was extraordinarily large. Now it was a zoological garden that wished to replace the lose of one of its show animals, and now some wealthy nobleman with a fancy for a private menagerie. Then, too, demands came from the Continent, and had to be attended to. The animals were placed in well-built, warm, but properly ventilated cages, capable of being lifted from their wheels if necessary, and in these they journeyed by road to their several destinations. In no case was the railroad used, for it was as yet very far from attaining to its present efficiency, and experience had taught the owner of the menagerie that beasts from foreign parts required to be treated like hot-house flowers, and protected from the chills and biting winds met with in England. Two months and more passed pleasantly, and by that time Phil was quite accustomed to his work, and moreover, from frequent calls at the menagerie in London, had met all the other hands. "I like the life immensely, and am sure it agrees with me," he answered with enthusiasm one day when Jim suddenly turned upon him and asked him the question. "I earn more than I did some weeks ago, and in a very pleasant manner compared with the other employment. Besides, I have been amongst a number of working men and find that I can rub shoulders with them and not quarrel. It is just what I wanted to know, and now that I have had the experience I shall not be long in leaving this employment and enlisting in the army." "You must do just as you like there, lad," replied Jim briskly. "Each chap settles that kind of thing for hisself. For my part, though, I've been too long and too contented at this here work to want to change." And indeed there was no doubt that Jim enjoyed his life to the full. A contented and merry fellow, he was just the one to make his companions look upon the bright side of things. Not that Phil was ever inclined to do otherwise. Up at daylight, as blithe as a lark, he was off with the horses to the nearest water so soon as the sun had lifted the mist from the ground. Then, tethering them to the wagon shafts again, he would slip off the thick rugs which covered them and groom them thoroughly, all the while giving vent to that peculiar "hiss" which seems necessary for this purpose, in a way that would have aroused the envy of many a stable lad. That done, the canvas bin that stretched from the tip of the shaft was filled with corn, and while the sleek-coated animals set to work to consume it, Phil produced an iron tripod, gathered a pile of sticks, and set them alight. A box placed in proper position kept the breeze away on a gusty day, and in a twinkling, it seemed, the kettle above was singing, and a jet of white steam blowing into the cool morning air. Now came the time he enjoyed most of all. Armed with a frying-pan, he sat down to prepare rashers of bacon, and if it were an extraordinary day, possibly eggs too. A shout would rouse Jim and the old soldier, and in five minutes the folding-table was set up, the tea made, and all three heartily devouring their breakfast. "We might be in Ameriky, or some such place," remarked Jim one morning. "It's a treat being in the country this fine weather, and it does yer good to get up early and prepare yer own grub." "A precious lot of preparing you do, I notice," laughed Timms. "Why, ever since Phil joined us he's done all that." "You've got me there, mate, I owns," Jim grinned. "The young un's a beggar to work, and saves us a deal of trouble. Before he come I used to act as cook. Now I lies abed and takes it easy, as I ought to, on account of my age." Phil joined heartily in the laugh, for he knew well how Jim and Timms could work. As to his own share, he was glad to have plenty to do, and especially when he found he could help his two comrades, who had shown themselves such excellent fellows. Phil liked the majority of those he met at the menagerie in London, and as for himself the other hands soon took his measure, and readily acknowledged that he was a hard-working and straight lad, willing to be friends with all. A few, however, were of the opposite opinion. There was a small clique of rowdy fellows who took an instant dislike to Phil, probably because, seeing what they were, he held aloof from them, and these, and in particular one of them, set themselves to make things unpleasant for him. "Ought to ha' been a lord or summat of the sort," this worthy sneered one day as Phil passed the doorway round which they were lounging. "Thinks he owns the show--that's what it is. I'll take the gent down; see if I don't, and right away too. Hi, you, Phil Western, or whatever's yer name," he shouted, "come here! I want to speak to yer. Now look here, Mr Dook, you're a pretty fine bird, but where do you come from? That's what we're arter. Chaps of your sort don't take to being hands in a menagerie every day, and that's the truth, I reckon. I suppose yer wanted to hide away. That's it, ain't it?" Now Phil had often been annoyed by this same young man, who went by the name of "Tony", and in particular by the jeering way in which he shouted names and various other pleasantries after him every time he happened to pass. "You want to know where I come from," he replied calmly, standing close to the circle. "Then I'm afraid you will have to want." "Eh! What! Have to want, shall I?" Tony growled. "Now none of yer cheek. You're too proud, that's what you are, my young peacock, and you've got to get taken down." "That's possible," Phil rejoined, and was on the point of turning away to avoid a quarrel when the pleasant Tony sprang to his feet and shouting "Possible! Should just about think it is!" grasped him by the arm and swung him round till they faced one another. "Leave go!" cried Phil, losing his temper. "Sha'n't till I've took yer down," Tony snapped. "Then take that!" and Phil dashed his fist into the young man's face. A scuffle at once ensued, and after a short and fiercely contested round, a ring was formed. But at this moment the owner of the menagerie put in an appearance and stopped the fight, with the natural result that there was bad blood between Phil and Tony from that day, and the latter never ceased to vow that he would have an ample revenge for the black eye he had received. Now Tony had another disagreeable trait. Besides being a bully, he was also cruel, and took every opportunity of teasing a big brown bear which happened to be his special charge. The more Bruin snarled and showed his teeth, the harder Tony prodded him with his stick, till at times the poor beast was almost mad with rage. It was a dangerous game to play, and could have but one ending, and that was within an ace of being a fatal one for Tony. It happened upon a day when Phil and his two companions had returned to London and were enjoying a well-earned rest after a few longer tramps than usual. By the merest chance, too, it was a holiday in the menagerie, for some valuable animals had recently arrived, and in consequence, the wives and children and other relatives of the various hands had gathered, by the owner's special request, to have tea with their friends and see the wild beasts in their new home. Phil was sitting in the van with Jim, sipping a cup of tea, and quite unaware of the fact that Tony was engaged in his usual practice of stirring up the bear for his own amusement and to excite the fear of a few by-standers. Suddenly there was a snarl, a crash, and the sound of breaking woodwork, and then shrieks of terror and the noise of a wild stampede. "What's that? Something's up," cried Phil, and springing down the steps he ran towards the spot where the animals were kept. A fearful sight met his eye, for the end of the flimsy cage in which Bruin was kept a prisoner was splintered, and close beside it. Tony lay motionless, and full length upon the ground, with the bear crouching over him and clutching his head with a paw armed with murderous-looking claws. Not a soul was near, for all had fled for their lives. As Phil ran forward, the enraged animal crouched lower over its victim, and snarled fiercely, showing a row of teeth and gums. "Help, Jim! The bear is killing Tony," shouted Phil, turning his head for a moment, but still running towards the scene of the conflict. As he passed a wagon he snatched up a long pitchfork. Rushing at the bear, which reared itself on end, Phil swung the fork above his head and brought it down with a smash on the animal's nose, shouting at the same time in the hope of frightening it. But Bruin was thoroughly aroused, and, stung to further anger by the tap upon his head, he darted from the prostrate man and came open-mouthed at Phil. It was a terrifying sight, and many another might have taken to his heels and not been called a coward. But Phil's mouth hardened till it was a thin, straight line. Standing with his feet planted wide apart, and the fork well in front of him, he kept his ground and lunged at the animal with all his might, driving the prongs well into its chest. There was a roar of pain and anger, and Bruin drew back for a moment, but only to rise upon his hind-legs and advance with arms ready to crush the life out of Phil's body, and gleaming teeth with which to tear his flesh. On he came, and, waiting his time, Phil once more plunged the prongs deep into his chest, where they remained fast. A second later the bear had shattered the pole with his paw, and, rushing at his enemy, had beaten him to the ground and fallen upon him--dead. It was a narrow shave, as Jim remarked. "You're the biggest, yes, the biggest idiot I ever see, young un," he said severely, as Phil lay in his bunk. "Here you go and attack a bear as is always pretty wild, and only with a thing as is little better than a toothpick. I can't make yer out. If it was me as was laid under that there beast I might see some reason for it, though even then you'd be pretty mad, I reckon; but when it's Tony, who's always a-naggin' at yer, why, it fairly does for me." "I didn't think of that, though," answered Phil cheerfully, for by a piece of good fortune he had escaped with a severe shaking and a fright. "There was the bear killing someone, and I was the first on the spot and therefore bound to do something." "Get on with yer! Bound to do something! Yes, it's run away most of us would do--least--I don't know, though; I expects we'd have had a try to drive the brute off. But for you, a kid like you, Phil, to tackle the job all alone, and with only a pitchfork too, why, it just knocks all the stuffin' out of me. Give us yer flipper, mate. You're a true un, and don't you go a-telling me yer didn't know it was Tony as lay there. I heard yer shout it. So no more of them fibs." Jim got quite indignant, and then shook Phil's hand, squeezing it so hard that he could have shouted with the pain. "And that chap Tony's goin' to live too," he went on. "If he don't say summat out o' the ord'nary, blest if I won't set to work and give him the biggest hidin' he ever had. That is, when he's strong again. Now, young un, turn over and get to sleep. You've had a roughish time, and a go of grog ain't sufficient to pull yer round." Phil obediently curled himself up and promptly fell asleep, but only to dream that it was. Joe Sweetman who lay helpless upon the ground, while the figure that was crouching over him, and that rushed at himself when he ran to the rescue, was none other than "old Bumble", rendered furious by the joke played upon his statue. It was an awful moment when Phil plunged the fork into the old gentleman's massive chest, and so upset him that he awoke, to find himself drenched with perspiration, but decidedly better for all that, while through the open door he could see Jim, pipe in mouth and in his shirt sleeves, squatting over the fire and preparing breakfast. Another month passed, making the third that Phil had spent in his new employment, and ending also his seventeenth year. Short as the time had been it had done much for him. He had filled out a little, and though his face was still that of a boy, his limbs and body were big, so that, if he could only pass inspection, he was quite fitted to take his place in the ranks as a full-grown man. By this time he had completed a long journey into the country, and having returned to London with Jim and the old soldier, he was not long in looking up his friend, Sergeant-major Williams. "Back again, sir, and filled out and healthier-looking, too! How do you like the life?" the latter exclaimed. "I never spent a better or more profitable three months, never in my life," said Phil emphatically. "We've had grand weather, and always fresh scenery. The work was not too hard, and my comrades were all that I could wish for. In addition, I have saved close upon five pounds, which was simply impossible when I was living here." "Ah, glad you like it, lad! But I thought you would; and now I suppose you'll be off again soon?" "Yes, but not with the van and my old comrades," said Phil. "The best I can do there is to become a foreman in charge of a number of cages. I mean to enlist and try my fortune in the army." "Bless the lad!" exclaimed the sergeant-major. "He's as long-headed as a lawyer, and always thinking of the future. But you couldn't do better than that. Keep it always in your mind's eye and you'll get on. Now, what regiment will you go for? I'm from the Guards, and of course I say there's none to beat them. It's the truth too, as others can tell you." "I've been thinking it over," Phil answered, "and I have decided to become a Grenadier--one of the old Grenadiers." The sergeant-major's features flushed, and he looked not a little flattered, for he too was one of the Grenadier Guards, and he knew it was because of his connection with it that Phil had decided to enlist in that regiment. "You couldn't do better, sir," he exclaimed, "and what's more, by joining them I'll be able to make your start easier. I am not so old but that some of the non-commissioned officers--N.C.O.'s as we call 'em--remember Owen Williams. I've many a pal there, and as soon as you're ready I'll take you right along to the barracks and see you 'listed myself." A day was fixed, and having learned a few more details, Phil returned to his friends. The latter were genuinely sorry to hear that he was to go, and of all, Jim was perhaps the saddest. "No one to cook the breakfast no more, now you're off, young un," he said, with a ring of true regret in his voice. "Never mind; that chap Tony's come back, and I'll turn him on to the job. If he kicks there'll be trouble, and then I'll do as I promised yer." But Jim was disappointed. For three weeks Tony had lain in bed at a hospital, and for the first six days it was a matter of life and death. The bear's claws had lacerated his scalp so severely that it was a wonder he survived. But by dint of careful nursing he recovered, and on the very day that Phil had been to see the sergeant-major he returned to the menagerie. But he was a changed man. A double escape from death had cured him of his rowdiness, and when he came towards Phil shamefacedly, offering his hand as though he could not expect it to be shaken, he was filled with deep gratitude for the truly gallant deed that had saved his life. Phil clutched the hand extended and shook it heartily. "Ah, sir!" Tony blurted out, with tears in his eyes, "I've been a real brute, and no one knows it better nor myself. But yer saved my life, Phil Western, yer did, and I ain't ungrateful. If you'd left me to be torn to pieces it was only what I deserved, for we wasn't the best of friends, and a chap as can torment a dumb animal must expect something back in the end. And now, sir, I hear you're going, and if you'll let me I'll come too." "Nonsense, Tony!" Phil exclaimed. "You've got a good job, and had better stick to it." "I had one, but I ain't now, Phil," Tony replied dolefully. "The boss give me the sack, saying I'd cost him a good fifty pounds by causing the death of the bear. So I'm out of work now, and if you're for a soldier, as they tell me, why, so am I too; and I tell yer I'll stick to yer like a true 'un if you'll let me come, and one day when you're an officer I'll be yer servant." Phil laughed good-naturedly, and flushed red when he saw that here was one who thought it was within the bounds of possibility that he would attain to the status of officer. "It will be a long time before I shall be that, Tony," he said, with a smile; "but if you really have made up your mind to be a soldier, come with me. There's been bad blood between us up to this, but now we'll be good friends and help one another along." "Ah, we'll be friends, sir, good friends too! I've had my lesson, and I sha'n't need another. I've acted like a brute up to this, but now I mean to be steady, and I mean to show yer too that I ain't bad altogether." Phil was astonished at the turn matters had taken; but he recognised that Tony had really made up his mind to reform, and at once determined to help him to adhere to that resolution. "Very well, Tony," he said, "we'll enlist together. My month is up to-morrow, and on the following day we'll take the shilling. I'm going to join the Grenadier Guards." "Grenadier Guards or any Guards for me, Phil. It don't make a ha'poth of difference so far as I'm concerned. Just fix what it's to be, and I'll be there with yer." "Then it's settled, Tony. We're for the Guards. Come to the house where Sergeant-major Williams lives, at nine o'clock the day after to-morrow." They shook hands, as though to seal the compact, and separated, Phil returning to the van, where he spent part of the day in writing to Mr Western and to Joe, informing them of the step he was taking. To his previous letter Mr Western had deigned no answer, for he was thoroughly upset by its contents, and from that day firmly resolved never again to have any dealings with his adopted son. He was an utter failure and a scamp, and it only needed Joe Sweetman's efforts to defend him to settle the matter. "It is just what I told you would happen," Joe had said defiantly. "The lad has spirit, and far from being the rogue you think him, is filled with the desire to see life and make his way in the world. I am not a great judge of character, but if ever there was a youth unfitted for office life, that one is Phil. You have only yourself to thank after all. You have endeavoured to force a profession on him, whereas you should have given the lad an opportunity of selecting one for himself. Mark my words, Edward: Phil will live to do well and be a credit to you, and one of these days you will acknowledge that the step he is taking now was a good one and for the best. Now I'll write to him, and give him a few words of advice." And this Joe did, sending a characteristic letter, written not to damp Phil's hopes, but to encourage him, and let him see that there was one old friend at least who still thought well of him. _Find your own place in the world, Phil_, he wrote; _and if it is a good one, as I feel sure it will be, there is one who will be proud of you. You start in the ranks, and so fall into discredit among your friends. You are on the lowest rung; stick to it, and we will see where you come out. Meanwhile, my lad, I will send you ten shillings a week, paid every month in advance. You will find it a help, for soldiers want spare cash as well as other people_. At last the morning arrived for Phil and Tony to enlist, and, attended by the sergeant-major, they made their way to Wellington Barracks. Both felt somewhat nervous and bashful, especially when they passed the sentries at the gate. "My eye!" exclaimed Tony in a whisper, "what swells them coves look! Shall we wear them hats, do yer think?" "Of course you will," the sergeant-major, who had overheard the remark, replied. "That is the Guards' bearskin, and you'll learn to be proud of it yet. It's a grand head-dress, and there isn't another half as good; at least that's what I think, though chaps in other regiments would stick up for theirs in just the same way. And you'll find, too, that the forage-cap with the red band round it, that's worn well over the right ear--well over, mind you, youngsters--is as taking a thing as was ever invented." Phil and Tony both agreed, for the men walking about in uniform with forage-caps on did look smart and well dressed. "Now here we are at the orderly-room," said the old soldier, a moment later. "Wait a moment and I'll speak to the sergeant-major." Phil and Tony stood looking with interest across the parade-ground. Then they suddenly heard a voice say in a room at the door of which they were waiting: "Two recruits, and likely-looking fellows, I think you said, sergeant-major? March them in." A moment later a big man with bristling moustache, and dressed in a tight-fitting red tunic, came to the door, and in a voice that made Phil and Tony start, and which could easily have been heard across the square, exclaimed: "Now, you two, get together; yes, just like that. Right turn! Quick march!" It was a new experience, but Phil, who stood nearest the door, carried out the order smartly, and, snatching his hat from his head, followed the sergeant-major. A moment later they were standing in front of a table covered with green baize, and with a number of books and blue papers all neatly arranged upon it. Behind it sat an officer, dressed in a dark-blue uniform, with braided front, and a peaked cap encircled with a dark band and bearing a miniature grenade in front. It was the adjutant, and he at once cross-questioned the new recruits. "Both of you have been in a menagerie," he remarked with some astonishment, "but surely you--and he pointed towards, Phil--have had some education?" "Yes, sir, I have been to a good school," Phil answered, "and before I joined the menagerie I was a clerk in an office for a short time." "Ah, just the kind of man we want!" exclaimed the officer. "And both of you wish to enlist in the Grenadier Guards? Very well; send them across to the doctor's." "Right turn! Quick march!" The words almost made Tony jump out of his skin, but he and Phil obeyed them promptly, and next moment were breathing a trifle more freely in the open air. A corporal was now sent for, and he conducted them across to another room. Here they were told to strip, and a few minutes later were ushered into an inner room, in which were the regimental doctor and a sergeant who sat with a book before him. Phil and Tony were sounded and thumped all over, and then told to hop up and down the floor. They swung their arms round their heads till they were red in the face, and swung their legs to and fro to show that they had free movement of their joints. Then their eyes were tested, and these and their hearing having proved satisfactory, they were declared fit for the army, and were told to dress themselves. "What's coming next, Phil?" whispered Tony, with a chuckle. "We've been interviewed--or whatever they calls it--by the officer, and now we've been punched all over, like folks used to do with that prize mare the boss in the old show was so fond of." "Wait and see," Phil answered, for he too was wondering what their next experience would be. They had not long to wait. The same corporal who had conducted them before took them round to the back of the building, up a steep flight of stairs, and showed them into the quarter-master's stores. And here they spent almost an hour, during which time a complete set of uniform, with the exception of a bearskin, was served out to each of them. Their civilian clothing was then taken from them and safely packed away, and feeling remarkably queer, and uncertain how to carry the smart little cane which had been given them, they were marched away to the barrack-room, heads in air and chests well to the front, as every new recruit does when in uniform for the first time, and trying to look as though they were well used to their new circumstances, whereas every man they passed grinned, and, nudging his comrade, chuckled: "New uns! Look at the chest that redheaded cove's got on 'im, and don't the other hold his nose up?" or something equally flattering. But Phil and Tony were blissfully ignorant of these facetious remarks, and in a few minutes had reached the room in which they were to sleep, and had taken possession of their cots. The following day they were once more inspected by the adjutant, and under his eye the regimental tailor chalk-marked their clothing where alterations were to be made. In due time both settled down to their new duties and began to learn their drill on the parade-ground. A few days, and they lost all the slovenliness of recruits and held themselves erect. Soon they were as smart as any, and an old friend of Phil's, looking at him now, with his forage-cap jauntily set over his ear, his tight-fitting tunic and belt, and the swagger-cane beneath his arm, would scarcely have recognised him, so much had he altered. But had he only asked Tony, he would quickly have learnt the truth. "Yus, that's Phil Western, you bet!" the latter would exclaim; "and I tell yer what it is, that young chap is downright the smartest lad in this lot of recruits, and that's saying a deal, as you'll agree if you'll only take a look at 'em." So thought Joe Sweetman too, when he visited London on one occasion and looked his young friend up. "He's every inch a soldier," he exclaimed admiringly to Mr Western, on his return to Riddington. "As smart and good-looking a fellow as ever I saw; and that lad means to get on and do well. Mark my words! That's what he means, and he'll do it too, or I'm a donkey." CHAPTER FIVE. A STEP IN RANK. Whether or not honest kind-hearted old Joe Sweetman was a donkey was yet to be proved, as the reader will ascertain for himself if he will only have patience to bear with the narrative till the end; but certain it was that Joe and Tony were not alone in thinking well of Phil. "He's a likely youngster," the adjutant had more than once remarked to the colonel, "and he'll make an excellent N.C.O. once he has sufficient service. He's well educated, and always well-behaved, and with your permission, Colonel, I will give him a trial in the orderly-room." "Do just as you like," the latter had answered. "I leave these matters in your hands; only, if you make him a clerk, do not take him altogether from his other duties. He might lose his smartness in the ranks, and what I want is not alone N.C.O.'s who can write well, but men who can be an example to the others, and, above all, have authority over them. Keep your eye on the lad, and let me know how he gets on." "Certainly, sir. I'll see how he performs his duties, and mention the subject to you another day." Phil had thus already attracted attention, and a hint to that effect, passed from the sergeant-major through the colour-sergeant to himself, encouraged him to persevere in his drill. Not long afterwards the battalion received orders to proceed to Windsor, and there relieve another of the Guards regiments. By that time Phil and Tony had completed their recruits' course, and had taken their places in a company of the regiment. "We couldn't ha' been luckier, Phil, could we?" remarked Tony, with a grunt of satisfaction, as the two stood on the parade-ground waiting for the bugle to sound the "Fall in". "I said weeks back as I'd stick to yer through thick and thin, and here we are, yer see, both in the same company, and always falling-in alongside of one another. But it won't last long, mate, and don't you go for to try and make believe it will. I ain't so blind as I can't see that before long you'll wear a corporal's stripes. All the fellers says the same, and it's bound to be true." "I must say I hope it will," Phil replied cheerfully. "It is my aim and object to become an N.C.O. But we needn't think of parting, Tony. We'll still be in the same company, and if we don't stand side by side, we shall be close together in the barrack-room. Besides, you may get the stripes sooner than I." "Me, mate? That's a good un! There ain't a chance." "You never know, Tony; and although it seems far away now, it will come, especially if you always keep out of trouble, as you have done up to this." "Yus, it might," Tony agreed, after a long pause. "Every chap gets a chance, they say, and I'll see if I can't win them stripes just to show yer, Phil, that I've stuck to me oath. And it won't be getting into trouble as will lose 'em for me. I used to be a regular wild un, but I've given that up months ago; besides, I heerd Sergeant Irving a-saying only a few days ago that the chap as was quiet was bound to get on. `What's the good of larking about as some of these idjuts do?' he says. `Them as drinks is certain to get into trouble, and come before the colonel, and what good does it do 'em? They loses their chance of promotion, and they ruins their health. Besides that, they goes down the quickest when the troops is on active service.'" "Yes, that is very true, I believe," Phil answered. "But to return to the stripes. You must win them, Tony, and if only you stick to your work I am sure you will succeed. Then in the course of time you'll be made sergeant, and later perhaps become sergeant-major. What a fine thing it would be! You would have a good pension to look forward to, and one of these days could end your service while still a young man, but with the comfortable feeling that you were provided for for life." "Hum! that's flying away to the skies, mate," Tony chuckled, "but there's plenty of time to see, and--look up! there goes the bugle." Both lads fell in with their company, now dressed in all the pride of bearskins and whitened belts and pouches, and having been duly inspected, marched stiffly erect out through the barrack-gate, up Sheet Street, and into the famous old castle. Many a time did Phil stand motionless by his sentry-box, looking over the terrace-wall at a scene not to be surpassed in any other quarter of Her Majesty's wide dominions--the green fields of Berkshire, with old Father Thames winding hither and thither amongst them, now flowing placidly along between banks of shimmering corn and grass, and anon swirling past with a splash and a gurgle which broke up the reflections of boats and houses brightly mirrored on its surface. Then, sloping his gun, he would march across in front of the terrace gardens and the windows of the royal apartments, and, turning his eyes in the opposite direction, admire the three miles of absolutely straight and undulating road, lined on either side by its double row of grand old oaks and beeches, and ending in a green knoll, surmounted by a pile of masonry, on which is set a large equestrian statue familiarly known as "the Copper Horse". Away on either side the wide stretches of the park would attract his attention, while far beyond the town, appeared the faint blue and reddish band which marks the position of Windsor Forest. Many times, too, whilst on sentry-go, did he stand as rigid as his own ramrod, heels close together, and gun at the "present", as the Queen and the Prince Consort with their children sauntered by. He had even exchanged words with them, for, attracted by his height, and possibly persuaded by the pleading of the infant princes, the Prince had stopped in front of our hero and questioned him as to his age and his parentage. The remarkable manner in which he had been adopted appealed to their curiosity, and before long they had learned Phil's story. When not for guard, Phil and Tony generally managed to find plenty of occupation in their spare hours. In the winter there were long walks to be taken, and in the summer there was the river, a never-failing source of enjoyment, and in those days far less crowded than in this twentieth century, when excursion trains, bicycles, and tooting steam-launches have done not a little to mar its pleasant peacefulness. Hard by the Brocas boats could be obtained, and here a number of soldiers were to be found every afternoon, idling by the river-side and gazing at the youth of Eton disporting on the water, or themselves seated in boats sculling up and down the stream. Phil and Tony were occupied in this way one hot summer afternoon, and having sculled up to the Clewer reach, rowed in to the bank, and made fast there for a while. "It's mighty hot, young un, ain't it?" remarked Tony, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "Phew! it is hot! Why, if we was bound to row these boats, we'd hate the sight of the river. What do yer say to a snooze?" "Just the thing, Tony. It's too hot for any kind of exercise, so let's tie up and wait an hour; then we can pull up to the lock and down again. It'll be time for tea then." Accordingly the two laid in their paddles, and stretching themselves on the bottom of the boat beneath the shade of an overhanging tree, soon fell asleep, lulled by the gentle ripple of the water. An hour passed, and still they slumbered placidly, the wash of a big boat as it slipped by them failed to rouse them. They heard nothing, and even the hoarse chuckles of a few comrades on the bank above them did not disturb them. "What say, Jim? Shall we let 'em go?" grinned one. "Yes, send 'em along, Tom. It'll be a proper joke to watch 'em when they wakes up and looks about 'em," was the answer. "Now, shake off that rope, and pitch it into the boat. So--oh! Gently, man! Shove 'em off as quiet as if they was babies in a cradle." It was a huge joke to those upon the bank, but upon the unconscious occupants of the craft it was wasted. They stirred neither hand nor eyelid, but, locked firmly in the arms of Morpheus, glided down the river, totally unmindful of the shouts which followed them and of the angry "Boat ahead! Where are you coming to? Steer to the left!" which was hurled at them on more than one occasion. Suddenly a louder shout awoke Phil, and, sitting up with a start, he stared around, his eyes wide-open with astonishment, to find that he and Tony were drifting in midstream past the Brocas, and were already within 50 feet of the bridge. "Why, we're adrift!" he exclaimed in a bewildered tone. "Here, Tony, wake up or we shall be on the bridge!" "Eh, what!" grunted Tony, rubbing his eyes. "Adrift! What's that row about?" The shout which had aroused Phil was repeated at that moment and, taken up immediately, assumed a perfect roar, in the intervals of which a loud clattering as of wheels rapidly passing over cobble stones, and the stamp of horses' hoofs were heard. "Sounds like a cart or something coming down the street," said Phil. "Look out, Tony, something's wrong!" As Phil spoke the clatter of hoofs and wheels became deafening, and before either could realise what was happening, two maddened horses dashed on to the bridge, dragging a carriage after them in which a gentleman was seated. On the back of one of the beasts was a postilion, and before Phil had time to exclaim, "It's a royal carriage!" the vehicle had collided with a cart coming in the opposite direction, there was a crash and a sound of breaking woodwork, and next second rider and passenger were shot as if from a catapult over the low rail of the bridge into the water. "Quick! get your paddle out!" cried Phil, snatching one up and plunging it into the water. Tony, now fully awake, sprang up and hastily obeyed, but with such vigour that he swung the boat round till it lay across the stream. Next moment, driven by the swirl of the water, it was hurled against a support of the bridge and capsized immediately. When Phil rose to the surface a few seconds later, and had shaken the water from his eyes, he saw the boat shooting bottom-uppermost through the archway of the bridge, with Tony clinging to it. The stream had already swept him through, and just in front of him, splashing helplessly, was the unfortunate postilion, his eyes glaring round in search of help, and his mouth wide-open as he shouted to the people on the bank. "All right! I'll be with you in a moment," cried Phil, striking out in his direction. A minute later he was by his side, and, grasping him by the shoulder, supported him till the overturned boat floated past them. Both clutched it, and hung on for their lives. "There he is, there's the other!" shouted a crowd of people on the bridge, and, hearing them, Phil hoisted himself as high as possible and searched the water carefully. There was a swirl some fifteen feet away, and two clutching hands suddenly appeared, to be swallowed up an instant later. Leaving the boat Phil struck out with all his might, to find nothing when he reached the spot; but, plunging beneath the surface, he let the stream sweep him on, and groped with outstretched hands on either side. Something touched his fingers, and, grasping it he pulled it to him; holding tightly with both hands he kicked frantically till his head appeared above the water. Another second and the head of the unconscious passenger was reclining on his shoulder, and a burst of hearty cheering was ringing in his ears. Breathless and exhausted after the struggle, Phil looked round and caught sight of the boat drifting down to him. Treading water for a few minutes he supported the figure in his arms, and at last reached out for and obtained a firm hold of the keel, to which he clung, unable to make another effort, so much was he fatigued. But help was at hand. A boat had been hastily pushed off from the river-bank, and before long all four had been lifted from the water and carried up the steps on to terra firma. A doctor was hastily summoned, and meanwhile the gentleman and the postilion were removed to a cottage. As for Phil, five minutes' rest upon the ground made him feel himself again. Then, shaking the water from him, and bashfully exchanging handshakes with the enthusiastic crowd who surrounded him, and would not be denied, he slipped away with Tony, and, aided by a waterman, righted the capsized boat and proceeded to bail the water out. "Come along, let's get out of this, Tony!" he exclaimed fretfully. "I never came across such a bother, and I hate a fuss like this." "But you'll stop and give yer name, Phil? They're certain to want it, 'specially as the cove has summat to do with the castle." "Oh, they can find out later on! Come along and let's get away," repeated Phil, in far more terror now than he had been when the boat upset. "Wait a minute, my men," suddenly sang out a voice from the bank. "I want to find out who you are." Phil reluctantly helped to push the boat alongside, while a gentleman who he knew had some connection with the castle pushed his way to the front of the crowd and, coming down the steps, held his hand out towards him. "Shake hands, my brave young fellow," he said earnestly. "I never saw a more gallant deed, and you can have every cause for satisfaction, for you have saved the life of one of our Queen's most honoured guests. What is your name?" "Private Western, sir," answered Phil with flushed cheeks. "Private Phil Western, Number 1760." "Then, Western, you can expect to hear from me again. You are a credit to your regiment, and your officers and all your comrades shall know what a fine lad you are. Now, I will not detain you. You had better get off and change your clothes." "Three cheers for the sodger boy!" a voice in the crowd shouted; and these were given with a gusto which made Phil's heart flutter, while Tony stood upright in the boat, looking more pleased and proud than he had ever done before. "Shove off!" cried Phil almost angrily. "Shove off, or we shall never get away." A minute later they were pulling up-stream once more. "I don't mind guessing them stripes is yours," chuckled Tony over his shoulder. "Young un, I knewed you'd have 'em soon, but you've won 'em now, and no one ought to feel prouder of them than you. Mate, Tony Jenkins is more pleased than if he'd got 'em hisself, and he feels just like a blessed peacock." Phil made no reply, for he was still confused after his adventure, but for all that the thought that now there was some possibility of promotion elated him. If from this day he was to be known as Corporal Western he determined that he would do credit to that rank, and make use of it as a stepping-stone to a higher one. He wondered what the colonel would say, and was in the middle of imagining himself being thanked by that officer in the orderly-room when the boat banged against the bank. "Come along, mate," cried Tony. "We'll get along to barracks and change these wet togs." Squeezing the water from their garments they left the boat in charge of its owner, and made the best of their way to the barracks, where they were not long in getting into dry clothing. Already a rumour had reached the soldiers, and soon both were surrounded by an eager crush. "What's happened? What have you two chaps been up to?" they asked. "Oh, an upset in the river, that's all!" said Phil nervously. "Here, ask Tony, he knows all about it;" and having transferred their attentions from himself he slipped away, while Tony, seated comfortably on the end of a bed, calmly filled and lighted his pipe, and, puffing big clouds into the air, dilated upon the gallant deed performed by his chum. "He's a good plucked un, you chaps, as I has good cause to know," he concluded. "Once he saved me from a bear as was near tearing me to pieces, and now he's fished a gent out of the river that's staying along with the Queen. He's made, is Phil Western, and'll get his stripes. What's more, I'll tell yer now, so as there won't be no mistakes. When the young un's corporal, we'll all treat him as such. Any chap as doesn't 'll have to square it up with me. So now yer know what to expect." With this final shot Tony pulled hard at his pipe and went off to find his friend. Phil had won his stripes without a doubt, but he had yet to go through the ordeal of receiving them. The very next day his name was down for commanding officer's orders, and when he marched into the orderly-room, and stood to attention in front of the green baize table, there was the colonel looking kindly at him, while a row of officers, no less interested in the young soldier who had behaved so gallantly, stood on either side. "Western, my lad, it is reported to me that you saved two lives from drowning yesterday," said the colonel. "I have made enquiries about it and find that you behaved nobly, and have been a credit to this regiment. I may tell you that your name has already been mentioned as deserving of promotion, and there is no doubt but that you would have received your stripes ere long. But now you may feel doubly proud of them, for you have gained them by an act of bravery, which is seldom the case unless on active service. From this date you are a full corporal. Now, my lad, get your stripes put on, for we shall want to see them on parade." Motionless, looking straight to his front, Phil listened as if in a dream. Then he blurted out, "Thank you, sir!" and a second later was obeying the order, "Right turn! Quick march!" Outside, by order of the colonel, the tailor was waiting for him, and within a quarter of an hour Phil was the proud possessor of two stripes on his right arm, the badge of a full corporal. "There you are, corporal," said the tailor. "They're fixed on strong, and I hope they'll never want to be taken off. Stick to 'em, and when the time comes I'll sew on another with all me heart. Now you'd better look lively. The `fall in' goes in a few minutes, and I hear there's something else for you to listen to." "Something else? Why, what?" asked Phil. "Well, some message came down from the castle, that's all I know of, but they're rigging up the platform on the square, so it looks like some show or other." Phil groaned dismally, and went to his barrack-room to smarten himself up, hoping that this new "show" could have nothing to do with himself. But he was disappointed. The whole battalion fell in, carrying the colours, and having been duly formed up in review order and inspected, they stood at ease, wondering what was coming, and looking with curious eyes at the group of privileged sightseers who had already assembled, and at the red-carpeted platform which had been placed on the opposite side of the square. Suddenly a movement was noticed amidst the crowd outside the gates; they opened up, and a minute later two royal carriages swept in past the guard-room. All eyes were turned towards them, till a hoarse "Battalion, attention. Royal salute. Present arms!" was given by the colonel, and as one man the regiment went through the movement, colours and officers' swords dropped simultaneously, and a royal personage, dressed in full uniform, was driven up to the centre, where, the carriage having stopped, he descended, and returned the salute. Then followed a minute inspection, during which Phil's heart beat tumultuously against his ribs. Afterwards, with colours in air and the band playing, the regiment marched past in column--a sight worth going many miles to see--and finally drew up in quarter column and faced inwards towards the platform. "Corporal Western!" the colonel cried. Phil started and flushed crimson. Then, recovering his composure, he stepped from the ranks, and, marching forward, halted a few paces in front of the platform. "Officers, non-commissioned officers, and men," commenced the royal personage who had reviewed them, stepping forward, "it has given me great pleasure to come here to-day and witness the fine way in which you have marched, and the smart, soldierly appearance you present. You have fully upheld the traditions of the regiment to which you belong. I have now another pleasant duty. One of your number performed a gallant act yesterday. He was then a private, and is now a corporal. He has won his promotion by bravery, as every soldier desires to do, and as a mark of the Queen's gratitude for saving the life of a distinguished guest, and in order that he may never forget this day, I now present Corporal Western with this watch and chain, and I feel sure he will always prize it. It comes from his Queen. May it one day be carried in the fob of an officer!" Bewildered, and scarcely knowing whether he stood on his head or his heels, Phil took the watch handed to him and returned to the ranks. In a dream he heard the regiment answer the colonel's call for cheers as the royal officer stepped into his carriage, and in the same condition he stood, whilst his comrades tore off their bearskins, and, hoisting them on their bayonets, shouted cheers at him for his gallantry. It was a bad half-hour for Phil, but, like all things, it came to an end. Soon he was back in the barrack-room, with friends crushing round and eagerly gazing at the gold watch and chain presented to him. What Phil valued most was the crown set with brilliants on the back, and the inscription beneath, which ran: "_Presented to Corporal Philip Western, of the Grenadier Guards, In recognition of his gallantry, By Victoria R_." Many and many a time did Phil pull out the watch and gaze at that inscription, and often too did he determine that one day it should lie in the waistcoat pocket of an officer. "It's my first step in the regiment," he said quietly to Tony, when talking over his promotion, "and I hope it will not be the last." "Never fear, young un! You'll get higher yet, I know," Tony replied earnestly. "In these days of peace it will take a time, no doubt; but if there's war, as seems likely, then you'll go up, and I don't mind telling yer it's my opinion you'll be an officer yet afore I gets my stripes." "Humbug, Tony! It takes years and years to get a commission, even when on active service. But I mean to have a good try for it, and should troubles come with some foreign power, then, as you say, there is all the more chance of my being successful. Now I am off to the quarter-master to ask him to put this in his safe and keep it for me. I wouldn't lose it for worlds." CHAPTER SIX. WAR WITH RUSSIA. The summer months flew by in the pleasant surroundings of beautiful Windsor. Guard duties alternating with drills, and odd hours spent in the office of the regimental orderly-room, kept Phil pleasantly occupied, and when off duty he and Tony had always plenty of ways of amusing themselves, so that the latter days of September found them loth to leave the garrison and march to London. But orders had come for the battalion to go to Wellington Barracks, and in due course they found themselves once more installed in their old quarters, facing the park across the celebrated Bird-cage Walk. "We've had a real good time down there," remarked Tony, some two months after their arrival, jerking his thumb in the direction of Windsor, "and it'll be long before we strike against such another. "What's to be done here? Nothing--simply nothing! It's drill and go on guard nigh every day, and when you're free, kick yer heels in the square, or go out walking. I'm getting tired of it already." "Oh, come, Tony, it isn't quite so bad as that!" laughed Phil. "We're no harder worked here than we were during the summer, and in our free time we can find heaps to do if we only set about it. They say that thousands of Londoners know far less about their own surroundings than do occasional visitors. Now I propose we get some sort of a guide, and every day we are able, go off to see some gallery or museum. It will cost us little or nothing, and will be good fun. In any case it would take weeks to exhaust all the sights, and before that, if all one hears is true, we are likely to be setting our faces south for some other country." "Oh, you mean we'll be off fighting, do you, Phil? Well, I ain't so jolly certain. Seems to me that England ain't keen on a row just now. It takes a scholar to know anything about it, but I hears that the Queen and her government want peace, and I suppose what England wants she's bound to have. Leastways that's how I reckon it, for we'd whop the heads off any nation what tried to interfere." "Ha, ha! You've rather a big idea of England's power," laughed Phil; "but there's a good deal of truth in it, I expect. I must get to know about this row, and meanwhile we'll do as I said, if you're agreeable." "Yes, it'll suit me well, young un," answered Tony, who was fond of addressing his friend in that way. "I don't drink, and I ain't never in trouble nowadays, thanks to you, but there's no saying what might happen if I hadn't anything to do. What's that kind of saying about idleness?" "Idleness is the root of all evil." "Yes, that's it, Phil. Give me plenty to do, and I'll be better able to keep that promise I made yer." Accordingly Phil and Tony laid out a couple of shillings in a guide, and commenced systematically to investigate the sights of London, commencing with the Tower, where a regiment of Guards was quartered, and turning their attention next to the British Museum, which itself occupied several days. "We must do the thing thoroughly," said Phil, as, book in hand, he and Tony strolled through one of the larger rooms. "I'll tell you what will be a good plan. We'll pay a visit to the map room, look up a certain country, and then investigate whatever curios there happen to be from that part." "I'm with yer, Phil," Tony answered cheerfully, wishing to please his companion, and secretly imbued with a firm determination to make up as much as possible for his ignorance. "But you'll have to show me everything. I don't suppose I'd be able to tell the difference between a map of France and one of England. You'd better start with the lot, and point 'em out one by one." Anxious to improve his humble friend, Phil took up his education in this way with zest, and spent hours in scanning a map of the world. So deeply interested did they become that on the second day they did not observe that a little man, dressed in respectable black, and wearing a large white stock, had stolen up behind them, and with smiling face, and eyes which peered through a pair of glasses, was peeping over their shoulders and listening with interest to the harangue which Phil was delivering for the benefit of Tony. "There's the Black Sea, communicating with the Mediterranean by means of this narrow channel," Phil was remarking, as he placed his finger on the Dardanelles, and ran it up and down to show the communication between the two seas. "There's Turkey, and there's Russia; and it's between those two countries that war is imminent." "Then Russia and the Czar, or whatever he's called, ought to be ashamed of theirselves, that's all I've got to say," answered Tony with disgust. "See what a size the first one is. Why, the other's only a baby." "She'll fight for all that, Tony, so people say, but why or for what I don't know. Russia wants something, and Turkey says `No'. Russia has answered that she will have it or war, and now I believe the Sultan is on the point of replying." "Yus, that's clear enough, young un, but what about Old England? Where does she come in? Why should she fight Russia when the row's between the Czar and the Sultan? It beats me altogether." "And me too, Tony. I'm in a regular fog." "Then allow me to help you," came in suave tones from the dapper little stranger, with such suddenness, that both Tony and Phil started back in surprise. "Ah! did not know that I was there, I suppose," remarked the stranger, with a smile. "But I've been listening--listening with interest for some time. You have had some education, I observe, young sir," he continued, addressing Phil, "and if you and your companion would really care, I will clear up this mystery for you." "Thank you! It would be very kind, sir," exclaimed Phil. "We have bothered about the matter many days." "And there is no one who ought to be informed more than you, my friends," the stranger remarked earnestly. "As sure as my name is Shelton, you of the Guards, and many another soldier boy, will be off towards the Black Sea before many weeks have passed. For war is practically certain." "Horroo! You don't say so, sir!" cried Tony, snapping his fingers with delight and drawing himself up stiffly as though to show Mr Shelton what a fight he would make of it. "But I do, my young friend," the latter replied, with a grave smile. "War is undoubtedly imminent, and the Powers are about to grapple with an enemy as subtle and as courageous as exists in any part of the world. But come, glance at the map and I will try to tell you all about the trouble, and when I have finished I feel sure that you two will go out with all the more determination to do your duty for the sake of the oppressed and for England's honour, for if ever there was an act of bullying the Czar is guilty of it. "You must know that Russia's teeming thousands are, as a mass, densely, hopelessly ignorant. Peasants for the most part, they live a life of abject misery. They are little better than slaves, and, ruled over by various lords, they one and all look to the Czar as all-powerful, unconquerable, and as a tyrant whose word is law, and whose hand, lifted in anger, is worse than death itself. He is, in other words, an autocratic ruler, and he, like those who held the throne before him, has diligently followed out a policy of keeping his poor subjects in a state of ignorance. What a work it would be to lift those poor people from their lifelong condition of serfdom! A work fit for the best of rulers; but educate them, teach them to think for themselves, and at once your autocratic government ceases, for the masses will unite and rise against a galling system of tyranny and oppression. They will no longer bow to the will of one man--to thousands in the far-off districts a ruler only in name,--but, goaded to rebellion, they will fight for that liberty sweet to every man. "Thus, you will follow me, education is opposed to autocratic rule. But such a rule, bringing in its train misery and poverty, breeds discontent, and even the most pitiable of wretches, if sufficiently ill-treated, will brood over their wrongs till the fury of hate seizes them, and once more the reign of the absolute ruler is threatened. So well is the Czar Nicholas aware of this, that to distract the attention of his subjects from their grievances he has filled their minds with the alluring spectacle of foreign conquests. Look at the map. See how big the Russian empire is, and remember how a great part is almost uninhabitable owing to excessive cold. Then look at her capital, Saint Petersburg, and see how far from European ports it is. How much better for her if she possessed a town in the position of Constantinople. Then, with the narrow Dardanelles to guard, she could post a fleet of war-ships in the Black Sea, and at any moment swoop down into the Mediterranean. She would become at once mistress of that sea, and as such could intimidate her neighbours. And in peace times what an outlet the Turkish capital would prove for all Russia's surplus manufactures, and how easily a vast quantity of stores could be imported through it! It would be the making of Russia, my young friends, and she knows it, has known it, and has steadily worked for that end." Mr Shelton paused, and, drawing the map closer, pointed out the various points of interest in Russia and Turkey, while Phil and Tony followed him. "Ah, now I begin to see!" said the former; "Russia wants Turkey, or rather that part of it on the Dardanelles, and that I suppose is the reason for this trouble. But surely she would not deliberately attempt to deprive the Sultan of his capital?" "By no means, young sir; the Czar is far too clever for that. He wanted a pretext for war, and one which would appeal to his people; and what more powerful one could he have found than a religious one, that is, one in which those of the Greek Church were shown to be the martyrs, for Russia belongs to that persuasion. "There was one at hand. The Holy Land, which of course is under the Sultan's sway, is the home of large numbers of priests and others belonging to the Latin and the Greek Churches, and the Czar promptly demanded that the latter should have more religious privileges than the former, while France, whose interests are with the Latin Church, demanded the very opposite. What was the unhappy Sultan to do? Himself a Mahometan, he could not be expected to favour either of the two infidel sects practising their religion at Jerusalem. "It was an exceedingly difficult problem, and it is not to be wondered at that he failed to please both parties. The Latins were moderately content, while the Greek Church was roused into a fit of the warmest indignation, and with it the Czar, who at once despatched two army corps over the Turkish frontier and occupied the country between it and the Danube, in the opinion of all right-thinking people an act of monstrous injustice." "I should think so indeed!" Phil blurted out. "How could the poor Sultan be expected to satisfy both parties? It was a regular trap." "Undoubtedly, undoubtedly, my friend! It was an example of high-handedness never before surpassed," remarked Mr Shelton gravely. "But still war might have been averted, for the Sultan now agreed to the Czar's demands, and in the eyes of Europe Russia could not but withdraw. "Such a course, however, was far from her intentions. With this point gained, she now demanded a protectorate over all subjects of the Greek Church, a suggestion which, if complied with, would have at once led 14,000,000 people resident in Turkey to own the Czar as their ruler, and thus leave the unfortunate Sultan with merely a sprinkling of subjects. "Turkey might have declared war promptly, but now the Western powers, much to the Czar's chagrin and anger, intervened. Look at Austria. If Turkey were occupied by Russia, the emperor's territory would be partially enclosed, and a feeling of insecurity would naturally arise. Therefore he is opposed to the scheme. France has perhaps no very definite reason for opposition, save the upholding of the rights of the Latin Church. But we must remember that she has ever been a belligerent power, and that success in arms would place Louis Napoleon more firmly on a throne at present in a decidedly shaky condition. Also, if she took Russia's part, she would have England and her fleet to cope with, an item that I can assure you, my young friends, is not to be lightly thought of. "And now for England. Ever the mainstay of justice and right, and the protector of the oppressed, she has, considerably to the astonishment of everyone, and particularly of Russia, awakened from that long peace enjoyed since Waterloo, and, shaking herself free for the moment from her absorbing interest in trade, has thrown herself heart and soul into the cause of Turkey. With the French, some of our ships sailed to the Bosphorus; and as Russia refused to withdraw her troops from the Danube, the combined fleets entered the Dardanelles and anchored before Constantinople. "And now comes the crux of the whole thing," said Mr Shelton, with emphasis. "We are not at war, but our interests are aroused, and our sympathy with Turkey is deep. It wanted only a match to set us flaring, and cause us to engage in a war of what magnitude no one can say, and that match has been applied. On the last day of November a small fleet of Turkish ships, which had anchored at Sinope, close above Constantinople, was destroyed, together with 4000 men, by a fleet of Russian war-vessels. It was a cruel and unnecessary act. Capture would have sufficed. But the fatal deed is done, and now I fancy both England and France are launched into the struggle, for their peoples are clamouring for the punishment of the Czar and his subjects. In any case a few days will determine the matter, and then, my lads, your country will have need of you, and thousands more like you." "Then I for one, sir, shall fight all the better and all the harder now that I know exactly what the trouble is!" exclaimed Phil; while Tony gave a grunt of marked approval, showing that if he had failed to grasp exactly the real reason for war, he had at any rate a decided grudge against the Czar and his people, which he would endeavour to satisfy at the earliest opportunity. "And where do you think the fighting will take place?" continued Phil. "Shall we invade Russia, or will our fleets go in chase of the Russian ships? In that case we soldiers would have precious little to do, and the sailors would come in for all the honour and glory." "Rest easy, my young friend," replied Mr Shelton, with a smile. "Both services will have their hands full, or I shall be much surprised. At present matters point to a campaign on the Danube, while our fleet holds the Dardanelles and the Black Sea; but for all I know Russia may be invaded. In that case Sebastopol is likely to be the port fixed upon for attack. Situated in the Crimea, it is an immense naval and military arsenal, which in itself is a constant menace to Turkey. Look at the map once more and note the position of the Danube and of Sebastopol, you will then more readily see the truth of my words." "Don't matter to me where it is, sir!" exclaimed Tony bluntly; "if it's war we'll fight and lick the beggars, see if we don't; and if it comes to invasion, or whatever yer calls it, well, all the better, I say. 'Tain't nearly such good fun sticking behind stone walls and keeping fellers out as it is rushing forts and such like things, and turning the garrison out with the end of a bay'net. That's the boy for 'em. Give me and all my mates a good half-yard of steel at the end of our guns, and see if we don't make it warm for the Russians. We'll do as well as the Froggies at any rate." "That you will, I am sure," laughed Mr Shelton, patting him on the back. "Fancy how strange it is that we who have always been fighting with France, who is, as I might say, our natural enemy, should now be side by side with her, and in all probability will soon be fighting for the same object. It will lead to tremendous scenes of emulation, for no British soldier will care to allow a Frenchman to beat him at anything." "I should think not, indeed," Phil snorted. "There was a chap at the school I first went to who was a regular Froggy. His people had come to England to save him from conscription; it would have been the making of him, for he was a regular donkey, conceited and all that; curled his hair and put scent on his handkerchief. Pah! How we disliked that fellow!" "It sounds as though you had had something to do with him," said Mr Shelton, with a quizzical smile, "for we were saying that no Englishman would suffer a Frenchman to beat him." "Oh--er, yes, there was something like that!" Phil replied, with reddened cheeks. "You see the beggar got so uppish and disagreeable there was no doing anything with him; then, when I called him Froggy, in pure jest, he threw a stump at me, and caught me a crack on the head. I didn't like that, and--er--" "Yes, you did what?" asked Mr Shelton, with the same quizzical smile. "I licked him till he blubbered," Phil blurted out shamefacedly, conscious that he had been dragged into saying more than he had at first intended. "Ha, ha, ha! you licked him till he blubbered," roared the old gentleman, losing in a moment his appearance of gravity, and beaming all over his face. "You licked him, and a very proper thing too, my friend! But you must not be trying such games now. It would mean a court-martial, or even something more serious. But I must be going now. Bear in mind what I have told you, and be sure of this--war--red war-- is at hand. Now good-bye and good luck!--you are just the class of lads that England will want." "Thank you, sir! Good-bye!" cried Phil and Tony, saluting the old gentleman. Then, tucking their canes under their arms, they strode out of the building and away to the barracks, discussing as they went the possibility of war, and the share they were likely to take in it. "I'm going to get a book on Russian!" exclaimed Phil, the day following their visit to the British Museum. "People tell me it is the most difficult of all languages to learn, but I may be able to pick up a few useful words. I remember now that the firm I acted as clerk to did business with another trading with Russian ports, and they had a Russian clerk. I met him once or twice, and I'll just go along and see what he says about the matter." "It's a good thing, right enough, Phil," Tony replied, with a shrug, "but it's far beyond me, as far as the clouds; but you have a try at it, old man, and I'll be bound you'll succeed. I never knew yer beat yet." Accordingly Phil went off at the first opportunity to see the clerk he had mentioned, and after a chat with him bought a book, and was shown the characters as a first lesson. "Take my advice," said the clerk, who was the son of a Russian mother and an English father, and almost entirely English in his ways and thoughts, "and buy a really good map of the country, and a reliable compass. Supposing you get cut off from the troops, it might prove of the greatest service to you. As regards the language, come along to my rooms as often as you like. I am always in about six o'clock, and will be glad to give you a lesson." Phil was not slow to take advantage of the offer. Every day he was free from guards and other duties, and had no engagement with Tony to see the sights of London, he repaired to the rooms of his Russian friend, and there worked hard at the language. If Mr Western could have seen him and his earnestness, he would have been agape with amazement. This his idle adopted son? This the wilful lad who would never settle down to work, and never take a leading place in his class at school? Could this young soldier--this fine, stalwart young fellow (even he would have been obliged to admit it)--who slaved so many hours day and night at the dryest of dry and uninteresting subjects, be really the lad who had always gone contrary to his wishes, the unmanageable boy full of daring and mischief, who had occasioned the vicar of Riddington so many anxious and bitter thoughts? To him it would have been almost beyond belief. His dull and rigidly narrow mind could not have grasped the change. But Joe Sweetman, what would he have said? How he would have chuckled, with just a suspicion of pride and elation, and blurted out: "Didn't I tell you so. Leave the lad alone. Wild and unmanageable? Pshaw! Look at him now. His heart's in the right place. He's got hold of a subject he's interested in, and he's got the backbone to stick to it, though it means a lot of hard work." And Phil had indeed the backbone and perseverance to continue to work at the language. A month passed, and he had apparently made no progress, and the alphabet was still almost a troublesome maze to him. But when some weeks more had flown by he could join a few words together in the semblance of sense, though he was still far from being able to carry on a conversation. By the middle of February, 1854, the year in which the eventful Crimean war began, he could even acknowledge to himself that he was getting on, and that a little more practice would find him fairly proficient. Never for a moment did he forget this ambition of his, this self-imposed task, to master the most difficult of languages. Who is there who cannot imagine the labour it meant, the constant grinding, the late hours when, beneath a flickering gas-jet or a smoking oil lantern, he opened his book and devoured its contents till his eyes were almost falling from his head? Few, indeed, would saddle themselves willingly with such a labour, but to Phil to take up a subject, however trivial, was to succeed, and that very success was the reward he received. The alphabet and more difficult words having now been mastered, the work was far more pleasant, and invited him to persevere. "There's no doubt about it, it is a grind, an awful grind," he one day admitted in muttered tones to himself. "But I'll stick to it. It comes easier to me every day, and who knows what the knowledge may do for me? Interpreters will certainly be required, though to imagine myself one is flying rather high." On parade, at musketry practice, everywhere he would repeat sentences in low tones, and would attempt to put the orders for the soldiers into Russian. Then, at the first opportunity, he and the clerk who had so befriended him would retire to the latter's room and there carry on a long conversation, in which no English was admitted on pain of a small fine. Thus, as the days passed, his proficiency increased, till he was almost competent to find his way through the heart of Russia without much difficulty, so far as the language was concerned. But a far from unexpected interruption occurred. France and England were on the eve of despatching an ultimatum to Russia, and the usually placid life of the Guards was disturbed by orders to embark for active service. CHAPTER SEVEN. GOOD-BYE TO OLD ENGLAND. What excitement there was! What bustle and hard work! Though the brigade of Guards had for long expected, and indeed anxiously awaited, orders to prepare for embarkation, when at last the time did actually arrive, they found still hosts of matters to be dealt with. Men had to be examined as to their physical fitness for rough work in the field; kits had to be looked to, new boots issued, and a hundred-and-one points attended to. Then there were good-byes to be said, for many of those fine, brave lads, the last they would ever have an opportunity of saying, for the Crimea was to claim them, and the deep-trodden mire and mud of the heights round Sebastopol was destined to form a covering for thousands--thousands, alas! of England's bravest soldiers. And the Queen--God bless her!--she too must take leave of her Guards, and wish them a safe return. Ah! it was a grand time, and books on Russian were forgotten in the whirl Phil had too many other things to think about. True, he had few friends to part with, and in that he was to be congratulated, for partings are ever painful; but he had hosts of duties to carry out, and his services in the office of the orderly-room were daily in requisition. "I never see such a time," grumbled Tony disgustedly. "I never get a word with yer now, young un. You're stuck in that office or on some other job all day and every day. I for one shall be jolly glad when we're off, and then I expect every one of us will be precious sorry for a time. The Guards makes a fine show on parade, but aboard a ship, about the size of one of these here barrack-rooms, they'll have to be squeezed like herrings, and then if it blows won't there be a scene! I remember I went for a week in a fishing-boat once, and spent about as miserable a time as I ever did. Lor', how jolly ill and wretched I was!" "Yes, I expect it will take a little time to get our sea-legs, Tony," Phil replied cheerily; "but once the Bay of Biscay is passed we ought to have fine weather, I'm told, and then we shall enjoy it. As to never seeing me, the job is now practically finished. To-morrow the Queen reviews us, and on the twenty-eighth we sail from Southampton. That's only a few days away. Then hurrah for Russia and a campaign!" How loyal every one of those stalwart Guardsmen felt as he stood paraded before Queen Victoria on that eventful day. How he fixed his eyes on that figure standing on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, and swore silently that he would fight and die if need be for her and for the country she ruled. Gone, in the excitement and fervour of the moment, was all thought of coming misery and privation. Gone all fear of death or injury by cannon-shot or bullet. Before them was the Queen, and beyond them, far across the sea, the Russian enemy. Ere they returned they would humble the Czar's pride, or perish in the attempt. And the good and beloved Queen Victoria, as she scanned the long lines before her, did she forget what her soldiers might meet with? Did she know of the horrors ever associated with war that must inevitably fall upon some of the devoted fellows standing proudly erect before her? Yes, she knew, and she did not forget. She knew, too, the need for England to assert herself in support of the oppressed, and though it filled her heart with grief to think that many of those she looked at, many of those stalwart officers from amongst the highest in the land, and lads from amongst the bravest, must fall in the fight, yet she sent them forth with smiling face and words of God-speed and encouragement, for such is the duty of a queen. But at length it was all over. With colours flying and bands clashing before them, the Grenadier Guards marched through a seething crowd which filled the streets of London, and entrained for Southampton. It was a day to be remembered. The masses were full of excitement, and cheered till they were hoarse. Those on foot pressed forward, and, defying all regulations, marched beside their heroes. Sweethearts struggled to clutch the arms of lovers, and wives, poor things! held up their babes and gazed fondly and with tearful eyes at departing husbands. Ay, and it was a time full of trials for the higher as well as the humbler in the land. How many of those fair damsels, dressed in all the finery that money could buy, waved a handkerchief to some devoted lover, and how many women sent all they cared for away to war and duty with dry eyes and an encouraging smile, while surrounded by their sisters, only to retire later and weep in private as if their hearts would break? God knows! Only such things are, and ever will be, when men go out to fight. But at last it was all done with. The train was off, and the din and shouts, the cheers and strains of the National Anthem left far behind. "Thank goodness, we're off!" exclaimed one big fellow who happened to be in the same carriage with Phil and Tony, and who had just waved a last adieu to quite a number of girls. "I wouldn't go through it again for the wealth of the Queen. It makes yer almost wish there wasn't such things as sweethearts." "Get along, George, old man!" another man replied, with a poor attempt at a laugh, as he hastily drew his sleeve across his eyes. "Yer know yer wouldn't be without 'em, bless their little hearts! It's fine to think as there'll be someone at home a-thinking of yer; and just yer wait till we're back again. My eye, what a time we'll have! What do yer say, Corporal Western?" "I fancy I haven't an opinion to give, Billy," Phil said, with a smile. "I haven't a sweetheart yet, you see." "Then yer ought'er, Corporal. You're smart. Why, blow me if you aren't one of the smartest in the regiment, and if yer liked yer could have ten of 'em, and all thinking they was the only one. You've been wasting opportunities." Billy looked quite reproachfully at Phil. "Then I'll have to wait, Billy, I expect. Sweethearts are not to be found in Russia," was the laughing answer. "No, I d'say not. You ought to know, Corporal, for I hear yer can speak the Russian lingo; and knows lots about the country. What's all this row about? None of us chaps knows, and you'd be doing all of us a good turn if you'd tell us." Nothing loth, Phil promptly commenced, and a heated argument following as to the real intentions of Russia, and as to the merits of the French soldiery compared, with the British, the time slipped by, and Southampton was reached before anyone expected it. The men at once tumbled out, and lined up on the platform, kit-bag and rifle in hand. Then in perfect order, and as if performing an every-day movement, they filed up the gangway on to the decks of the _Orinoco_, which lay alongside the wharf, with the _Ripon_ and _Manilla_ astern of her. Weapons were passed from hand to hand along the decks, down the gangways, and into the hold, where they were secured in racks. Then bearskin helmets were collected and stored in an out-of-the-way room, and in less than half an hour every man had disappeared into the hold, and had taken possession of his hammock. "It's a pretty close fit," remarked Tony, looking round; "but I expect we shall be comfortable." "We ought to be, Tony. I hear the Guards have been given extra room owing to their size, and as far as I can see, we shall have just sufficient room to sling our hammocks and lie in them without touching one another." This was the case. From beams screwed to the deck, and supported by pillars, rows of big iron hooks depended in such a manner that, when slung, the hammocks were only a few inches apart, while the foot end of each of the next row just protruded between them as far as the head of the occupant. "Now, we'll stow our kits here," said Phil, "and go on deck. I heard the captain telling the colonel that he should cast off at once, so we may as well see as much of the old country as possible. Who knows when we shall set eyes on it again? Perhaps it will be a year or more before the war is over and we are at liberty to return." "Then we'll say good-bye to it, though I tell yer, Phil, I'm fair tired of this yelling. It makes yer feel curious just here," and he pointed to his throat. "I ain't got no friends to bother about, but I feels for the poor chaps as has, and I hates to see the girls a-blubbering. Poor things! They was just a-crying their pretty eyes out back there in Lunnon." "Yes, it's a trying time for sweethearts, husbands, and wives, Tony, but let's hope all will meet again, though I suppose that isn't possible, unless we find that the troubles have been settled before we reach the Black Sea. It would be a merciful thing, though bad luck for us." "Bad luck! I should think it would be, Phil. Why, remember what we're after, you and me. Promotion--quick promotion. You've got to get that commission and become a toff of an orfficer, and I've got to win me stripes; and how's it all to be done unless we smell powder? No, there's going to be a jolly war, and we Guards are going to be in the thick of it;" and having settled the matter, as it were, Tony gave a grunt, expressive of the disgust he might feel if the troubles really were to disappear in smoke, and, turning on his heel, climbed up the gangway ladder to the deck. There were numbers of soldiers already lining the rails, and a crowd of people on the quay, all chattering, calling to one another, and attempting to look cheerful and gay under obviously depressing circumstances. Then a man with a grey beard, upright carriage, and a general appearance which did not need the row of medals displayed on his waistcoat to proclaim him an old soldier, stepped forward, and, producing a cornet, played "The British Grenadiers." Already the hawsers had been cast off. Two panting little tugs were slowly towing the paddle-ship into the open water, and hoarse voices sounded from the bridge. The tune changed to the National Anthem, and hats were doffed by the crowd, while every lad on board stood at attention. Then the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" came across the water, at first loud and distinct, but gradually getting fainter, cheers passed from deck to quay, handkerchiefs and sticks were waved, the railway-engine screeched a last farewell with its whistle, and the _Orinoco_ trembled from stem to stern at the beat of her paddles, like some powerful animal making a terrific struggle to escape its bonds. The parting was over. Men gazed at the rapidly receding shore, and then turning, dived below decks and busied themselves in arranging their hammocks. What was the good of being downcast? Who could look into the future? As well make the best of matters and take things cheerfully. Soon all were laughing and joking, perhaps a little more soberly than before, but still far more happily than an hour ago. "Now, my lads," cried the sergeant-major, "each man to his hammock, and we'll serve out to-day's allowance of rum. It'll cheer you up and keep the cold out." One by one the men were served with the spirit, and soon after, having been joined by the sailors off duty, Jack Tar and Thomas Atkins sat themselves down to a convivial evening. Pipes were produced, and some thoughtful fellow extracting a concertina from the depths of a kit-bag, an impromptu concert was commenced and kept up till "lights out." "This kind of thing won't be allowed every night, I expect," said Phil, as he sat by Tony's side, for many of the sailors, liberally helped to a portion of the soldiers' rum, were reeling away to their quarters. "Ah! well, it's only the first night out, mate, mind that. The officers, I expect, knows about it as well as we do, but they knows the boys want cheering. But I expects there'll be a change." And as a matter of fact there was, for on the following day, when the hour for the serving out of grog came round, the men were drawn up in their several messes. Then under the eye of the sergeant-major one mess was served, and at the order, "Men served one pace forward and swallow," the spirit disappeared. It was a strange feeling to lie for the first time in a hammock, but the men took to it like ducks to water. "It's jolly comfortable, and ever so much softer than a barrack-bed, ain't it, Phil?" remarked Tony, as he lay full length close beside his friend, with only his face showing, and a pipe projecting from his lips. "I've slept in a harder bed many a time," laughed Phil. "But I'm tired; so good-night, Tony!" At 6:30 a.m. the next morning _reveille_ sounded through the ship, and the men tumbled out, to find a fresh, cold breeze blowing and a nasty sea on. Faces fell, for soldiers, like other mortals, fall victims to _mal de mer_. Breakfasts were looked at askance, and scarcely touched, and soon the rails were almost as thickly crowded as on the previous day. "Lummy! How jolly bad I feel!" groaned Tony. "I'm off to me bunk as fast as me feet will take me." Phil nodded curtly, and very soon followed his example, for he too was not exactly enjoying himself. On the following day the ship was on an even keel once more, and bright faces and merry jokes were everywhere. In seven days Gibraltar was reached, but no one was allowed to land, and no sooner had the ship coaled than she paddled on to Malta. Arrived there, the troops disembarked, to hear the welcome news that France and England had declared war on Russia on the day after their sailing. "That's all right, then!" exclaimed Tony with a grunt of satisfaction. "We shall soon have a taste of fighting, and the sooner it comes the better. See them coves over there, Phil? Ain't they smart, just. Wonder how they'll tackle the Russians!" He alluded to a ship-load of French artillery which had arrived only a few hours before in the harbour. Smart, athletic men they looked, as they crowded the decks and shouted back greetings to the British. "They are said to be amongst the finest gunners trained by any nation," answered Phil, "and I've no doubt they will do well. But look out, Tony; there goes the bugle. I expect we shall have to disembark." The bugle notes rang out clear, waking the harbour of Valetta with the echo; and the hoarse voice of the sergeant-major penetrated to every hole and corner of the _Orinoco_. "Fall in, lads," he shouted. "Smartly now; by companies." Phil and Tony soon found their places, and then for half an hour were busily engaged in passing rifles and bearskin helmets and in securing their kit. When all were ready, the disembarkation proceeded apace, and in an hour the Grenadier Guards were ashore and comfortably housed in casemates of the forts. "I wonder how long we shall stay here," remarked Phil about a week later, as he and Tony stood on the ramparts and gazed at the town. "The sooner we leave the better. Our men are having a splendid time, and have struck up a great friendship with the Frenchies, but at this rate it won't do. Look at those fellows over there." "They are pretty bad; you're right, Phil," Tony grunted, as he watched a tiny French artillerist staggering down towards him, with two burly British linesmen on either side, with arms firmly linked in his, and all three roaring a refrain to be heard in any _cafe_ in the town. "Pretty bad! I should think so, Tony. But it won't last. Our officers know what is going on, and we shall sail very shortly. The new life and excitement here and the low price of spirit make it easy for our men to get intoxicated and behave in a riotous manner. After all, one cannot exactly blame them. They are going to a rough country probably, and are making the most of the present time. But much of this sort of thing will play havoc with them in the end. Only yesterday I heard our doctor say that disease was far more dangerous to armies than bullets, and that men who entered upon a campaign in indifferent health were certain to go under if hardships had to be faced. I mean to take plenty of exercise, and beware of eating too much fruit." "Then I'm with yer, mate. Yer know drink ain't nothing to me now, and I can see as the feller what keeps himself fit, takes walks and plenty of fresh air, and don't eat nor drink too much, finds himself better able to enjoy his life. Why, ever since that ugly old bear gave me a mauling I've been a different man. I have, Phil. A different and a better man. But come along, mate, let's take a stroll about and see what's happening. Some of those French blokes is going to do a gun drill, I hear, and we may as well look at 'em." It was a wise resolution on Phil's part to keep himself in good trim, for no one possessed of common sense can doubt that nothing is more prejudicial to a young man than riotous living. For a time an excellent constitution may stand the unusual strain, but sooner or later health is shattered, and with additional strain, when met by cold and exposure, and perhaps insufficient food, disease finds a ready victim, and another patient falls into the hands of doctors already heavily pressed by work. Fortunately for all, orders were not long in coming, and soon the Grenadiers were on the sea again. A short and most interesting voyage followed till they reached the entrance to the Dardanelles and dropped anchor. It was pitchy dark, and the outlines of the forts which guard the narrow entrance could not be made out; but excited shouts and an occasional blue flare which lit up a limited area, showing gesticulating figures clad in Turkish costume, proved that the coming of the _Orinoco_ had not passed unnoticed. On the following morning the ship weighed anchor, and, steaming into the Bosphorus, drew up opposite Scutari, fated to prove the scene of awful misery to the British. That evening Phil and his comrades were ashore, and were safely housed under canvas. Two days later they obtained permission to visit Gallipoli, where the bulk of our army had landed, with numbers of the French, and, hiring a native craft, were rowed across. "Looks like a fairy place, don't it, Phil?" remarked Tony as, seated in the boat, he gazed at the shore of Gallipoli. "Look at them things like white fingers a-sticking up into the sky, and those white houses amongst the green trees." And, indeed, seen from a distance, and, above all, from the sea, Gallipoli with its immediate surroundings is a paradise. It consists of a collection of all sorts of houses scattered here and there hap-hazard on the foreground, other houses built on the hill behind, and the whole swathed in green patches of luxuriant tree-growth, and backed by the distant hills. It was an enchanting spot, and its charm was greatly increased by the fact that it was situated in a strange land, where large domed mosques and white-washed minarets reared high in the air, and reflected the rays of a glorious sun from their glistening surfaces. Phil and Tony were delighted with it, but as the boat drew nearer, and dirt and squalor became visible, their faces fell. "Pah! It's worse than a farmyard," exclaimed Tony, with disgust, as he sniffed the air. "And look at that mud!" "Wait a minute, and let us see what the streets are like. Perhaps they will be interesting," answered Phil, with a laugh. "Certainly this part of Gallipoli is rather unsavoury, and the sooner we are away from it the better." The boat touched the shore, and, having paid the small sum demanded, the two set off, and were soon in the centre of the town. Every moment some new sight arrested their attention, and in the excitement of the moment they quickly forgot the dirt and foul gutters to be seen everywhere. Grave Turks accosted them, politely stepping on one side to allow room for them to pass; Greeks weighed down with huge baskets of merchandise staggered past; and ever and anon a swarthy, unclean-looking Armenian Jew flitted down some by-street as if fearing to be seen. Soldiers in every variety of uniform, Highlanders, lithe, plucky-looking little riflemen, and daintily-dressed Zouaves came by singly and sometimes arm-in-arm, a burly Englishman fraternising with some dapper little Frenchman, and endeavouring vainly to carry on a conversation with him. Phil and Tony were greatly interested, but to their astonishment, though the sight of foreign soldiers must have been a rare one indeed to the Turks, not a single inhabitant of this oriental spot showed any curiosity or looked up when they passed. In every little shop or doorway a Turk was seated cross-legged on a low divan, puffing moodily at his chibouk, each and every one, whether grey-bearded or otherwise, motionless, immovable, and absolutely uninterested. "Well, I never!" exclaimed Phil. "Did you ever see such a sleepy lot, Tony? They look as though an earthquake would not move them; and the children, too, seem just as little upset by the arrival of the troops." "They are about the sleepiest lot I ever see," growled Tony in reply. "That old cove over there might be made of wax; and what's this a-coming down the street? I suppose it's a woman, but she might just as well be a sack. Ugh! Give me England and English girls! Let's get on, old man, and see what these here Frenchmen are up to." Everywhere the streets were labelled with French names, and indeed the French seemed to be far more _en evidence_ than the British. They had inaugurated a cafe, the best building in the town was utilised as their hospital, and their general had his quarters in a prominent position. One might have thought that the British were not there at all, save that Highlanders stepping briskly along the pavements, and an occasional infantry-man or a mounted orderly passing through the streets showed that our forces too were represented. "It is curious to see so much that is French and so little that is English," remarked Phil in a disappointed voice. "Everywhere it's Rue this or Rue that; never an English name, from the landing-stage to the edge of the town. What can our people be doing?" "They're awake. You trust 'em for that," Tony answered with conviction, "Just because they haven't christened all the streets and painted their names everywhere, don't you think they're not every bit as good as these here Froggies." It was almost nightfall when Phil and Tony reached Scutari again and rejoined their comrades, and there they remained until early in June, passing the greater part of their days in drills and musketry practice, and in exploring the surrounding country. CHAPTER EIGHT. LOST IN THE CRIMEA. "Bustle up, you boys! Put your kit together, Tony, as quickly as you can, for we are off at last!" cried Phil excitedly, on his return one morning from the tent which had been set apart for the orderly-room clerks. "I have great news for you." "What is it? Out with it, Phil!" came in a chorus from the nine men who shared the tent with him. "A move at last! Hurrah! We're all precious tired of this place. Is it Russia we're off to?" "No, not that, but Varna," answered Phil. "We sail to-morrow, I have been told, and with the French march against the Russians. It will be the opening scene of a grand campaign, for I hear they are besieging Silistria, in the province of the Danube." "Then all them yarns about the Crimea, or whatever they calls it, and taking Sebastopol, is all wrong 'uns," exclaimed Tony, with disgust. "Never mind, boys. I expects Silistria's better than that. It'll be warm at any rate; at least that's what people say; and I shall be precious glad, for if there's anything that upsets me, it's freezing cold weather, and that's what we'll have in the Crimea." "Anything's better, I reckon, than sticking in this here place," chimed in another. "What have we been doing? Simply drilling day and night, it seems, and eating our rations. Wasting time, I calls it. Then every chap has been sick. See how many of our poor fellows has died. Let's get out of this, I says. Anything's better than sitting still." There was a grunt of assent from all, for disease had already picked out many victims from amongst the men of the combined armies, and inaction amongst a number of troops living in more or less confined quarters had already had disastrous results. Accordingly the move to Varna was hailed with delight, and the men of the Guards embarked with feelings of unmixed pleasure. Arrived at Varna, a picturesque spot on the sea-coast, they found the French already there, and other troops arriving daily. Not long afterwards a French force set out to march towards Silistria, but with terrible results. Cholera had dogged their footsteps from Marseilles, and seven days after leaving the coast this dread disease attacked the two divisions under General Canrobert with malignant fury, bringing no less than 7000 of the unfortunate men to an untimely end. It was an awful example of sudden death, for in three days the divisions crawled back into Varna more disorganised and downhearted than if they had sustained a terrible defeat. "It is terrible!" exclaimed Phil when the news reached him; "and worse still to think that the epidemic may come into our camps. If it does, God help us! for thousands will die. Remember our rule, Tony, no fruit. It is the most dangerous article of food at present, and has already killed many by causing dysentery. So beware of it, as you value your life." Indeed, so certain was this, that the men were warned against over-indulgence in fruit and vegetables, and the regimental doctor earnestly advised all to boil any water before drinking it. In spite of the warning, however, many were too thoughtless or too careless to heed it, and scarcely had the shattered ranks of the French crawled into Varna when cholera broke out amongst the British. Of these there were some 22,000, whilst the bulk of the garrison was composed of 50,000 French and 8000 Turks. As if by the hand of the Destroying Angel the dread scourge spread through the camp, striking down men on every side, irrespective of race, creed, or age. Hundreds died, and the hospitals were filled to overflowing. As for the still hale and hearty, they went about silently, and as if fearing to laugh or sing, for on all sides their comrades were dying. Instead they stared moodily at one another with wide-open eyes which seemed to ask: "How much longer will this misery last? When will our turn come to fall victims to this dreadful scourge--this terrifying sickness which strikes silently and unawares, and yet so surely and so fatally that he upon whom its grip is fastened can scarcely hope to see the light of another day?" Phil often asked himself these questions. "The doctor has called for volunteers to nurse the sick," he said one morning as he sat in the tent and looked at his comrades, whose numbers were already sadly diminished. "What? Volunteers to nurse them with cholera!" exclaimed one in awe-struck tones. "Yes, to nurse the cholera patients." "He'll never get any--never!" said the man moodily. "It's bad enough to know it's here amongst us. But who's going to run against it if he's able to keep away? It's like shooting yourself." "There's risk certainly," remarked Phil calmly, "but the doctors take it, and so do their orderlies; and after all, one must die some day. Won't any of you fellows volunteer?" No answer was returned, though Tony looked up at his friend with a frightened, half-guilty face, and then, like his comrades, stared moodily at the ground. "Well, good-bye, in case!" said Phil shortly, and stepped out of the tent. "Here, what's this you're doing, Phil?" gasped Tony hurriedly, following him, and looking searchingly at him as if to read his inmost thoughts. "I'm going to help, Tony. The men are dying like flies, poor fellows! and the hospital staff is simply overwhelmed. Volunteers are asked for, and I'm one. At any other time I wouldn't dream of it, but now it's different. Besides, this inaction is too trying, and I feel that I must have something to occupy my thoughts." "Don't say no more, mate, I'm with yer," Tony blurted out, flushing red with shame and grasping his friend's hand. "It's just what a chap like you would do, and I'm blowed if I don't come along too." It was a desperate undertaking for Tony, for, like all uneducated people, he had a far greater dread of cholera than others better informed. But his friend's decision was enough for him, and, swallowing his fears with a gulp, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and followed Phil to the hospital. "There, it's not half so bad as you imagined, and, for the matter of that, not nearly so serious an undertaking as I thought," said Phil, some two weeks later, as he and Tony sat on the door-step of the hospital, taking a little fresh air after their unpleasant work. "No, 'tain't as bad, but it's trying," remarked Tony thoughtfully. And he was right. It had been trying work. Gifted with considerable common sense and a fair education, Phil had rapidly picked up the duties of a nurse sufficiently well to be able to render real help to his comrades who were suffering from cholera, and was now in charge of a large ward, with Tony to help him. And together they had worked day and night, relieving one another, and earning the praise of doctors and patients alike. "You shall never regret this sacrifice," said the doctor gratefully. "I have already mentioned you to the colonel; and be sure, when honours are given at the end of the campaign, you will not be overlooked. I know what it means to you, and that you would far rather face the guns of the Russians than this disease." "It's not so bad, now we're used to it, sir," said Phil; "but I own I'd far rather be in the fighting-line; not so much because I fear the disease, as because it is so distressing to see all these poor fellows die in agony." "Right, lad, right! I know what it means," the doctor answered, with a sigh. "But, thank Heavens! the epidemic is abating." By the middle of August there was a considerable decrease, though the fleet was suffering severely in spite of having severed its connection with the shore. A week later the number of cases was infinitesimal compared with what it had been, and in consequence arrangements were pushed forward for another move. "We shall go to the Crimea this time," said the doctor, who seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Phil, and often indulged in a chat with him. "Austria has moved 50,000 or more of her troops down Silistria way, and the Russians have raised the siege and retired. Now we are going to show them that war cannot be commenced with impunity on such trivial grounds. It is supposed to be a secret, but Sebastopol will undoubtedly be our object, and we shall endeavour to destroy it." It was evident to all, in fact, that something was in the wind. A huge fleet of East Indiamen and other craft assembled off Varna to act as transports, and immense barges were prepared for the reception of artillery. Stores, too, stood in enormous stacks down by the shore, and everything pointed to a change of quarters. The news of a possible move spread like fire through the camp, and at once the spirits of the soldiers rose. Despair gave way to cheerfulness, and whistling and singing were again to be heard. At last came the orders to embark, and on September 4th the British fleet, which stretched away to the horizon, set sail for an unknown port, and with an agreement to meet the French and Turkish vessels _en route_. It is unnecessary to detail the vexatious dallying and delay that occurred. Had fixed plans been drawn out before the departure from Varna, the allied armies could have reached the Crimea and landed upon its shores in three days, but nothing had been arranged. The fleets sailed hither and thither aimlessly, it seemed, and finally anchored, while a party was sent forward to reconnoitre. The natural result was that the Russians suspected that a descent was contemplated upon Sebastopol and at once prepared for emergencies, entrenching the landward face of the town and fortress, which till then was almost devoid of batteries and fortifications. But at last something was decided, and at daybreak on September 14th the huge fleet of transports, now joined by French and Turks, dropped anchor off Lake Saki, near Eupatoria, some 34 miles from Sebastopol. The boom of a gun at once echoed along the shore, followed by a puff of smoke from a port-hole of the French flagship. At once a boat shot away from her stern and made for the beach. "Ah! the beggars!" exclaimed Phil. "They will be the first ashore. Why does not our general send a boat to race them?" "Plenty of time, mate," growled Tony, no more pleased than his friend to see their dapper allies to the front. "We'll show 'em yet; see if we don't." All eyes were fixed on the boat. It ran gently on to the beach, its crew sprang out, and within a few minutes a flagstaff was erected, and the tricolour run up to the accompaniment of a shrill "Vive l'Empereur!" faintly heard across the water. "Yes, shout if yer like," cried Tony in disgust. "See how we'll show yer. It don't take much to put up a flag there on the shore, but wait till it comes to planting it in a fort; we'll be there with yer, and p'r'aps show yer the way." "Come, come," laughed Phil. "It's all your jealousy. The French are a brave nation and can fight; though I'm glad to think that we have always beaten them. Ah! there goes another gun, and see, they are disembarking." "Yes, so they are; but look away over there," exclaimed Tony, pointing to the shore, where on an upland plateau, above the lake, some two hundred yards from the sea, stood five shaggy-looking ponies with figures seated on their backs holding long lances in their hands. "Cossacks!" remarked Phil. "They are watching us. It seems strange that the Russians have made no preparations to oppose our landing, but I suppose they were quite uncertain as to the exact spot we should hit upon." Transferring their attention from the figures on the shore to the French fleet, they watched, not without some amount of envy, the rapid disembarkation of the soldiers. But very soon another gun boomed out, and boats dashed from the British men-of-war towards the transports. "Now our turn has come," remarked Phil. "Come along, Tony. We'll get our kit strapped on, and then we shall be ready at any moment." "Pass the word along there for Corporal Western," sounded across the deck at this moment; and, hastily making his canteen fast, Phil shouldered his Minie rifle and stepped up to the adjutant. "Take two men," the latter ordered, "and mount guard over the boxes of ammunition. You will land with them and see them safely stacked out of reach of the water, and remain in charge of them till you are relieved." "I understand, sir," said Phil, saluting smartly by bringing his disengaged hand across to his rifle and striding away. "Tony, I want you," he said, "and we'll take Sam Wilson as well. We're to mount guard over the ammunition." It was the first really responsible charge that Phil had had entrusted to him, and he felt proud of it. Taking Tony and Sam with him, they stacked the boxes which had just been hoisted from the hold, and while one strode up and down in front, the other two sat down and waited for the order to disembark. Soon it came, and the men, who had fallen in, two deep, slowly filed to the gangways. It was a difficult undertaking to disembark so many, but with the help of the sailors the greater part of the work was completed by nightfall. "By Jove, it's really grand to see how those Jack Tars work," remarked Phil. "They have made no end of trips to the shore already, and here they are preparing to tow us." Honest Jack indeed worked like a slave. As if to show his comrade-in-arms what he could do, and that he was master on the sea, he handed each soldier down into the boats as tenderly as if he were a child, remarking: "Now sit down there, matey. It'll soon be over, and this here swell's simply nothing;" or, "Hang on to that there ladder with yer eyebrows. Yer ain't used to these monkey tricks, and I've seen a better man than you let go and get a sousing." Thomas Atkins listened to it all good-humouredly, and took his place obediently, while the sailors pulled the heavy boats and flats ashore. Phil and his charge were taken in a special boat, and on landing the boxes were carried up and stacked in the centre of the camp selected for the Grenadier Guards. By this time the wind had risen, and rain had commenced to fall. "It looks like raining all night, Phil," said Tony ruefully, staring up at the heavy clouds. "It's a fine look-out for us, for there ain't a single tent amongst us." "Then we're no worse off than our officers, Tony. I see, though, that those Frenchies are housed under tiny tents they call `_tentes d'abri_'. Why shouldn't we make a kind of hutch with these boxes. One of us must do sentry-go outside, of course, but the other two may as well keep dry, and for the matter of that there are sufficient boxes to make a regular hut big enough to lie down in, and high enough to cover the sentry." "Lummy, that's a cute dodge!" cried Tony. "We'll fix it up at once. Come along, Sam; lend a hand before this rain goes through us." The boxes were heavy, but within a quarter of an hour quite a respectable house had been formed, with a blanket for a roof, and the opening turned away from the wind. Into this two of them crept, while the third stood on guard under the covering. By this means, while everyone else in the British lines spent a miserable night, and was drenched to the skin, Phil and his comrades escaped the rain, and awoke in the morning refreshed by a good sleep. Phil was not relieved from his charge, but, with the two men helping him, remained on guard all the following day, when a native cart, called an "araba", was provided for the carriage of the ammunition, and he was informed that he would be in charge of it, and must see to having it loaded before the troops marched. "A precious nice game," snorted Tony, when he heard the order. "Here we are, stuck right in rear of the troops, in charge of a few boxes of ammunition. Why couldn't someone else have been chosen?" "Don't you grumble," replied Phil severely. "We have a responsible charge, and for all we know we may have even more fun and adventure than the others. Now it's your turn for sentry-go, so out you get. You can grumble there to your heart's content." Tony departed abashed, and Phil and Sam looked on at the debarkation, which still continued. By the 17th all were ashore, save the sick, of whom there were still a large number. Even to a veteran soldier it was indeed a most interesting sight to see the huge allied army assembled on the upland slopes above the lake. In the distance the Turks, sitting contentedly and composedly in their tents; the French, like so many ants, bustling hither and thither and busily superintending the mid-day meal; and the lines of the British, now provided with tents for the few days before they marched from the shore. It was a large force, and as many regiments were to make themselves for ever famous in the course of the campaign, it will perhaps be advisable to explain how our army was divided. In chief command was Lord Raglan, an officer who for many years had lived a peaceful life, and had therefore little, if any, experience of warfare. His army consisted of six divisions, each made up of several regiments and commanded by a brigadier, or in some cases divided into two portions under different leaders. The Light Division consisted of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusiliers, 19th Regiment and 23rd Fusiliers, under Major-general Codrington, and the 33rd, 77th, and 88th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Buller. The First Division, under the Duke of Cambridge, included the Grenadier Guards, the Coldstream and Scots Fusilier Guards, now the Scots Guards, with Major-general Bentinck in command, and the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders, fine brawny sons of the heather, under Brigadier Sir C. Campbell. The Second Division comprised the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, under Brigadier-general Pennefather, and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Brigadier-general Adams. The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was composed of the 1st Royals, 28th, 38th, 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments, commanded by Brigadiers Sir John Campbell and Eyre. The Fourth Division, under Sir George Cathcart, consisted of the 20th, 21st, and 63rd Regiments and of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. The 46th and 57th Regiments, which were to form part of it, had not yet arrived, but were _en route_ from England. The Cavalry Division, under Lord Lucan, was divided into a light brigade, under Lord Cardigan, which was made up of the 4th light Dragoons, the 8th and 11th Hussars, the 13th Dragoons, and the 17th Lancers; and the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, in command of Brigadier-general Scarlett, which comprised the Scots Greys, 14th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, and 6th Dragoons, the first regiment not having yet put in an appearance. It was indeed an immense force, and of course needed a huge commissariat train to feed it. On the 18th the allied armies moved out of camp towards the Alma, the French being on the right, next the coast-line, and supported there by the guns of the fleets, while the brigade of Guards marched in rear. Phil took his place behind his regiment, and, slinging his rifle, acted as driver of the araba, while Tony and Sam trudged along on either side. "It won't be long now before we hear guns," he remarked cheerfully from his elevated perch on top of the ammunition-boxes. "The Cossack fires were only a couple of miles in front of us last night, and it is scarcely likely that we shall be allowed to advance far without opposition. So look out for squalls, you fellows." "It's what we've come for, mate," Tony replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders, "but it strikes me as we'll have to be looking out for trouble with this here old cart afore long. This wheel won't stand much of this kind of jolting." The roads were indeed in places extremely rough, and a foot or more deep in mud after the recent rains and the trample of the troops in advance. "Didn't I tell yer so," cried Tony a moment later, as the araba sank almost axle-deep and stopped abruptly. "Whip up them horses, Phil, or we'll get left behind." Phil promptly applied the whip, but to no effect, and before the cart was again set in motion by the united efforts of his comrades and the horses, they had lost a considerable amount of ground. Then, to their intense vexation, one of the animals stumbled, and, falling upon the shaft, snapped it in two. "What a misfortune!" exclaimed Phil, surveying the wreck. "But we are in charge of this ammunition, you fellows, and must bring it through. It is getting dark already, so I expect the troops will soon be halting. Lend a hand, both of you, and we'll splice this break, and catch the regiment up later on." "You'll have to unload first, mate," Tony answered. "This weight is too much for one horse to keep up while we're mending, and besides, we'll get the job done in half the time if we take 'em both out and empty the cart." Accordingly all three set to work and lifted the heavy boxes out. Then the horses were unharnessed, and with a length of rope and a batten of wood a shift was made to mend the break. "That will do, I think," said Phil at last, surveying the work with satisfaction. "Now in with the animals, and let us get along as quickly as possible. We must be a couple of miles behind the troops, but fortunately the road is clear, and though it is a dark night we ought to reach them without trouble." Once more they set out on the road, and were congratulating themselves on the fact that they were close to the camp, when Tony called a halt. "What are them coves over there?" he asked, pointing ahead to a collection of camp-fires, in front of which mounted figures were flitting. "If them ain't Russians, I'm a Frenchie." "They look remarkably like Cossacks, I must say, Tony," replied Phil anxiously. "Stop here a few moments while I go forward and make certain." In another minute he had disappeared in the darkness. Walking boldly forward for three hundred yards he then judged it wise to observe some caution, and, stooping low, crept forward on the turf at the roadside, which completely muffled his footsteps. Suddenly a figure loomed up in front of him, followed by another, and, flinging himself on the ground, Phil crawled behind a growth of low bush and hastily hid himself from view. "There, Petroff," he heard a harsh voice say in Russian, "that is your post. Remain there till you are relieved. If these pigs of Englishmen advance this way gallop back and warn us. See that you do not sleep, my man, or as the Czar, our master, lives, I will hang you to the nearest tree." "Excellency, your orders shall be obeyed," the Cossack trooper answered humbly, and then, as his officer rode off, swore in a low but audible voice. "Hang me to the nearest tree!" he muttered angrily. "Ah! Will he! Wait, your most noble excellency. Who knows how soon a bullet shall put an end to your threats, and should it come from behind instead of from these foreign pigs, then--ah, well! the fortune of war." The man gave a stamp, as if to show his hatred, and, turning his horse, led it back a few paces. Phil at once rose to his feet and took to his heels in the direction of the cart. "We have lost our way," he said, on rejoining his friends. "I cannot imagine how it has happened, but perhaps the British camp lies in a hollow, and we have mistaken the Russian fires for theirs. We evidently went off to the left, and now we must keep to the right." Whipping up the horses, they pushed on once more, but two hours passed and still there was no sign of the camp. "We're lost, that's what it comes to," said Tony calmly. "What shall we do, Phil? Seems to me 'tain't no use going ahead like this, for we shall be into the middle of the Russian army before long." "That's what I'm afraid of, Tony. I think we had better stop here for to-night, and start again at daylight. We'll take the horses out and tie them on behind. No smoking, you fellows, and keep as quiet as you can. A match might lead to our capture, and we don't want to see the inside of a Russian prison so early in the campaign." "Then, if we're stopping here, I vote we prepare for the worst," said Tony. "Supposing daylight shows us Cossacks all round, we sha'n't stand a chance. It won't take no more than an hour to build a wall with these boxes, and it may come in useful, for it's better to lie behind cover and fire than stand out in the open." "That's a good idea, Tony, and we'll see to it," agreed Phil readily. "Now all together and get these horses out. Tie them with a long rope. In that way they will get a feed of grass, and as for water, there is plenty of dew falling to quench their thirst." An hour later a wall some six feet long had been built close alongside the cart, leaving room for Phil and his friends to lie between it and the wheel. Then, having done all that was possible, they ate a portion of the three days' rations which each carried in his haversack, and, wrapping themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep, one of their number, however, being left seated upon the boxes to keep guard. Three hours later, when Phil's turn came for duty, the sky was already brightening in the east, and he waited anxiously for daylight. Gradually the dawn lit up the sky, chasing the dark clouds away, and finally banishing the grey mist which hung like a pall over the ground. Phil looked round in search of the British, but there was not a sign of them. A moment later a shout from behind attracted his attention, and turning, his heart leapt into his mouth at the sight of five wild-looking Cossack horsemen spurring their wiry ponies towards the cart, with their long lances already lowered and ready for the charge. CHAPTER NINE. AN EXCITING ADVENTURE. "Cossacks, by George! Wake up, you fellows!" shouted Phil, frantically kicking his comrades and caring little for the pain he caused, while at the same moment he saw to the loading of his Minie rifle. "What's up? Why are you kicking us like that?" grunted Tony, lazily sitting up on his elbow. Then, as he saw Phil's anxious face and his preparations for defence, he sprang to his feet, and, grasping his rifle, cried, "Cossacks, is it? All round us, too, Phil. I guess we're trapped. But we'll make a fight of it." "Fight! Of course we will. Do you think them fluffy-looking beggars is going to collar us without a little shooting?" growled Sam, grimly ramming down a charge, while he gazed over the top of the ammunition-boxes at the advancing enemy. "Are you all loaded?" asked Phil shortly. "Then creep under the cart, Sam, and fire between the spokes of the wheel. Whatever you do, though, wait till I give the word. Our rifles carry a good long way, and we'll be able to get in a couple of volleys before they reach us." In a twinkling Sam had dived beneath the cart, and a "Ready, boys!" shouted in a cheery voice, which scarcely showed a trace of the excitement he felt, told Phil and Tony he was prepared for any emergency. Seeing three heads appear above the boxes, the Cossacks at once spread out, and completely surrounded the cart. Then, without pausing in their headlong gallop, they came full tilt at it, lance heads well in advance, each with his face close to his pony's neck, and his spurs buried in its flanks. Phil and his friends singled out their men, and waited a few moments to get them well in range; then at the command "Fire!" from the former, three jets of smoke and flame spurted out from their rifles. Almost instantly the man at whom Phil had aimed tossed his arms into the air, and, falling heavily from his saddle, with one foot jammed in the stirrup, was dragged across the grass right up to the wall of ammunition-boxes, where the frightened animal came to a sudden halt, and having sniffed at it suspiciously, and snorted as if in disdain, lowered its head and commenced to crop the grass as if nothing out of the usual had occurred. Sandy's bullet also found a mark, for another of the shaggy ponies fell as if struck by a pole-axe, and the rider shot out over its head and remained stunned and senseless upon the ground. A grunt of disgust from Tony showed that his shot had missed. "Well, I'm bothered! Missed!" he cried. "But here goes for another." Reloading as rapidly as possible, they fired again, with the result that one of the horsemen was hit in the chest, and, doubling up, with arms hanging limply on either side of his pony's neck, was carried past the little fort like a whirlwind. "Load up, boys!" cried Phil excitedly. "They'll be here in a minute; we must stop them, or those lances will be into us." But to fire at a rapidly-moving object, even when coming directly at one, is no easy matter, particularly when a long, cruel-looking shaft, armed with a glittering spear-point, is held directed at one's chest. It takes nerve and coolness to make a careful shot, and it takes real courage to ride on towards that shot, knowing that it must reach its mark sooner than the lance can find its home in the enemy's breast. All honour therefore to the two gallant Cossacks who still were left. Without a pull at their reins, and without so much as a shadow of hesitation, they charged the harrier. All three rifles spoke out, and next moment with a crash one of the lances met the piled-up boxes, and, unable to throw them on one side owing to their weight, or pierce the thick woodwork, shivered into a thousand splinters, while the brave Russian who held it glared savagely at Phil, and making an ineffectual effort to draw a pistol, groaned and fell lifeless from his saddle with an ugly wound gaping in his neck. The other Cossack was more successful. Dropping the point of his lance, he charged full at Sam, and escaping his bullet by a miracle, pinned him to the ground by a thrust through the shoulder. "Bayonets! Come along, Tony!" shouted Phil, and without waiting to see if he were followed, he dashed over the wall, and flung himself upon the Russian, with his drawn bayonet in his hand. It was a narrow shave for him, for a pistol exploded almost in his face, and carried his bearskin away. Next second he had thrust his weapon through his opponent's body, and dragged him from his pony. "Give a hand here, corporal," sang out Sam at this moment. "This beast of a spear holds me so tight I can't move. I feel just like a butterfly pinned to a board." "Half a minute, Sam. Now, hold on," cried Tony, grasping the spear. Then, with, a sudden tug he wrenched it from the ground. "My eye, don't it hurt!" groaned poor Sam, suddenly becoming pale. "Go easy with it, mate. Let the corporal have a turn." Phil crept under the wagon, and finding the spear protruding almost a foot on the other side of the shoulder, pulled out his clasp-knife, and opening a small saw, which was a special feature of it, proceeded to cut the point off. That done, he grasped the shaft and gently pulled it from the wound. "Come and help here, Tony," he cried. "But--wait a minute. Have a good look round first of all, and tell me if you can see any more of those fellows." Tony climbed on top of the cart, and gazed all round. "Not a single one of 'em in sight," he cried; "but they'll be here soon, you may be sure." "Then come and give a hand here with Sam," answered Phil, pulling out his handkerchief. "I want a pad of linen or something." "Here's the very thing, Phil;" and, pulling his bearskin off, Tony produced a large woollen muffler. Ripping the seams of the coat with his knife, Phil quickly exposed the wound, and at once bound the muffler round it. Then with Tony's help he propped Sam with his back against the wheel, and placed the arm in a sling. "Stay there, old boy," he said gently, "and as soon as the pain goes off, crawl in behind the boxes. The Russians will not be able to reach you there." "Here yer are, mate," said Tony, handing Phil his bearskin. "It's about as near a go as you'll ever want. See, there's a hole bang through it, and the fur's all singed off the front." Phil inspected it with an outward show of coolness, but as he jammed it on his head he muttered beneath his breath a fervent thanksgiving to the Almighty for his preservation, for had he not ducked at the critical moment, that hole would not have been blown through the helmet, but through his head. "Get up on top, and keep a look-out, Tony," he exclaimed. "We're in a tight hole, and it will only be by keeping our eyes well open that we shall get safely out of it. First of all, though, break open one of those boxes, and load the rifles. We shall want plenty of ammunition, and had best have it ready and close at hand, in case of a sudden attack. I will have a look at these poor fellows." Crawling from beneath the cart, he knelt beside the Cossack into whose body he had thrust the bayonet. The poor fellow was evidently at his last gasp, but hearing Phil's voice he opened his eyes, and gazed wonderingly at him. Then, as he recognised him, he feebly raised his hand. A feeling of terrible grief and dismay surged through Phil's heart, for he was a lad who would sooner have lost his own life than taken that of another in cold blood. And yet, though this had been done in war-time, and whilst battling for life and liberty, a pang of regret oppressed him, and he felt only as a young man can feel who, for the first time in his existence, has been the cause of suffering and death to another. He took the hand of the dying man, and gently pressed it. "Are you in great pain, my poor fellow?" he whispered. The wounded Russian shook his head, and answered something. Phil placed his ear close to his mouth and listened. "We were enemies," the Cossack gasped, "bitter enemies, for you have invaded our country. But now we are friends, friends until death. Hold my hand, brother, and the Virgin will bless you. Feel round my neck when I am gone, and you will find a cross. Take--take it for yourself, and when you glance at it think sometimes of him who died for his beloved Czar and country." "I will, I will!" whispered Phil, with a groan of anguish. "I see my old peasant home," went on the dying Cossack in a voice that was scarcely audible. "Ah, I see it better than ever--ever before. My poor mother!--thank God she has long gone to her rest!--and my brother. The stream in front, and the trees all round. Hold me, Englishman! Everything is dancing and blurred before my eyes. I--I am dying. Good-bye! Think some--sometimes of the man who died for his country." The poor fellow, who had struggled into a sitting position, fell back, and Phil thought that he was dead. But he opened his eyes again, smiled, and with a sigh his spirit fled. Deeply impressed, Phil knelt by his side and offered up a short prayer. Then he rose to his feet, and, climbing on to the cart, looked round. Phit! A bullet struck the corner of one of the ammunition-boxes, and, glancing off, buried itself in the heel of his boot. "That's a close one again, Phil, old boy," laughed Tony, who seemed to enjoy the risk of being shot. "It's that fellow over there. He's just below the hill, and you can only see him by standing up on top here." This was the case. Another Cossack had ridden up, and, choosing a convenient position within range, sat upon his pony, with only his head showing above a ridge, and fired at Phil and his friends. "This won't do," muttered Phil. "If he were in sight we could make it warm for him, for our rifles carry farther. But as it is, he hits us at every shot, while we might pour volleys in his direction, and only bag him by the merest chance. There, didn't I say so?" he exclaimed, as a second bullet whirred past between himself and Tony. "Look here, Tony," he continued, "climb down behind the boxes, and fire as often as you can at the beggar. That will distract his attention." "Yes, and what game are you up to, mate?" asked Tony wonderingly. "I'm going to creep round and drive him off," Phil answered with decision. "Take my tip then and ride round, Phil. Soon as he sees you move he'll change his position, but if you're riding you'll be able to stop his game. But anyways I think the job belongs to me," he added, as if the thought that his friend would be running into greater danger had suddenly occurred to him. "You ain't the only chap as can ride, and as you're boss here, should stay in command of our fort." Phil looked at Tony sternly, and for the moment was on the point of ordering him to do as he was told. But, changing his mind, he picked up a rifle, and without a word dropped over the wall of boxes. The pony was still standing, quietly cropping the grass, and did not move when he disengaged the foot of the dead man from the stirrup. A second later he had mounted, and, picking up the reins and holding his rifle across the pommel of the saddle, nodded to Tony and cantered off. Striking away to the left he galloped to the top of the rise, only to find the Cossack spurring away from him, evidently with the intention of gaining another post from which to fire. "By George, I'll bag that chap!" muttered Phil. "It would be great to rejoin the regiment with a captive." Kicking his pony with his heels he was soon flying across the turf, the nimble and sure-footed little animal leaping the few holes that came in his path with an ease that showed how accustomed he was to it. Soon the flying Cossack had disappeared over another ridge, and Phil was not surprised to hear the report of a rifle a moment later and an angry hiss above his head. "He'll certainly knock me over with one of his shots if I ride on like this," he thought. "I'll dismount and stalk him." Acting on the thought he pulled up sharply and leapt from the saddle, the pony immediately dropping his head to graze. Then, flinging himself on to hands and knees, he scrambled forward until he reached a patch of long grass, where he lay full length, and, bringing his rifle to his shoulder, pointed it in the direction of the Cossack and waited breathlessly. An instant later the Russian appeared in sight, and Phil pressed the trigger; then, jumping to his feet, he rushed forward to secure his prisoner, for the Cossack had dropped like a stone. He topped the ridge, and was on the point of running down, when a bullet struck the butt of his rifle and shattered it, while the Russian, who had been merely acting, rose on one knee not fifty yards away, and commenced to rapidly reload. What was Phil to do? He hesitated, but the sight of some eight or nine more Cossacks galloping up to help their comrade decided him. "I'm off," he muttered hurriedly, and, dropping his useless rifle, he took to his heels. It seemed as though he would never reach the pony, but at last he did and, flinging himself astride it, galloped madly back to the fort, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the Cossacks. They had closed together, and, topping the rise at this moment, came thundering down, shouting encouragement to one another. Phil reached the cart, and was off the pony's back and in the fort in a trice. "Shake hands, old man!" exclaimed Tony grimly. "This here will be our last. There's a hundred or more of these fellows charging." "Nonsense! Pick up the rifles," gasped Phil. "Now get ready to give them a volley. Sam, where are you?" "Here, and ready to lend a hand, mate," the wounded man answered, crawling from beneath the cart at that moment. "I've got hold of these barkers," he said, with a grin, producing two pistols which he had taken from the Cossacks lying dead close at hand, "and I bet yer if those Russian coves gets close enough, I'll give 'em some of their own lead to swallow." But though the three put the best face on the matter, there was no doubt that they were in desperate straits. The first volley failed miserably, and already the fiery horsemen were within a hundred yards of the cart, when there was a shout from behind, and to the joy of Phil and his comrades a patrol of dragoons came cantering across the grass. "Pals, hooray!" shouted Tony. "Phil, we'll join 'em. Get hold of your nag and I'll take this other here. Now, up we get; and when the boys come along, we goes at them beggars with them." Caught by the excitement of the moment Phil vaulted over the wall, and just as the dragoons came spurring by with drawn swords poised ready for the encounter, he and Tony dashed out and joined them. "What ho, mates!" sang out the troopers. "Coming for a picnic with us, are yer? Good, boys!" There was no time for more. Setting spurs to their horses, the troop, which was only ten strong counting Phil and Tony, went headlong at the Cossacks. The latter pulled up immediately, hesitated for a moment, and were on the point of flying, when the impossibility of getting away from dragoons mounted on fresh English horses occurred to them. They threw down their arms and sullenly waited to be made prisoners. "Each of you catch hold of one of their reins and come along, quick," sang out the non-commissioned officer who was in charge of the dragoons. "That's it. Now off we go, back to the cart." "How far is the camp away?" asked Phil. "Five miles, I should think, corporal. We'll have to look precious smart. As soon as we get the horses in, and the boxes loaded up, we'll scatter. I've enough men to spare--two in front, and two well out on the flanks. Then if we're attacked we'll make a running fight of it." "We've a wounded friend under the cart," replied Phil, "but I expect if we perch him up on top of the ammunition-boxes he'll be able to drive. Then Tony and I will give a hand by looking after the prisoners. It'll be grand getting back to camp safely with our charge, and with a few of the Cossacks in addition, though, mind you, we would have been prisoners if you fellows hadn't ridden up in the nick of time." "You're right there, corporal. You chaps made a fine stand of it, we can all see, and we'll not forget to say something about it when we get into camp. But you were fair goners if we hadn't been out and heard the firing. Now let's get smartly ahead. Some more Cossacks will be riding down before long, and though we're all game for a brush with them, we don't want to lose this chance of bringing in prisoners." By this time the cart had been reached, and while half the patrol guarded the prisoners, the remainder set to work and rapidly loaded it with the ammunition. Then the horses were yoked, Sam was placed upon a folded-up blanket on top of the boxes, and the cavalcade started, Tony and Phil forming the flank guard, and proudly riding their newly-acquired steeds. "I should have liked to give those poor fellows a decent burial," said Phil with a sigh of regret as they rode away, "but it is impossible. We haven't any spades or picks, and, above all, it would not do to wait." "Don't worry about that, mate," one of the troopers answered. "Their chums is certain to come over and see to that, for these Russians ain't bad chaps when you take 'em all round, and I hear they're as kind as possible to one another." An hour later the party rode into camp and caused quite a sensation. "Why, Corporal Western, we gave you up for lost!" said the adjutant of the Grenadiers, coming out to meet them. "We made sure you had been killed or captured, and now you turn up with prisoners. How has it happened?" "Quite simply, sir," Phil answered, with a smile. "We were left behind when the shaft of our cart broke, and then we took the wrong road. This morning we were attacked, and beat off five Cossacks. Then others appeared, and just as we were thinking of giving in, a patrol of dragoons rode up." "Giving in!" exclaimed Sam in high disdain from his elevated seat. "Tell you what it is, sir. That Corporal Western don't know when the time to hoist the white flag arrives. He meant sticking to it, so we just backed him up." "Whoever was the cause of your holding on, my lads, it's much the same in the end," exclaimed the officer heartily. "You have done well, and your names shall be mentioned to the colonel. Now you had better see what the cooks have left, while the doctors take your wounded comrade in charge." Handing the cart over to the quarter-master, Tony followed Phil to the cook's fire, and both were soon devouring a meal of bully beef and bread, for they were almost famished, having been too much engaged and too highly excited to eat while threatened by the Cossacks. They found the Allies encamped a few miles from the River Alma, and almost in sight of the Russian position. "It'll be hot work to-morrow," said one of the sergeants that evening, as they sat wrapped in their blankets round the fire. "The enemy has chosen a splendid position along the heights the other side of the river, and I expect our job will be to turn him out. It will be a big fight, or I'm mistaken, and as we shall all have plenty to do I'm for turning-in at once and getting as long a sleep as I can. Good-night, you chaps! Corporal Western, you'll have them three stripes this time to-morrow if you do only half as well as you and your two mates did to-day." The stalwart sergeant laid his blanket on the ground, rolled himself in it, and, placing his head on his haversack, was very soon in a deep sleep, untroubled by the fact that to-morrow might be his last day on earth. As for Phil and Tony, they sat up an hour or more longer, chatting over past events and the probabilities of the next day's fight, never dreaming that it was destined to be on historical one, and one in which the mettle of British troops was to be tested and found of the staunchest, by as fierce a storm of shot and shell as ever assailed an army. CHAPTER TEN. THE GLORIOUS ALMA. The misty grey of early dawn lay over the smooth grassy slopes of the Crimea when Phil and Tony turned over on the following morning and looked about them. Here and there men were moving about like big ghostly shadows as they trudged down to the banks of the River Bulganak to fill their water-bottles and mess-tins in preparation for the morning meal. Some were crouching over smoking fires, encouraging them to burn up brightly and give out sufficient heat to cook the food. Close at hand others were grooming officers' chargers, and on every side there was the clatter of an awaking camp, the stamp of restive hoofs, cheery calls from man to man, and the startling notes of reveille ringing out clearly in the morning air, and warning all that another day had arrived, and that it was time to throw off sleep and be ready to try conclusions with the enemy. "Lummy, ain't I sleepy just!" yawned Tony, throwing off his blanket and sitting up to rub his eyes with his knuckles. "I too could have done with a couple of hours more," answered Phil peevishly. Then, springing to his feet, he shook the heavy dew from his blanket and looked towards the river, the smooth and sluggish surface of which had just caught the first rays of the rising sun. "Who's for a dip?" he cried briskly. "Come along, Tony, boy; we shall never wake up till we have douched ourselves with water." "'Tain't a bad idea, Phil, and I'm with yer," exclaimed his friend, shaking himself like a dog. "There ain't no towels, as I can see, so I suppose it's a case of dry as best you can." "Yes, of course. The sun will be up in another ten minutes, and will serve our purpose well. Come along; we've a clear half-hour before breakfast." Another five minutes and Phil, accompanied by many comrades, was hastily pulling off his boots and clothing close to the bank of the stream. Then someone waded in and tried the depth, and having found a deep pool the others dived in, splashing the water in every direction. The pastime caught on like fire, and very soon a hundred or more were enjoying a bathe. Officers, too, came down to the river, some to look on, and others to join the men in the water. By eight o'clock the whole of the Allies were under arms and waiting anxiously for orders, the French on the right, while the British took care of the left flank, where danger was to be expected. In rear of all were the arabas and cavalry, besides herds of cattle and sheep. Phil and Tony had been relieved of their charge, and were in the ranks with their comrades. "I ain't sorry to say good-bye to that old cart, araba, or whatever they call it," exclaimed Tony. "Yer see, we shall get a chance of seeing most of the fun if there's a fight, whilst if we was in charge of the ammunition where should we be? Right away behind, there ain't a doubt, kicking our heels and waiting till some chance cannon-shot come bowling along our way and chopped our heads off. Halloo! who's that?" This exclamation was caused by the sudden appearance of a smartly-dressed officer, with glittering epaulettes and waving plume, cantering down before the British lines. "It's Marshal St Arnaud, him as commands the Froggies," shouted someone. The news spread through the ranks, and at once, lifting their rifles, the troops greeted the Marshal with three hearty British cheers, a compliment which evidently caused him much gratification. "We shall move now, Tony," remarked Phil gravely, "so we'll just shake hands, old man. One never knows what may happen. Perhaps it will be unnecessary, but we've a big fight before us, and who can say that we shall both come safely through it?" "No one, Phil. No one but Him as sits above," Tony answered earnestly; "but I tell yer we're coming through it, you and me, and you're going to do something for them stripes. I feel it somehow. But here's my hand, old pal. You've been a good 'un to me, and if I go this day, I'll have a better chance than a year or more ago. I shall, and yer know it." Tony grasped Phil's hand and wrung it, while tears stood in his eyes. Phil returned the pressure earnestly, and then they leant on their rifles and waited for the word to advance. Between nine and ten it came, and the Allies trudged forward over a wide sweeping plain leading to a ridge, beyond which lay the valley of the Alma, the valley--fair though it looked on that grand morning--of the shadow of death. And now guns in front boomed out, answering the shots of the Russian batteries, and each man grasped his rifle more firmly at the sound, while a keen, strained look came over his face, as though he had braced himself for the trial which was coming. Trudge, trudge, trudge! On moved the mass of men, looking grand in their varied uniforms, and all seeming anxious to get more quickly to that ridge in front and look upon the enemy. "Ah! there they are," exclaimed Phil with a sigh of relief as his company topped the rise and came in full view of the Russian position. "See, they are right in front of us if we only march in the direction we are taking now, so there will be plenty of work for us, you fellows! Hurrah for the fight!" and in the excitement of the moment, he snatched his bearskin from his head, and, tossing it into the air, caught it on his bayonet with the skill of a juggler. Instantly a wave of cheering spread along the British lines, and a forest of bearskins and head-gear of every description was thrust aloft on the gleaming bayonets, soon-- very soon--to be used in deadly and desperate earnest for another purpose. A minute later the answering cheers of the French came echoing along the lines, their "Vive l'Empereur!" piercing the morning air with a shrill note, showing that they too were roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. "Look, Tony!" exclaimed Phil a few minutes later, having calmed down sufficiently to be able to make a good examination of the Russian position, "those beggars have chosen a splendid spot on which to manoeuvre. You can see them massed on the slope of the hill close upon the other side of the river, and to reach them we must cross the open and plunge through the water. That makes it pretty well impossible for our cavalry to help us by a flank attack. But we'll go for them tooth and nail, in the regular old bull-dog way, and if we don't rout them out of their position, well, I'll--I'll never speak to you again." "Yer won't, won't yer?" answered Tony, with a curious grin, staring at his friend with no small amount of astonishment. "Young 'un, I never see yer so wound up afore. I never thought yer was that bloodthirsty. Me and all yer mates took yer for one of them quiet kind of coves what takes a lot of rousing. But now--blow me--I can see yer monkey's up, and I'll have to keep an eye on yer, else yer'll be trying to fight the whole of them Russian coves alone." Then, having smiled once more at Phil, the honest fellow's face suddenly assumed a sterner look, his eyes glistened and his cheeks flushed, while he hurriedly fumbled at the fastening of his ammunition-pouch. "Beat 'em, Phil, old boy! in course we will. If the Grenadier Guards don't find their way to the top of that there hill, and take every one of them big guns yer see, it'll be because there ain't none of 'em left to do it. We'll manage it or die on the way." And indeed, to look at the disposition of the Russian troops and guns made by General Menschikoff, there was every possibility that before they were forced to retire many a gallant British and French soldier would be laid low upon the grass. In front of the Allies stretched the river Alma, forming a sharp bend, the apex of which was opposite the division between French and English troops, and pointed towards the Russians. In the bend was the village of Bourliouk, soon to be the scene of sharp skirmishing, and on the right a road crossed the river and ascended the opposite bank, which at that point sloped easily towards a conical hill known as Telegraph Hill. To the right of this road, and exactly facing the French and Turkish troops, there was a steep cliff on the other side of the river. Up this, however, two roads ran, one of which was available for guns. In front of the British, grassy slopes descended to gardens and vineyards which stretched to the river-bank, and through them passed a broad post-road from Sebastopol to Eupatoria, crossing the Alma by a bridge, and ascending between Telegraph Hill and another height known as Kourgani Hill. On either side of this road the banks of the river ascended in easy slopes, and here it was that Menschikoff had disposed his forces, planting a formidable battery of fourteen guns, of large calibre, behind an earthwork thrown up on a terrace one hundred yards from the water, while farther to the left was another battery, the two supported by nine field-batteries of eight guns each--a truly formidable armament. "Heavens! what guns!" Phil heard one of the officers mutter. Then, gripping the colours he bore, the young fellow tossed his head proudly and added: "By Jove, we'll have the lot before the day is out!"--a resolution which every soldier had also made. What it was to cost them only the future could disclose, but those who had seen war before, who had trained themselves to conduct the movements of armies, could not but expect a heavy list of casualties; for even an amateur might have seen that the Russian position was one of extraordinary strength, while the expert able to grasp its salient points could tell at a glance that it presented an extremely difficult and anxious problem to the attacker. Even Phil, boy though he was and inexperienced in warfare, could not but be struck by the formidable works towards which the Allies were advancing. "They seem impregnable," he muttered. "Look at the batteries. They must have 100 guns at least, and all trained for the slope upon which we are advancing. Then there is the river to cross. It may or may not be fordable, but in any case it means a disadvantage to us and an advantage to the Russians. When that is crossed there is the rush uphill in the teeth of those guns, and opposed by the enemy's bayonets. It will be hot work, Tony, very hot work, for I suppose we shall be compelled to make a frontal attack." "If that means marching straight to our front, without turning so much as an inch, then I says yes, I hope we shall," Tony answered with a growl, assumed only to cover his excitement. "How else should Englishmen attack? Go straight for them is our way of doing business, and I reckon it's the best." And this in fact seemed the only way of attacking the Russians successfully. Perhaps a flanking movement to the left might have proved successful, but even then the river must first be forded, no doubt in the teeth of a murderous fire. But this had not struck the British leader as possible, and the whole force marched on steadily, shoulder to shoulder, and with a martial tramp which seemed to shake the ground. And upon them as they advanced was fixed the anxious gaze of some 50,000 Russians, horse, foot, and gunners, who marvelled at their boldness and seeming unconcern, and waited only for the long red lines of the British and the brisk-moving masses of French blue to come a little nearer, when they promised themselves that they would sweep them out of existence with a tempest of shot and shell the like of which had never been experienced. Yes, all was ready. Their guns were trained for the ground over which British and French must pass; but not for an instant did it occur to them that French and Turks might think of attacking the cliffs on their left. The narrow road, its steepness, and the proximity of their guns seemed to make such an attempt impossible, and, safe in the thought, they brought every piece they possessed to bear upon those slopes and vineyards across which the British were soon to march. "Halt!" The command came hoarsely through the air and was emphasised by the shrill notes of a bugle. "Now, what is going to happen?" asked Phil. "Ah! I see; we are to get into our proper formation, ready to march down to the river. Then I suppose we shall deploy till we have ample elbow-room, and afterwards make a dash for the Russian position." Ten minutes later the British divisions were swinging along over the green turf, their centre marching almost directly on the village of Bourliouk, and the whole face to face with Menschikoff's huge army, and destined to bear the brunt of the fighting. The French and Turkish troops took but a small part in the battle. Seeing the difficulty of the two cliff roads ascending the river-bank to the left of his force, Menschikoff had failed to occupy them, as has been mentioned, and had placed but few troops in the neighbourhood, for the guns of the allied fleets commanded the cliffs. Taking advantage of this, the lithe and active little Frenchmen were soon crowding the narrow road in their front, and in an incredibly short space of time their guns had been hauled to the top of the cliff, and from there boomed out at the Russian batteries and long lines of massed infantry, doing much execution and threatening them from their flank. Farther to the right the Turks swarmed up the other road, and having gained the cliffs, took up their position there. Meanwhile the red lines of the British, who, it had been arranged, should not be launched at the main army till the French had commenced their flank attack, moved down the grassy slope, solemn and grand, and as steadily as a mass of moving rock, the front line composed of the Second and Light Divisions, the next of the Third and First Divisions, in column formation, while behind them the Fourth Division marched in echelon, with five regiments in rear as reserves. Stretching for nearly two miles, with its right close to the village of Bourliouk and its left near that of Tarkhaular, the mass of men advanced slowly and evenly, with a cloud of skirmishers from the rifle battalions thrown out in front. Soon these became engaged with the Russian skirmishers posted in the vineyards and in Bourliouk, and the sharp rat-a-tat of musketry and an occasional hiss above the heads of the gallant men in red showed that the battle of the Alma had commenced. A grunt, almost a shout, of satisfaction and pent-up excitement, instantly went down the lines, and the regiments at a sharp order commenced to open out and deploy, the foremost line, composed of the Second and Light Divisions, stepping forward at a smart pace, which soon became almost a double, as the men eagerly advanced against the Russians. Boom! The big battery had opened fire, and, as if this had been a signal, every gun on the Russian side blazed out and covered the slopes with smoke, while their shot searched the whole British front, tearing remorselessly through the ranks and crashing into the village houses. "This is hot!" shouted Phil in Tony's ear, as they squatted with their comrades upon the grass, awaiting the order to advance. "I'd rather march straight against that battery than sit here and be pounded into a jelly before having a chance of a smack at those beggars." "'Tain't nothing," grunted Tony reassuringly, tilting his bearskin back to dash the perspiration from his forehead. "Ah, that was a bad 'un!" he muttered hoarsely as, with an awful screech, a cannon-shot plunged into the men close at hand, laying five of the poor fellows dead and maiming two others in its flight. But now the first line had reached the river, and, holding their pouches and rifles above their heads, they plunged in boldly, and were soon massed on the other side, where they waited, standing waist-deep in the water, and sheltered by the steep bank from the fire of the batteries above. But it was only a momentary halt. Dashing through the river, Sir George Brown put his horse at the bank, and, surmounting it, turned in his saddle and called upon the brave fellows to follow him, waving his sword in a manner that showed all who were out of hearing what his wishes were. And he had not to call a second time, for, hastily gulping down a mouthful of water, the thin red line climbed the bank with a shout, and, falling into their places with as much coolness as though on a parade-ground, advanced shoulder to shoulder up the slopes. A glance at them, however, displayed the curious fact that the advancing troops were in no regular formation. Compelled to deploy and often make wide detours in passing through the vineyards on the other bank and in marching round the village, regiments had been split up into smaller portions, and in many cases men had lost sight of their comrades altogether. But still discipline and coolness were second nature to them. Without orders but of their own initiative they fell in, and forming a double line--the favoured formation for British attack,--they pressed up the hill; dark-coated riflemen and red linesmen intermingled, and were swallowed up in the clouds of eddying smoke. Up, up they climbed, steadily and with heroic bravery, and, passing through a storm of hurtling iron and lead, at length flung themselves upon the deep columns of the Russians. One moment visible, they were seen surging from side to side, desperately using their bayonets; and next moment, with an appalling roar, the batteries would open once more, and clouds of white smoke would swallow them up, only their excited cries, and the hoarse, encouraging voices of the officers nobly leading them, showing that they still survived. "It's grand to see them," cried Phil, carried away by the excitement of the moment. "When will our turn come? They will be swept away by those crowds of Russian soldiers. Look at them, Tony! Now they are at close quarters, and the enemy is giving back. Hurrah, now we have them!" and, springing to his feet, he would have broken from the ranks and rushed to join the fighting-line had not Tony clutched him by the arm and dragged him to the ground, while a hoarse and well-timed "Steady, youngster, you're tiring yourself; keep all your gristle till we come up against them," from a veteran sergeant who sat close at hand, smoking calmly, served to quieten him again. But Phil was not the only man there who longed to be up and doing. Not one but was restless and chafing at the delay, especially at Phil's last shout, for a turn had taken place in the tide of the battle which indeed gave the British a far better chance of victory. Awed by the mass of advancing men, the big Russian battery, which had done such damage in our ranks, suddenly limbered up and retired over the hill--a disgraceful retreat which proved disastrous to the enemy. But though the attacking force had thus gained an important advantage, the masses of the Russians now poured down the slope and threw themselves upon the gallant British line. Bravely did the latter resist, and with desperate courage strive to continue their advance; but the enemy opposing them were equally brave and equally stubborn, and moreover had the advantage of position and numbers. For a few moments there was a seething mixture of red and grey coats, glittering bayonets, and darts of flame; and then, broken by sheer weight, the British retired upon the ranks of the now advancing second line. Side by side Phil and Tony stepped forward with their comrades, and almost in a dream plunged through the river and climbed the opposite bank. But now the voices of their officers recalled their wandering senses, and, falling into their places, the brigade of Guards pushed on in perfect formation, with the Highlanders abreast of them. What a scene it was! What excitement and what movement! A double line of stalwart Guardsmen as well-ordered and as rigidly erect as if drilling in the green parks at home; and in line with them brawny Highlanders, all dripping with water, deafened by the crashing artillery, and yet determined to a man to get to close quarters with the enemy. And retiring upon them, war-worn, bedraggled, and bareheaded, with faces and hands black with the smoke of powder, some limping heavily, and others even crawling, came the gallant first line, loth to turn their backs upon the foe, and yet compelled to do so by overwhelming numbers. Had the second line advanced earlier it would have supported them at the critical moment, but owing to the fact that Lord Raglan and his staff had already crossed the river and ridden close to Telegraph Hill, it received no direct order from him; and when it did advance, it was on the responsibility of the division commander. But now, opening its ranks for the moment to pass through the broken first line, it marched at a rapid pace, and immediately plunged into the tempest of bullets. Men fell to right and left, biting the dust and struggling in their agony, while others lay motionless, sometimes with contorted limbs and faces, and sometimes in peaceful repose as if asleep, stirring not from the position in which death had found them. Ah! it was war, red, cruel war, and well might that second line have wavered and turned back. But theirs was not that sort of courage. Determined to be beaten by nothing, they kept steadily marching up the hill, and soon disappeared, for volumes of smoke were pouring from the village of Bourliouk, which was now in flames, and, mingling with that from the guns, enveloped the combatants in a dense cloud. And as the line advanced into the thick of the fight, and while rifle fire brought havoc to the ranks, the Russian skirmishers, still clinging to their positions amongst the trees of the river-bank, picked off all the stragglers, and even turned their volleys and the fire of a few light field-guns upon the main body. "Keep together, mate. We'll fight 'em side by side," shouted Tony, closing up to Phil. "Got yer rifle loaded? Then keep yer charge till we gets to close quarters. It'll come in handy then." "Right! I thought of that," Phil shouted back. Then, closing up to their comrades, they advanced at a rapid pace and flung themselves upon the lines of grey-coated Russians. To this day Phil cannot quite recall what happened. If you press him he will perhaps tell you that he recollects a young officer falling at his feet, while a huge Russian prepared to bayonet him. Next moment the man was down and Phil was standing over him, while Tony's rifle laid low another who was in the act of dashing his friend's head to pieces with the butt of his weapon. On pressed the red line resistlessly and with never a pause, leaving behind them friend and foe strewn upon the grass, and on, ever in front, went the officers and the colours into the heart of the struggling mass of grey. There was no need to call to their men and beg them to follow. The British lion was aroused in desperate earnestness, and with grim and awe-inspiring silence the men rushed on headlong and regardless of bullet or bayonet. There was a crash, the bang, bang of an occasional shot, and the clash of steel upon steel, and then the trample of thousands of feet as the enemy gave way and fled. Side by side Phil and Tony had fought their way into the middle of the famous Vladimir regiment, and as the Russians turned, found themselves mixed up with brawny Highlanders, who, with the light of battle in their eyes, were pressing resistlessly forward. Suddenly Phil caught sight of a figure in advance bearing a British colour. It swayed this way and that, now endeavouring to get closer to the Highlanders, and next moment swept forward as the retreating Russians slowly gave way and drove the bearer before them. "The colour! the colour!" he shouted frantically, dashing forward with Tony at his heels. Scattering those who barred their path, they made their way to the flag, and falling-in on either side, fought grimly to help its bearer back to the ranks of the Highlanders. "Thanks, my men!" shouted the young officer who supported the flag. "Now, help me, and we'll get out of this hole. All together! Rush!" With their weapons held well in advance, the three dashed at the enemy, while the Highlanders, seeing the predicament into which the colour had fallen, with a shout of wrath flung themselves in their direction. But though beaten, the Russians had in no way lost courage, and, turning fiercely, they bore the gallant Scotsmen back, while others opposed Phil and his comrades. "Rally, rally! The colour!" shouted Phil, thrusting right and left with his bayonet, and turning just in time to discharge his rifle at a man who was attacking them in rear. So fiercely did the little band of three fight that the Russians in their immediate neighbourhood gave way, and, standing in a circle round them, glared at the gallant red-coats who had thus far been too much for them. A glorious picture they presented. At bay, with a host of the enemy surrounding them and glowering at them with fierce hatred, the officer and his two supporters indeed were men of whom Britain might well feel proud. With flushed faces and flashing eyes, which looked into those of the enemy with no signs of fear, but with keen glances of stem determination, they stood there a mere drop in an ocean of struggling men. Smoke-begrimed, dishevelled, and with bearskins tumbled in the mud, Phil and Tony clutched their rifles and looked ready and willing to fall upon the hundreds around them. Thoughts of home, danger of capture, or death by bayonet or bullet were lost in the delirious excitement of the moment. They thought only of the flag for which they fought, and, hemmed in and panting with exhaustion, they listened to the deafening din of the battle still raging a few feet from them, and nobly determined to die sooner than permit the Russians to capture it. "We're done, lads," groaned the officer, sinking on his knee. "Corporal, take the colour. I'm hit, and can't hold it any longer. Fight on for it!" Phil grasped the staff, and, hoisting the flag still higher, looked round with proud defiance, while Tony, with a grim smile of exultation on his face, stepped nearer to him. "Ay, well fight on for it, sir, never fear," he muttered. "We'll fight till we're dead." Phil nodded. "I'll borrow your sword, sir," he said, grasping the weapon as he spoke. "A rifle and bayonet are too heavy to use one-handed." "Look out, lads! Here come the cavalry!" the officer exclaimed at this moment; and almost instantly Cossack horses dashed through the Russian infantry, scattering them and surrounding the colour. There was one last desperate fight. Phil's sword smashed in two at the first vicious cut, and for a minute he continued the defence by belabouring the horsemen with the colour-staff. Then that was dashed to the ground, and before he was aware of it a lasso-noose had been slipped over his shoulders, securing his arms to his side, and he was being dragged away. The last backward glance as he was hurried away showed him a grand rush by the Highlanders. The grey-coats retreated precipitately, and amid hoarse shouts of exultation the rescued colour was borne back to the British lines. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A RUSSIAN VILLAIN. The celebrated, the historical battle of the Alma was over almost as soon as Phil had been dragged away, for there was no stopping the British troops, and once the Russians had turned to retreat, our brave fellows pressed forward till the summit of the slopes was gained. They had fought magnificently against desperate odds, and without ever having need to call upon their reserves. And while the infantry had been busy, other arms of the service had been by no means idle. The cavalry protected the left, and the guns, after firing for some time across the river, had limbered up, and while some crossed by the bridge which carried the post-road, others plunged through the water to its right, and ascending close to Telegraph Hill, raked the Russian batteries and struggling infantry with their fire. It was a sight to see--an example of the dogged pluck which characterises our nation; and an example which the French, perched upon the cliff on the right, did not fail to watch with admiration, and with a secret determination to emulate it on the first occasion. And now that the enemy had retreated, the British guns still plied them with shot. Lord Raglan longed to convert their retirement into a rout, but the French had discarded their knapsacks before fording the river, and on the plea, that without their kits it was impossible to pursue, the marshal refused to agree to the plan. Consequently a hard-won victory, which might easily, by energetic action, have been changed into one of the greatest importance, proved of little use, and hardly affected the latter part of the campaign at all. It was a lamentable mistake, for had the Russian forces been driven pell-mell from the field, Sebastopol might have surrendered, and thousands of brave and valuable lives on both sides might have been saved. As it was, a glorious victory had been achieved at great cost to British and Russians alike, and all that could be said was that the Crimean campaign had opened favourably for the Allies. The victorious army that defeats one portion of the enemy's troops, and thereby causes the whole force to retire, achieves a success which, brilliant though it may be, is as nothing compared with that obtained when the whole of the opposing force is hopelessly crushed and afterwards captured or driven, a mere herd of terror-stricken beings, from the field. For the Allies the Alma was a glorious victory, but no more. The fact that the general and his staff were isolated from the attacking army at the critical moment, and that in consequence the troops advanced at wide intervals, while the reserves were never called into action, ruined all hopes of a really great and telling success. Had it been otherwise, had the British divisions been poured unceasingly upon the Russians, they would have engaged the whole of Menschikoffs great army, and so severely handled it as to hopelessly mar its future effectiveness. It was a sad, sad army that bivouacked that night near the river Alma. Comrades and dear friends were missing; while the flickering lights hovering over hill and valley showed that the search-parties were at work, the doctors busy at their merciful and pain-relieving duties, and the burial-parties delving to prepare huge trenches for the reception of the dead. It was a terrible ending indeed to a glorious day, but one that ever follows the crash and turmoil of a battle. It is impossible to realise its sadness, its awful horror, till you stand beside one of these trenches, and, with helmet in hand and the bright sun overhead, read the last rites over your comrades of a few hours ago, who have been called suddenly, and by the aid of your fellow-men, from beside you. For two days the Allies remained here, and then, loading arabas, they advanced by easy stages on Sebastopol. To attack the town and fortress from the northern side was impossible, for the harbour intervened, and in consequence the march was resumed till finally the British left approached the harbour of Balaclava; the rest of the allied forces extended along the slopes of the Chersonese heights surrounding the town, and prepared to throw up earthworks in readiness for a gigantic bombardment. Meanwhile the Russians in Sebastopol were by no means idle. All civilians left the town and forts, and, under the great Todleben, their engineer, thousands set to work with pick and spade to improve their defences on the south and mount extra guns, relying on their huge army in the field to keep the allied enemy busy. Unlimited supplies poured into the town, and thus, though the Allies were besieging it on the southern side, and the harbour-mouth was blockaded by the opposing fleet, it was in a position to hold out for an indefinite period. Meanwhile what had become of our hero? A burly, grey-clad Cossack had charge of Phil, and noticing that he was exhausted after the struggle in which he had been engaged, he turned and spoke kindly to him. "We will go along easily till you have got your wind," he said. "You must be tired after such a fight. My word, what gluttons you English are for hard knocks and desperate battles! I watched from the summit of the hill and saw you and your comrade rush to the rescue of the flag. It was a mad act, Englishman, but bravely done. But come, I am forgetting. You are a comrade in distress. Take a sip from this bottle. It is vodka with a little water added, and will put new life into you." Phil thanked him heartily, and as soon as they were out of range of the British batteries, sat down on a boulder and took a pull at the Cossack's flask. "Thank you, my friend!" he exclaimed earnestly. "A short rest here will do me a world of good. Have we far to go to-night?" "What! You speak our language, Englishman! Good!" and the Russian's broad and rugged face lit up with a kindly smile. "Yes," he continued, "we have a long way to go. But you are tired. Give me your word that you will not attempt to throw me, or get the better of me, and I will let you mount behind on the crupper. Come, there is no one about, and before we join the squadron again you can dismount." Phil readily gave the required promise, and, vaulting up behind the friendly Cossack, they pushed on amongst the retreating infantry. "What has become of my comrades?" asked Phil after a pause, for he was terribly afraid that Tony and the officer were killed. "Comfort yourself, Englishman, they too are prisoners, and you will meet them at the camp; but I doubt whether they will reach there so easily as you, for Alexoff has charge of your soldier friend, while the brave wounded officer walks by the side of our commander, who is not too kind to us, and hates all Englishmen bitterly. Yes, I fear it will go hard with him, for we have lost heavily, and Stackanoff will not easily forget it." "And is Stackanoff your commander?" asked Phil. "Yes, that is his name. His excellency rules us with a rod of iron. Ah! my English comrade, there is a little girl waiting for me about half a verst from Moscow town, and I long to break from this life and return to her. I have served my time, and should have been free long ago, but Stackanoff keeps me. Ah, how I hate him! Some day, perhaps, I shall repay him, and meanwhile I will fight for my country, for she has need of us all." "Yes, it will be a big struggle," agreed Phil, "and if your comrades fight as pluckily as they did to-day, Russia will need many brave men to fill the gaps." The Cossack gave a hearty grunt of satisfaction, for, though longing to reach Moscow, he was at heart a patriot, and liked to hear his brothers-in-arms well spoken of. "We are friends from this day," he said, grasping Phil's hand. "But prepare to get down. We are nearing our bivouac, and it would not do to let Stackanoff see you mounted behind me. Wait, though, I will tell you when to jump off." Putting his horse into a gentle trot the Cossack jogged towards a collection of tents and horsemen. Suddenly there was a shout from behind them, and just as Phil and his captor joined a squadron of Cossacks, a small, fierce-looking man, with a bristling moustache and a face deeply pitted by smallpox, cantered up, dragging beside him an unhappy captive, who was scarcely able to retain his feet. Phil's blood boiled, for he recognised in an instant that the prisoner was the officer who had so bravely carried the colour. Pulling his horse in with an angry jerk close alongside Phil's captor, Stackanoff--for it was none other than he--glared at him, and in a harsh voice, and with many an oath, snarled: "How is this, Vilnoff! What do you mean? Are these cursed prisoners then to ride upon his majesty's horses? Come off, you Englishman!" and, dropping his reins, he stretched out his hand, and, clutching Phil by the shoulder, hurled him to the ground. It was not very far to fall, but Phil came an undoubted cropper, and the sudden and unlooked-for jar, and a yell of derision which rose from the Cossack ranks at the sight, set his blood aflame still more, for he had not yet shaken off the excitement of the recent battle. His eyes flashed angrily, and, picking himself up, he was within an ace of throwing himself upon the brutal Stackanoff when better counsels prevailed. The Cossack commander eyed him suspiciously, and then, with a malicious glance at Vilnoff and the remark, "You, beast that you are, I will deal with you to-morrow," dug his spurs into his horse with such force that the animal sprang forward so suddenly as to upset the unhappy English officer and drag him along the ground. "Come, get up, you weak-kneed fool," cried Stackanoff, striking at the poor fellow with his riding-whip. It was a brutal act, and even the Cossack horsemen were ashamed of it. As for Phil, a blind and unreasoning rage seized him, and, dragging the lasso-noose over his head, he sprang at the Russian, and, lifting him like a child from the saddle, threw him heavily on the ground and stood over him, ready to knock him down if he should try to rise, or treat any other in a similar manner who dared to interfere with him. "Hurrah, well done, Phil, old boy!" came an excited bellow from the Cossack ranks; and next moment Tony, who was there, a prisoner, had torn the rope which held him from the hands of the man who was in charge of him, and, aiming blows right and left with his fists, rushed forward and joined Phil. To say that there was a clamour in the camp is to describe the scene mildly. For a moment the horsemen were too astonished to move; then, recovering from their surprise, they lowered their murderous-looking lances, and would undoubtedly have run all three prisoners through, had not another officer ridden into the circle at that moment. He was a tall, dark man, with heavy features and a settled look of depression on his face. Mounted on a magnificent horse, and bearing the badges of a staff-officer, there was no doubt that he was a person of no little importance and authority. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, quietly looking round with a cold and gleaming eye, which showed that though outwardly calm he was more than angry at the incident. "These are prisoners, by their uniform, and one an officer too. Do we then murder captives taken in battle? Does our august master, the Czar, will it that we should take the lives of gallant Englishmen in cold blood? Answer me, dogs! Whose doing is this?" And, slowly glancing round the circle, he fixed the men with his eyes, each one trembling in his turn and feeling relieved when his scrutiny was finished. Then Vilnoff, who had remained close beside Phil all the time, turned in his saddle and humbly told the officer what had happened. "Ah, is it so, man?" the latter replied thoughtfully. "Stackanoff captures prisoners, and leads them away in nooses, as he would drag an ox. And one is wounded, too. Get down, man, and shake this commander of yours." Vilnoff obeyed, doing as his officer ordered him, and at the same time administering a sly kick. Stackanoff at length opened his eyes, and, struggling to his feet, stared at the new-comer. Meanwhile Phil and Tony had relieved their wounded officer of his noose, and were holding him erect between them. "Tell me," began the staff-officer, fixing the Cossack commander with a piercing look, "tell me, my good friend, why you would kill our prisoners. Have not the enemy many of our brave comrades in their hands? Do they drag them with ropes and fling the wounded ones to the ground? Dog!--worse than dog!--your command is taken from you. This night our sappers return to the fortress and you with them. Go now before I do worse for you!" Like a beaten cur the Cossack commander saluted, humbly bowed, calling the staff-officer "Prince", and then retired. Now was Phil's chance of asking for good treatment for the wounded officer, and, leaving Tony to support the poor fellow, he advanced to the Russian prince, and, standing politely at attention, begged that a doctor might be sent for. "So it seems that besides doing your best to kill one of my officers, you are acquainted with our language," said the prince with a smile, "Yes, my man, your officer shall have good treatment, and so shall you. Here, you! your name? Ah--Vilnoff--then you will take charge of these men for to-night. Send this wounded gentleman into the fortress with any of our own that may be leaving. A column has been ordered to start soon after daybreak." Turning his horse, he nodded to Phil and cantered away. "My word, but there will be trouble!" said Vilnoff after a few moments' silence. "That demon Stackanoff is disgraced, and he will never forget. He will learn that it was I--Vilnoff--who told the prince the whole truth, and he will repay me. Ah, he will not forget! And you, too, you Englishmen; he will take his revenge on you also. A Cossack never forgives. But there will be time to talk of this. Come with me. You can be free and lie with me beneath my blankets if you will only promise to stay and not give me the slip." Phil held a few moments' hurried conversation with Tony before giving the desired promise. "We must remember that we are prisoners, Tony," he said, "and though this good fellow, Vilnoff, is evidently inclined to be most friendly, and act differently from the majority of his comrades, thereby making our lot easier, yet we have a duty to perform. We must escape at the earliest opportunity and try to rejoin our comrades." "Should think so," Tony grunted. "If it hadn't been for this here chap there's no saying what would have happened. Most like we should have been run through with their pig-stickers same as poor old Sam. Those Cossacks gave me a taste of their gentle treatment on the way here. They trotted pretty nearly all the way, and if I dragged a bit on the rope, the brute who was in charge of me just picked up the slack of his lasso and whopped me over the shoulders. I can feel the sting yet. He was a big black-bearded chap, and I shall know him and be able to talk to him in the proper way next time we meets, see if I sha'n't. Yes, Phil, we've got to get out of this as quick as we can. As for the promise to Vilnoff, you do as you like." "Very well," said Phil, turning to the Cossack. "How long are we likely to be in your charge?" he asked. "Only till to-morrow, Englishman. Then we Cossacks will leave the camp and act as outposts and scouts, while you and your friend may be sent into the fortress. In any case, you will be handed over to the infantry. Do not fear. I will speak a word for you." "Then we promise not to attempt to escape while in your charge, Vilnoff." "Good!" exclaimed the Cossack. "You will promise, and that is enough, for we have heard that an Englishman prides himself upon his honour. After I have left you can do as you wish," he added, smiling in their faces. "And perhaps it were better that you should risk anything rather than Stackanoff's vengeance. Ah, that man is a brute! Now, follow me, and I will see what can be done in the way of food." Following the friendly Russian, Phil and Tony at length entered the Cossack lines, and, passing between the horses, reached the farther end, where Vilnoff rapidly removed his saddle and bridle, and, picketing his shaggy animal, went in search of some grain. "The sooner we are out of this the better," muttered Phil. "Just look round without attracting attention, Tony. These Cossacks are scowling at us as if they would like to cut our throats." Tony drew an extremely black pipe from his pocket, and, holding a cake of plug tobacco above the bowl, dexterously cut shavings with his knife, ramming them down with his finger till the pipe was filled. Then he placed it in his mouth, and, calmly stepping over to a fire, which was burning close at hand, he lifted a blazing stick and applied it to the weed, turning as he did so, and swiftly gazing round the Cossack lines. A crowd of the horsemen were standing a few yards away, scowling heavily at their prisoners and muttering amongst themselves. "Ugh! a bigger set of blackguards I never see," Tony remarked calmly. "`Git', as the Yankees say, is the word for us, Phil. It'll be safe to-night with Vilnoff, but to-morrow, when he's gone, they'll pass on their tale to the other coves who've got to look after us, and a precious poor time of it well have." At this moment Vilnoff returned, and, beckoning to his prisoners, led them to where his blankets and saddle lay. The former were spread upon the ground, and Phil and Tony sat down on them. "The horse is fed and watered, and now we will look to ourselves," said Vilnoff, with a friendly smile. "I have managed to get an extra allowance of meat, and here is plenty of bread. Now we will have a fire to ourselves;" and stepping across he quickly returned with a blazing stake. Round this sticks from a bundle tied to his saddle were piled, and soon a cheerful fire was burning. Over the blaze was placed an iron tripod, from which a small kettle full of water was suspended, and into this the meat was thrown, after having been cut into small pieces. For an hour the three sat gazing at the blazing embers, while Phil and Vilnoff discussed the prospects of the campaign. At last the stew was ready. The Russian produced three tin plates and as many mugs, and soon they were enjoying their meal. A small tot of vodka, diluted with water, followed, and then, having smoked a last pipe, and being thoroughly tired out, Phil and Tony lay full length on the rugs, while Vilnoff, producing an enormous kaross of sheep-skin, spread it over them, crawled beneath it himself, and with a guttural "Good-night, Englishman!" placed his head on his saddle, and was quickly in the land of dreams. As for Phil and Tony, they were worn out, and scarcely had they turned over when they too were asleep, in blissful forgetfulness of the stirring events of the day, and of the dead and dying, who lay not ten miles away on the blood-stained slopes of the Alma. The next morning the Cossack lines were early astir, and horses and men were fully ready to set out when two officers came towards them, one dressed as a Cossack, and leading his horse. The men were quickly drawn up, and having explained that he was their new commander, the Cossack officer turned to his companion and formally handed over the two prisoners. "There, comrade," he said, "take them and look well after them. I heat they have already done harm enough, though, indeed, I cannot say much against them, for Stackanoff was too harsh with the wounded prisoner, and, besides, his dismissal has given me this command and a chance of distinguishing myself, and having my name brought before our master the Czar." The infantry officer answered that he hoped the long-looked-for opportunity would not take long in coming, and beckoning to four men who had followed him, ordered them to march the prisoners off. Phil and Tony shook hands heartily with Vilnoff, and the former thanked him for his kindness. "If ever we meet again, Vilnoff," he said, "perhaps we shall be able to do as much for you, and in any case, when we get back to our friends, as we mean to do, we shall tell them how good one of the Cossack horsemen has been to us. Now, good-bye and good luck! I hope Stackanoff will do you no harm, and that before long you will be seeking the girl you spoke of near Moscow." "Ah!" the Russian grunted, while a broad grin overspread his usually grave features, "you give me hope, Englishman. Good-bye, and may the blessed Virgin see you safely to your friends!" Phil and Tony were surrounded at this moment by their infantry guard, and marched smartly away to the rear of the camp. Here they were ordered to enter a large shed adjoining a farmhouse, and this they found was filled with other prisoners like themselves. "Halloo, mates," voices sang out, "when were you taken? What's going to happen to us?" Phil hastily explained, and then suddenly seeing the wounded officer who had borne the colour on the previous day, and who had been removed from the Cossack lines a few minutes after the brutal Stackanoff's dismissal, he walked over to him and asked him how he felt. "Much better, thanks to you, Corporal," answered the young fellow. "The doctor dressed my wound, and then got this mattress for me. After all, it was only a flesh wound, and but for severe loss of blood I should have been all right and the colour saved. It is sad to think that it was captured." "The colour is all right," answered Phil. "As I was dragged away I saw that the Highlanders had rescued it." "That's good news! Excellent news!" exclaimed the young officer in tones of relief. "Look here, Corporal, my name is McNeil, and I am sending in an account of our little affair. The doctor here has promised to have it taken over to our lines under a flag of truce. What is your name and your friend's? I am going to recommend you both for distinguished gallantry." Phil gave the required information, and after a few more words returned to Tony flushed with happiness and pride that he and his friend had so early won praise for their deeds. Half an hour later four Russians entered, and, lifting the wounded officer, carried him outside, and with great gentleness placed him in an araba. The other prisoners were ordered to file out, and in a few minutes they were marching, surrounded by guards, for the grim fortress of Sebastopol. Phil and Tony longed to escape, for once behind the stone walls of Sebastopol there would be little hope. But no opportunity occurred, and by nightfall they, with their comrades, were safely under lock and key, the officer having been taken to separate quarters. CHAPTER TWELVE. CLOSE PRISONERS. It was a wearisome time that Phil and his friend spent in prison. Confined in a huge stone building, they passed the greater part of the day in a court-yard open to the sky. Here they discussed with their comrades every possible means of escape, but they could hit on no plan that was likely to be successful. The windows were small and heavily barred, sentries with loaded weapons stood all round the walls of the court-yard, and at night occupied a room commanding the prison, being separated from it by a wall perforated for rifle fire. "Don't worry, Tony, old chap," said Phil one day, seeing that his friend was becoming despondent. "Our chance will come yet, and we shall get away. If we don't, the Allies may take the place by storm and set us free. After all, we have little to complain of, for our quarters are moderately comfortable, and our food, though plain, is plentiful." "Right yer are, Phil! I'll cheer up," answered Tony brightly. "When I comes to think of it, we ain't got much to grumble at. Think of them poor chaps as had arms and legs blown off at the Alma--we're far better off than they. But I expects this being caged up ain't for long, and any day the army will be breaking in, as you say, and setting us free." And indeed, had the prisoners but known it, the Allies were hard at work preparing to take the fortress and town. To do so from the north was, as has already been said, impossible, for the harbour was far too broad to allow of an effective bombardment, and, moreover, its northern shore was commanded by heavy batteries. Therefore, as we have seen, the Allies marched to the Chersonese heights, the British left resting upon Balaclava, while the French lay to our right. Opposite them was the southern face of Sebastopol, up till then undefended by very formidable works, though the plan of defences had long ago been sketched and partially executed. But no sooner was the object of the allied army discovered than hordes of Russians quickly transformed this side of the fortress, throwing up powerful earthworks, and arming them with guns drawn from the inexhaustible arsenals at the dockyard. And while they slaved, the British and French planned their own earthworks, and set fatigue-parties to work. By October 16th they were completed, and after a council of war, in which naval as well as military officers took part, it was decided that the bombardment should commence on the morrow, the batteries on the Chersonese heights doing their utmost to reduce the works in front of them, while the ships engaged the forts on the sea-face to distract attention. The cannonade was to be followed by a general assault. A moment's reflection will show the reader that nothing could have been wiser than a preliminary battering with cannon-shot, followed by an assault; but how the ships could have aided in one or the other it is difficult to understand. As the forts were placed on elevated plateaux, and in some cases on the cliffs, an assault by means of landing-parties was out of the question. Therefore the Russian commander would not, and did not, trouble to garrison them with infantry, but merely assured their having a sufficiency of gunners to replace possible casualties. Then again, compared with a heavily-armed stone fort, what is a wooden ship? It was a hopeless and a foolish undertaking, and it is not surprising that the allied fleet retired, having done little damage, although they had suffered severely themselves. On shore things were perhaps a little more satisfactory. Three star shells fired from Mount Rudolph, the French battery, gave the signal for the bombardment at an early hour on October 17th, and from that moment for four awful hours the Allies' combined 126 heavy guns poured a hail of shell into the Russian defences. These consisted of outworks and of various forts of formidable power known as the Flagstaff Bastion, the Malakoff, and the Redan, the whole armed with 118 guns, not to mention a thousand and more of lighter casting to be used in case of assault. But for an untoward event Sebastopol might have fallen on that very day, and the Crimea as a campaign have sunk into comparative historical insignificance. After four hours' firing a shell unluckily struck the magazine of Mount Rudolph, and with a roar which shook the surrounding camp the battery was destroyed. The French fire at once ceased, and was not renewed for two days. As for the British, they battered the Malakoff, reducing the stone-work to ruin, and silenced its guns. Soon afterwards the magazine of the Redan exploded, and though our fire still continued furiously, it was answered only feebly and at intervals, showing that the enemy too had suffered heavily like the French. And now let us consider, before returning to Phil and his comrades, why an assault was not delivered either at once, or on the following morning. But for the calamity to the French this would have occurred; owing, however, to the destruction of their chief battery, and the consequent failure to destroy the defences in front of them, assault became almost impracticable, while now that they were to some extent demoralised, it was utterly hopeless. Also it must be borne in mind that the force in Sebastopol was greatly superior in numbers to the Allies, while an attack in rear by the Russian army in the field was always to be dreaded, and, as will be seen, was not long in actually occurring. As to an assault on the following day, dawn showed that it was useless to attempt it, for the brave and energetic enemy had already reconstructed the defences, and made good all the damage that had been done. Almost a whole month had passed from the date of their incarceration, when one morning the prisoners in Sebastopol were awakened by a roar of exploding artillery. "What's that?" asked Phil, starting up suddenly and throwing off his blanket. "Listen, you fellows! Yes, there it goes again. That banging is the Russian artillery. Wait a minute and we shall hear our own at work." A moment later a distant, muttering growl told them that the Allies were answering the fire, while, had there been any doubt, a peculiar shriek overhead, which all had heard before, and the fall of a wall close at hand, told them that a shell from the far-off guns had found a mark. "Blow me!" exclaimed Tony excitedly. "Supposing one of them shells found its way in here!" "What, yer ain't afraid!" jeered a big rifleman who was amongst the prisoners. "You 'as helped to save the colours, too!" "Afraid! Booby! I'll punch yer head if yer don't mind what yer saying," retorted Tony hotly. "It ain't that I was thinking of, but of trying to get out of this. Supposing a hole got knocked in the wall, couldn't we chaps climb through it, and shy bricks at the sentries. Then we'd make a rush for it. You may bet all these Russian soldiers are busy in the forts." A grunt of assent went round the gathered prisoners, and far from being nervous or anxious lest a shell should knock the house about their ears, they sat there longing to hear the crash and make a dash for liberty. That such an eventuality might occur had evidently struck the Russians, for that night the doors of the prison were thrown open, and the prisoners ordered out with their blankets. Then they were marched under a strong guard to the harbour and ferried across. "Where do we go?" Phil asked the soldier who sat in the boat by his side. "That you will see," was the gruff reply. "But you leave the Crimea at once, and I do not envy you your long march. It is fine weather now, but as you get north you will meet the rains and cold winds, and you will wish yourself back in Sebastopol." Arrived on the northern bank of the harbour, the prisoners were grouped together, and a meal of hot coffee and bread given them. Then they set out, two ranks of armed guards marching on either side, while some twenty fierce-looking Cossacks hovered here and there, only too ready and willing to transfix any man sufficiently foolhardy to attempt an escape. "This won't do," muttered Phil, whose wits had been at work. "It won't do," he repeated almost unconsciously. "What won't?" asked Tony brusquely. "It ain't over nice, I know, but I can't see that anything's extra wrong." "Where do you think we are marching to, Tony?" asked Phil. "You don't know. Then I'll tell you. We are going due north, out of the Crimea and into some part of the Russian interior. Once there, what chance shall we have of ever getting back?" "There you puzzle me, Phil," Tony answered, scratching his head. "I suppose it's a long way off." "Yes, a long way, Tony; but that is not the difficulty. The weather is on the point of changing, and soon we shall have rain and snow. We must get away within the next few days or not at all, so keep your eyes open for the first chance that comes along." "Trust me, mate," whispered Tony, unconsciously dropping his voice. "I don't want to spend the next year or so in a Russian prison. A month's been enough for me. But it'll be a job to get away from these fellows: and what shall we do for food once we are free?" "That we must chance, Tony. The main thing is to get safely away, and, of course, we must make the attempt when it is dark. To-night our guards, knowing we are close to the allied camp, will be extra watchful, but a couple of nights later, when we are well on the way, and the Russian field-army is between us and our friends, they are certain to become slack and careless about keeping a watch. That will be our time, and we must make the best of it. There are plenty of small farmhouses scattered about this part of the Crimea, for it is famous for its vineyards, and if the worst comes to the worst, we must break into one and obtain food in that way. In any case there are grapes to be had in abundance." Having agreed that it was useless to attempt an escape for two days or more, and that it was unnecessary to inform their comrades of their intentions--for where two might chance to slip away, it was hopeless for fifty or more to make the attempt,--Phil and Tony marched on stolidly. Amongst the prisoners were Riflemen, Guards, and Highlanders, some slightly wounded, and all more or less in a tattered and forlorn condition, for head-gear had been for the most part lost, and the bright red of tunics had long ago been dulled by lying on the dirt and mud. That night they pressed on, and halted only when the field-army was reached. Then they bivouacked and waited till the following day, when the march was resumed in a leisurely manner, the guards, however, still keeping careful watch over their prisoners, while the fierce and restless Cossacks rode their shaggy ponies on either flank and kept a scowling eye on the captives. Phil and Tony saved some portion of their meal of bread daily, cramming it into their pockets. But it was not till the third night that they dared to attempt an escape. "Keep an eye on those Cossack fellows as we bivouack, Tony," said Phil in an undertone, as the column came to a halt. "They are the ones we have most to fear. Up to this, I notice that half of them have nightly gone out as pickets, ready to cut off any escape, while the others have camped alongside us. If only we can see the positions the outposts take up, and get away from here without rousing an alarm, we ought to be able to hide up in some vineyard." Lying down on the ground, as if tired out, the two watched eagerly, and carefully noted the position of the Cossacks. Riding some three hundred yards from their comrades, each of these wiry horsemen leapt from his pony, removed the bit and slipped it under its jaw, and left it there with the reins on the neck, so that in a few moments it could be replaced. Girths were then loosened, and while the animal cropped the grass its watchful master trudged backwards and forwards, lance in hand, and with his face always turned towards the distant camp. "Sebastopol lies over there," said Phil, nodding in the direction they had come, "and we must make a bolt for it some other way. The outposts are certain to be more vigilant behind us. Look at that fellow over there on our right. I have had my eye on him these last two days; he is evidently lazy and careless of his duties, especially now that no Cossack officer is with the horsemen guarding us." Tony glanced in the direction indicated, and noted that the man Phil had called his attention to was standing by his pony's side, with one elbow resting on the saddle, and his head on his hand, as if already asleep. "Yes, that's the beggar for us, Phil," he whispered. "If we crawl over there we ought to be able to slip by him unawares. To-night will be fairly light--just sufficient for us to spot him at twenty yards,--and once we know where he is, it won't be much of a job to slip between him and the next." At dusk a meal was served, and having eaten their portion, Phil and Tony threw themselves down upon a blanket, and spread the second over them, for the nights were already chilly, and they had discovered that with only one blanket apiece greater warmth and comfort could be obtained in this way. "It won't do to fall asleep now," whispered Phil. "We have had a tiring uphill march, and are both in need of a snooze and inclined to take it. Let us talk about something interesting, so as to keep awake." Tony yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes. "I was precious near off then," he answered. "Tell yer what, Phil, teach me a few words of this Russian lingo. That'll wake me up." Accordingly Phil commenced with the simpler words, and when Tony had heard and repeated as many as he was likely to remember, they commenced to chat about their life in the menagerie, taking care only to whisper, and keeping a vigilant watch upon the sentries close at hand. "We must clear out of this about an hour before midnight," whispered Phil. "The sentries are changed at twelve o'clock, and the Cossack outposts too. If we wait till then they are all sure to be wide-awake in expectation of relief, and after midnight there will be little chance of slipping past the fresh ones. As it is, I see it will be a far more difficult job than we had imagined." "That's so," grunted Tony, staring at the nearest sentry. "In course if we could get alongside that feller we could double him up like a rag before he'd got time to shout, and I doubt that the ones on either side can see him. But I fear it would be a failure. We'd never be able to get close enough to smash him before he pulled his trigger." "I have it, Tony," whispered Phil after a few minutes' silence, during which he cudgelled his brains for a means of escape. "We should never get away together, for where one might slip through two would be certain to be discovered. Fortunately many of our comrades are still moving about or sitting up talking, so that my little scheme has a chance of working. Tony, we must have a row and separate." "Have a row, Phil? That we don't, while I can help it!" exclaimed Tony hotly. "Not a real one, Tony," answered Phil, with a smothered laugh. "We must pretend. Listen. It now wants two hours before we must make our attempt, and we must do our best to judge that time pretty nearly. No doubt the sentry has noticed that we have been lying quietly as if asleep, for he has passed close by us several times. Let us peep out, and wait till he is near again, then you must roll over and pull the blanket from me as if in your sleep. The movement is certain to attract his attention. I will then start up and tear the blanket away from you, and after that we can easily come to words and almost to blows. No doubt the sentry will watch us and enjoy our quarrel, and as soon as we have made sufficient noise, I will get up in a regular huff, pull my blanket from you, and go to the other end of the camp. Two hours later I shall do my best to creep between the sentries, and once through I will imitate the whinny of a horse. The men on guard will think it comes from one of the Cossack ponies, and are not likely to stir, while you, knowing it is my signal, will take the first chance of slipping through and joining me." A suppressed chuckle burst from Tony's lips, and the blanket shook as he attempted to smother his amusement and delight. "Phil, you're a good 'un," he stuttered. "Yer fairly walk away with it. Blest if yer ain't the smartest chap I ever see! There ain't nothing more to be said. It's bound to work is that there scheme, so the sooner we has that row the better. But--look here, old man, how do we join one another out there in the dark?" "That I was just going to mention, Tony. Once through, crawl on for a hundred yards, and then sit down. You must take care to go straight to your front. I am going to lie down over there on the right, and I shall know you are on the left. I shall give you a quarter of an hour to get through, and then I shall crawl over in your direction. If after a good search I fail to find you I will give another whinny, and you must crawl up to me. Now is everything clear?" "Everything, mate," answered Tony, with evident delight. "We just plays this little game, and then I waits for the signal. Once through, there comes that Cossack chap, and if he so much as flickers an eyelid, bust me if I don't smash him like an egg. Now, mate, give us yer flipper, cos, yer know, things might go wrong, and I specks those Russian coves have a nasty way of shooting if they spots a fellow giving them the slip." Phil stretched out his hand, and meeting Tony's, gave it a cordial grip. Then for some ten minutes the two lay still, Tony snoring heavily, while the sentry passed them twice on his beat, humming a tune as he did so. Close at hand were the other prisoners, some asleep, while others sat up round a fire smoking a last pipe. "Now, here goes," whispered Tony, and with a loud snort he rolled over on his opposite side, clutching the blanket and dragging it from Phil. The action was beautifully timed, for the sentry was just opposite them and within a few paces, and halted to see what would happen. Phil awoke suddenly, sat up, and shivered. Then he felt for the blanket as if expecting to find it over his knees, but failing to hit upon it he looked at his sleeping comrade, and instantly, and with an exclamation of wrath, seized the blanket and dragged it away. "Here, what are yer up to?" growled Tony hoarsely, sitting up and grabbing at the blanket. "Want it all yerself, yer greedy beggar? Let go, will yer?" They struggled together, while their anger apparently rose till they were on the point of blows. "Whose blanket is it then?" cried Phil angrily. "It's mine, and I mean to have it. There's yours; you're lying on it. Stick to it, and I'll stick to mine; but not here. I've had enough of you. Every night it's the same. I'm getting worn out for want of sleep." "Hurrah! here's them two bosom friends a-fighting," laughed a linesman who formed one of the number round the fire. "Have it out, boys. We're getting stale for want of a little fun, and now's just the time for a fight." Phil and Tony took no notice of this encouragement, but, tearing the blanket angrily from his friend, Phil trudged away with it to the other end of the sleeping line, leaving the sentry, who had watched the whole scene, doubled up with laughter, which was loudly echoed by the men sitting round the fire. "Stop that noise," came a harsh voice at this moment from the tent occupied by the officer in charge of the party; and instantly the sentry commenced to tramp his beat, while the prisoners rose and went to their hard and uncomfortable couches. Phil chose a spot between two sleeping figures on the right, and, throwing himself down, apparently fell into a deep sleep. But part of his face was uncovered, and his eyes were fixed in the direction of the sentry, whose figure was now indistinguishable in the darkness. A weary hour and a half dragged by, and then he prepared to make the attempt. Leaving his blanket, he crept on all-fours through the grass, and within five minutes was safely through the sentries, where, having put a sufficient distance between them and himself he sat down and indulged in a whinny--a curious collection of sounds which every school-boy is an adept at, having, no doubt, times out of number, tried the nerves of some irascible master by repeating them from the remote and unobserved depths of his class-room, together with cat-calls and other pleasantries. Half an hour later Phil and Tony had met, and were crawling away towards the Cossack outposts. Stealing through the long grass, and avoiding stones and small patches of corn which were spread thereabouts, they were soon near the post occupied by the horsemen. "We'll get alongside that wall," whispered Phil, pulling Tony's sleeve in the direction he meant. "It is not a long one, and by crawling to the end and squeezing against it, we ought to be able to see our gentleman without ourselves being observed." Accordingly they crept to the wall, which surrounded a potato field, and advancing cautiously were soon at the corner, where, lying side by side, they searched the darkness for the Cossack horseman. "Can't see him anywhere," muttered Phil in an undertone. "Here, what's that?" asked Tony excitedly, pointing in front of him. Before Phil had time to answer, there was a hoarse cry of astonishment, and a figure which had been leaning upon the wall just round the corner started out, and, lowering a lance, rushed at them. The weapon struck the ground between them, narrowly missing Phil's arm. Next moment Tony had sprung at the Cossack with a low cry, and had felled him to the ground with a powerful blow from his fist. "Didn't I say I'd do for yer if yer winked yer blessed eye?" he said breathlessly. "Move again and I'll stick yer through with the lance." But even if the Russian had been able to understand, he was not in the condition which would allow him to prove offensive, for the fist had crashed like a sledge-hammer into his face, and he now lay motionless and stunned upon the ground. Phil picked up the lance, and while they lay still, in case the slight noise should have aroused the next outpost he produced his knife and commenced to cut it in half. It was soon done, and, keeping the head armed with the spear-point, he handed the other to Tony, and they once more rose to their knees and crept stealthily away into the darkness. Ten minutes later they were walking briskly in the direction of Sebastopol. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE HIGHROAD TO LIBERTY. When they had placed half a mile or more between themselves and the Russian outposts, Phil caught Tony by the sleeve and came to a halt. "We'll have a breather and a consultation now, old chap," he said with a cheery note in his voice. "We're safely through so far, but there's a lot to be done before we reach our comrades. It was bad luck our hitting up against that fellow, for when the outposts are relieved at midnight he will be found, and our flight discovered. So we may take it that we have barely an hour's start." "It were bad luck," agreed Tony, "but I don't see as though it weren't worser for him. We hit up against the beggar, but I can tell yer the knock he give us wasn't nothing to the smasher I got in on his face. It fairly knocked the senses out of him, and will teach him to mind his own business in future." "Now, what's to be done, Tony?" asked Phil. "We have an hour's start, and barely that. I am for making across to the road, and trotting along it at our best pace. They are sure to send horsemen back by that way, and we shall be able to hear them if we keep our ears open. Then we will slip across the grass and hide up in some vineyard, where I expect we shall do well to stay until the search is over." "Look here, Phil, you're bossing this show," said Tony with some emphasis. "I haven't a doubt but what yer proposes is the best, so let's get off at once." Having settled the point they promptly swung to the right, and soon were on the post-road. Then, taking to their heels, they ran steadily along it. Every ten minutes they halted for a few moments to listen, but, hearing nothing, set out again. In this way they had covered some five or six miles before shouts and galloping hoofs striking hard upon the road behind them caught their ears. Instantly they turned on to the grass, and, climbing a wall, ran through a large cultivated field and hid themselves in a patch of corn beyond. It was well that they did so, for when opposite the wall the pursuing Cossacks halted, while two of their number dismounted, and, vaulting over it, searched in its shadow for them. Finding nothing they returned to their companions, and soon the beat of hoofs again resounded along the post-road. Phil and Tony were congratulating themselves on their safety thus far, when the latter, who had pushed his head up through the ears of corn, strained his eyes towards the road, and clutching Phil by the shoulders, whispered, "Hush! I hear something." Both listened intently, but for some minutes could neither see nor hear anything; the moon, however, was rising, and very soon they were able to make out a solitary horseman patrolling the road. "That settles it," muttered Phil. "Of course by creeping up to the wall we might manage to silence that fellow, but it would do more harm than good. At present they are uncertain of our whereabouts, but his disappearance would tell them at once that we were in the immediate neighbourhood. As it is, I doubt if they will think we have got so far, for the sentries are certain to declare that they noticed our sleeping figures up to the last moment. Tony, we must make a move, and find some better hiding-place than this." Stealing through the corn-patch they were not long in reaching its margin, and then, to their chagrin, nothing but open fields met their view. "I fear it means lying where we are," said Phil dejectedly. "We might easily slip across unobserved, but as far as one can see in this light there is not a vineyard or cover of any sort in sight. We must do something, for a couple of horsemen would quickly rout us out of this." "I seem to remember some kind of house along this way," muttered Tony, trying to recall the spot. "Yes, I'm sure of it, and it's away over there, half a mile or more, I should think;" and he stretched his arm and pointed to the right. "Then we'll try to find it," said Phil with decision. "There is nothing else for it, and we cannot be in a worse spot than we occupy now. I blame myself for not having kept a better watch on our surroundings as we passed along the road with our escort. That Cossack has ridden away a little, so now is our time; we'll strike straight across, and trust to luck. We haven't time to pick roads, for it will be dawn in another hour. If they come over here they are certain to see our footmarks, but no doubt we shall get on to grassy land soon, and that will throw them off the scent." Standing up for a few moments, to make sure that no enemy was near, they plunged into the fields and walked steadily on for an hour; but still no house was in sight. Half an hour later, when they were almost in despair, and when a faint flush in the east and a waning of the pale, silvery gleams of the moon heralded the approach of dawn, they caught sight of some outbuildings on their left, and were hurrying towards them, when Phil suddenly saw some ghostly-looking horsemen issuing from behind them, and clutching hold of Tony, dragged him forcibly into a narrow ditch which he was in the act of crossing. "What's up?" asked Tony, somewhat nettled; but Phil's whispered reply, "Cossacks! Hush!" appeased him. The ditch was half-filled with water, but a thorough sousing is preferable to captivity, and the two companions squeezed still closer into it, wedging themselves into its slime and mud, and thrusting their bodies as far as possible beneath the long grass and reeds which sprang from its bank, for a hasty glance and approaching sounds told them that the Russians would probably pass close at hand. Five minutes later their voices were audible, and a series of splashes and thuds told them that they had leapt the ditch a few yards higher up. "They are not there, and you have led us a fine goose-chase!" Phil heard one of the Russians angrily exclaim. "What made you take us on such a fool's errand, Petroff?" "It is no fool's errand," another voice replied gruffly. "I distinctly saw two figures cross the land beyond. They are not at the farm, that is clear; but we shall catch them, and then they shall suffer. Pigs that all Englishmen are! I myself will tie them to a wheel and thrash them before their comrades. It will be a good example, and our master the Czar would approve of it." The speakers passed on, and Phil hastily interpreted what he had overheard. "Whack us, will they?" muttered Tony, gritting his teeth. "That's one more chalked up against these Cossack chaps. Pigs, indeed! Yah!" And his indignation being too great for words, he subsided into silence. Giving the patrol sufficient time to get well away, they sprang from the ditch, and hastily squeezing the water from their clothes, struck across to the outhouses. Beyond them and within fifty paces was a small farmhouse, standing in absolutely open fields, with not a sign of a vineyard or patch of cultivated ground, while fenced-in enclosures and distant bleating and lowing told that this was a grazing-farm, and that its owner did not trust to crops for his livelihood. By this time the light was distinctly clearer and the night was rapidly drawing to a close; so that, if they were to escape observation, it was necessary that they should hide themselves away. "The outhouses will be the best for us," said Phil, thinking aloud. "Come along, Tony; we must see which one will suit us best. If they are merely empty huts, meant for cattle, they will be of no use to us, and we shall have to try the house, or get into an empty pig-sty or something of the sort." The first was simply an empty shed, and the second proved equally useless. The third was much larger than the others, and the big, closed doors showed it to be a coach-house. "That will do, so we'll get inside at once," whispered Phil. "Just run round, Tony, and see if there's a window close to the ground." While Phil knocked out the pin that held the hasp of the door, Tony went in search of a window, and returned to say that the only opening he could find was a trap-door high up, evidently leading to a hay-loft. But there was no ladder. "Then we must find one," said Phil quickly. "It will never do to get in and leave the door open. If we cannot find a ladder, perhaps there will be a piece of rope inside, and we can manage it like that." Tony disappeared again, while Phil, opening one of the huge doors, entered the shed. In it were several arabas and heavy carts run close together, while behind them, and pushed close against the wooden wall, was a dilapidated and old-fashioned four-wheeled carriage, completely covered in by an antiquated leather hood, and yet by its mere presence there proving that the owner was a moderately well-to-do person. "Just the thing for us," muttered Phil. "Now for a rope or a ladder." He hunted about in the dim light, and presently came across some harness, made of twisted hide, hanging close against the door. To take it down and buckle the traces together was only a few minutes' work, and by that time Tony had returned, to dolefully inform his friend that he had searched everywhere without discovering a ladder, and that, in addition, while prowling round the house, he had seen a light moving, showing that its occupants were already astir. "How'll this do, Tony?" asked Phil, producing his improvised rope. "Now, who's to do the climbing? You--or shall I be the one?" Tony settled the question by stepping outside and closing the door, having taken the precaution to leave his stick with Phil. Then he jammed the hasp to, and, having replaced the pin, ran round till he was beneath the trap-door. A series of niches had been left in the planks which formed the wall, and up these Phil rapidly swarmed, and gained the loft. Throwing the trap-door open, he lowered his rope, and sitting on the floor, with both feet wedged against the wall, called softly to Tony to climb. Two minutes later they were together. "Now, Tony," said Phil, "pick up a big armful of hay and toss it down. You will find an old coach in the corner of the shed. Take the hay there and make all comfortable, while I close and fasten the door, and put these traces back." Working rapidly, for there was no saying when a hot search might be made for them, it was not long before they were both comfortably ensconsed in the dilapidated coach, leaving the interior of the shed as they had found it. "All we want now is a look-out," said Phil thoughtfully. "You stay where you are, Tony, while I search for one. In any case I shall have plenty of time to get back to you, for no one could get in here without giving us plenty of warning." "Search away, old horse--search till yer find it. I'm as comfortable here as a prince in his palace," exclaimed Tony, with a broad grin of contentment, throwing himself back upon the hay which filled the roomy carriage. Phil opened the door and stepped out. Then he searched the walls thoroughly, finding many cracks and apertures by which he was able to obtain a clear view of his surroundings. Better than all, he discovered a long crevice between two planks directly behind their hiding-place. Stepping into the carriage he closed the door, and, opening his knife, cut a large triangular slit in the leather covering. Through this, to Tony's absolute bewilderment, he thrust his head, and stared through the aperture in the wall, to find that it commanded an excellent view of the farmhouse and surroundings. "There you are, Tony," he laughed, withdrawing his head. "That is our look-out, and one of us must be stationed there all day. This slit I have made is never likely to be noticed. Have a look yourself." Tony did so, but withdrew his head almost more quickly than he had thrust it out. "Bust me! the Russians are already after us," he cried. "See for yourself, Phil. They are hammering at the door of the farmhouse." Shouts, shrill hoots, and loud hangings reached their ears, and, glueing his eyes to the crevice, Phil saw that a party of horsemen had ridden up and halted before the farmhouse, and within a short distance of the outhouse in which he and his friend were hidden. A few moments later the door of the farmhouse was opened, and a man appeared looking somewhat startled. "What do you want?" he asked angrily. "Am I to have no peace? It is scarcely an hour since you roused me in search of some of your beggarly prisoners who have escaped. Am I to be disturbed like this because you do not keep a careful watch?" "Gently, old man, gently," a rough fellow with a rasping voice answered. "We are but doing the duty of our country and our master, and you had better keep a civil and obliging tongue in your head. We know of farms very near at hand that are farms no longer. Don't we, my comrades?" he asked with a brutal laugh. "They were burnt--by accident, perhaps--and their owner hangs to the nearest tree outside. Perchance--wretched man--of his own act, and perchance, my surly friend, because he was indiscreet." "What do you want, then?" asked the farmer in a more civil tone, evidently overawed by the black and lowering looks of the Cossacks, and by the covert threats which their spokesman had uttered. "Something good and of your beat, my friend, for we are hungry; and after that we will search the farm once more." "Very well, come in if you will. Here, wife," he shouted, "prepare a meal for these good fellows." "What's all the noise about," asked Tony impatiently, tugging at Phil's arm. Then when he had learnt he grumbled. "Something to eat. That's what they're after now, is it? Young 'un, the very mention of a meal makes me as hollow as the drum of our Grenadier band. Just keep an eye upon them till they are out of the way, and then we'll fall to ourselves. We've only bread and water, but I feel like tackling anything." A little later the Cossacks had entered the house, leaving their ponies outside, unsaddled, and tied by the halter to a long rope attached to a ring in the door-post. A plentiful supply of corn had been given them, and while their masters were busy with knife and fork, they ate it hungrily, and having finished it, promptly drooped their heads and fell asleep, for the Cossack pony, though hardy and full of strength, is a long-suffering animal, and never knows how soon he may be called upon for work. Therefore, having been on the move most of the night, one and all took immediate advantage of the moment's respite given them. As for Phil and Tony, stretching their legs and bunching a thick layer of hay beneath them, they set to work on the bread they had saved, and enjoyed their meal in spite of its being so simple. An hour later there was a commotion outside, and Phil, who was on the watch, saw the Cossacks emerge from the farmhouse. Then they separated, and in couples searched every corner of the house and its surroundings. "This looks a likely kind of place," said one of them, approaching the shed in which Phil and Tony were hidden. "Come, Petroff, we will enter it together. I would not for the wealth of the Czar undertake the search alone, for these English fools, though unarmed, are capable of killing us. See how our unlucky comrade was damaged by a blow from one of their fists. He says he remembers only thrusting at them with his lance, and then a flash in his eyes as of a thousand stars. Truly they are brutes who learn to strike down men with their clenched hand alone." "What is the good of entering there?" his companion answered surlily. "Can you not see, fool, that the door is pinned outside? There is no other entrance but the trap-door, so how can they be there, unless, indeed, they possess wings? For I know the ladder is within the farmhouse. Still, we will search the place, and then can honestly say that we have used every endeavour." A grating sound accompanied by loud creaking followed this as both doors were thrown wide-open to afford a better light. Crouching close between the seats of their refuge, the two comrades waited breathlessly, stick in hand, and with fast-beating hearts, while the two Cossacks searched every corner of the dwelling. "They are not here, as I said," a voice cried from the loft. "This trap-door is bolted on the inside, and the big doors on the outside. It is clear that our trouble is for nothing. Still," he added, having scrambled down by means of the niches, "were I escaping from our enemies this is the place I should choose, and that carriage over there is the roost I should take possession of. From its size it should form most comfortable quarters;" and as if to prove the truth of this, he crept between the carts, and, turning the handle, attempted to open the door. "Hang on for your life, Tony," whispered Phil, who had overheard all that passed. "This fellow is trying to pull the door open." Both at once clung to it, Phil grasping the handle inside, while Tony dug his fingers into the window slits and pulled with all his strength. "Bah!" muttered the Cossack, disappointed in his attempt. "What is the use of a carriage with a door that does not open?" and, turning away, he and his companion left the outhouse. "That was a near go, Phil, old horse," whispered Tony excitedly. "I thought it was all up, and was ready to jump out and tackle the other beggar while you settled the fellow tugging at the door. We'd have downed 'em, too, but I suppose they'd have given warning to the others." "Certain to have done so, Tony. You may not know it, but the man who was doing his best to break in here is the gentleman who proposes to thrash us when we are captured." "Oh, he is, is he?" was Tony's grim reply. "Wait a little while and I'll settle the hash of that fine chap." A quarter of an hour later Phil saw the horsemen collect together, and, having saddled their ponies, they rode away from the farm, evidently to the no small satisfaction of the farmer. In half an hour two of them returned, and having unsaddled they turned their horses into a shed, and, carrying their saddles, banged at the farmhouse door again. "What now?" surlily asked the owner, appearing. "Only a lodging for the two of us," one, a big burly fellow, the same that had attempted to open the carriage door, answered with an oath. "Come, master farmer, we want no trouble; accommodation for two, good feeding, and plenty of that vodka we have already tasted, are what we desire. We have been ordered here to keep a look-out for the runaways." With a growl of displeasure the man bade them enter, and nothing more of them was seen till the evening, when they appeared, evidently in an intoxicated condition. That night Phil was lowered from the trap-door by Tony, and when he returned he brought a loaf of bread and a joint of meat, which he had abstracted through an open window of the farmhouse, and in addition, a pocketful of apples from a tiny orchard growing near. The following day passed uneventfully. The two Cossacks made a thorough search of the surroundings, and once more returned to their beloved vodka. That night again Phil went out in search of provender, but, in endeavouring to reach a plate of provisions which stood upon a shelf within the window, he upset a dish which clattered to the ground and smashed into a thousand pieces. Instantly a window was thrown open and a head put out. Phil crept into the shadow and crouched low. "Who is there?" a drunken voice called. "Comrade, there are thieves about. Rouse yourself." The window closed with a bang, and, darting across to the outhouse, Phil rapidly clambered up through the trap-door, and he and Tony having gained their hiding-place, once more waited anxiously for what was to follow. But the Cossacks evidently preferred the comfort of a warm room to searching for a thief who was, for all they knew, far away already. So, grumbling that they would see to it on the morrow, they turned in again, and soon all was quiet. "We shall have to clear away from here, Tony," said Phil as they waited. "The disappearance of food is certain to lead to suspicion, and we shall be caught. To-morrow night we will make a bolt for it." On the following morning it was evident that more than suspicion had been aroused, and a hot search was instituted, for, from what Phil overheard, none in the farmhouse doubted that the escaped prisoners were close at hand. Saddling up, the Cossacks searched every corner of the fields, and returned utterly baffled at mid-day. A feed of corn was tossed into the shed close at hand, and the ponies driven in ready for an instant start; then the Russians betook themselves to their favourite bottle, and when they reappeared were evidently the worse for its contents. But they were far from giving up the search. "They must be close at hand," the man, whose voice Phil had heard so often, exclaimed with an oath. "We must find them too, comrade, and then we shall be rewarded. Where can the fools be? Ah! let us try the coach-house again. These English, I have heard, are dense and slow, but perhaps these two have more wits than their brothers." "Tony, we're done for, I fear," said Phil, hastily withdrawing his head. "This shed is to be searched again." "We must just chance it then," grunted Tony. "It's a bad scrape we're in, but we were lucky the other day. If this fellow does find us in here, why, we must just silence the two of them. It's their lives or our liberty, and I'm determined to get out of their hands. Lie low, old boy, and if these coves spot us it'll be the worse for them." Tony shook his stick threateningly, and was on the point of launching into an elaborate explanation of the exact punishment he would mete out to the Cossack who had promised his friends to thrash the fugitives, when the door of the shed was thrown open with a bang, and the two Russians reeled in. "Search the loft, comrade," said the big man authoritatively. "This spirit of our friend's is good and powerful stuff, and my legs are none too steady." The man did as he was told, and, peeping through the window, Phil watched him laboriously climbing to the loft, looking as though he might lose his grip and fall at any moment. The big man stood still for a second, stroking his beard. Then, evidently struck once more by the appearance of the covered carriage, he crept towards it. "What is this?" he muttered loudly when a few paces away. "Is it the vodka, or did I turn that handle and leave it so?" With an effort he pulled himself together; suddenly remembering that he had indeed turned the handle and neglected to restore it to its usual position, and realising that it was now closed, he gave a drunken shout and rushed at the door. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. ALMOST TRAPPED. The sight of a burly, black-bearded Russian of forbidding aspect, half-maddened moreover by drink, rushing at one's hiding-place, is calculated to inspire the bravest with trepidation, and in the case of Phil and Tony it can be recorded, without fear of their incurring the epithet of coward, that both were more than a little alarmed for their safety. But they were in a cage--in an extremely tight corner without doubt--and, rendered desperate by the knowledge, and that recapture meant, if not death, certainly ill-treatment, they determined to make a light for it. "Silence him at all costs," Phil whispered rapidly. "Let him pull the door open, and then drag him in. I leave it to you to silence him, Tony." "Ay, I'll do that, never fear," was the hurried answer in a tone which showed that though a handkerchief as a gag had possibly occurred to the gallant Tony as a method, yet he knew of other and surer means. A second later the handle was wrenched open, and the door flew back with a bang, while the Cossack almost fell into the carriage. There was a swish and a sounding crash, and he flopped into the hay limply, stunned by a heavy blow from Tony's club, which, had it not been for the thick astrakhan hat the Russian wore, would have settled his fate there and then. His helpless body was instantly dragged into the corner and a hurried consultation held. "We've got to fix up that other chap," said Tony grimly. "Now his pal's gone the fat's in the fire." "No doubt about it, Tony," agreed Phil. "We must silence both. Let us get out and wait near the door for the other fellow. We can leave this man for the present, for that crack you gave him will keep him quiet for a time." Tony chuckled. "And he was the chap as was going to tie us up and whop us!" he said, with huge enjoyment. "He was going to give us a taste of the rope! He shall have some himself soon, but for the present the dose of stick will suit him." Shaking his club at the unconscious man, he followed Phil out of the carriage and closed the door. Both crawled beneath the cart till close to the niches down which the Russian must climb, and waited eagerly for his appearance. But there was not a sound above, and nothing but the certainty that he had ascended to the loft to convince them that he was there still. "What has happened to him?" asked Phil. "Do you think he heard the noise below, and has escaped through the trap-door?" "Not he," Tony answered with assurance. "He's up there, p'r'aps hiding, but most like dead asleep. Listen. Perhaps we'll hear him." There was a minute's silence, when both heard heavy snoring from the loft, and looked at one another, uncertain how to proceed. "We're in a fix," said Phil shortly. "We dare not move out of this till nightfall, for the surrounding country is open; and we cannot leave this fellow asleep up there. He may pull himself together at any moment and search for his friend. Also if we climb up to him we are likely to rouse him, and he will give the alarm before he can be silenced." "Yes, it's a real fix, Phil; but we've got to get out of it," muttered Tony, scratching his head in bewilderment. "Why not sing out to him in his own lingo and tell him to come down?" he suddenly suggested. "Then as he gets close to the ground we can nobble him." "Of course; just the thing;" and Phil, who had heard Petroff address his friend as "Nicholas", called to him in a low voice. At first there was no response; but presently the man above moved, and they heard him grumble something, and evidently turn over to sleep again. "Nicholas, here are the English. Remember our reward," cried Phil in a harsh tone. "Ah, what?" they heard the man say. Then there were sounds as if he had risen to his feet and fallen again. But he was evidently fully aroused, and soon his legs appeared through the opening above searching for the first of the niches. He found it, and commenced to descend, while Phil and Tony crept a little closer and prepared to dart out from beneath the shelter of the cart and overpower him. Suddenly there was an oath as one foot slipped from its hold, then a sharp cry of fear, and before either Phil or Tony could utter an exclamation, the unhappy Cossack, overpowered by drink, had lost his hold and fallen like a sack to the ground, where he lay huddled in a heap, while a crimson stream ran from his ears and nose. Phil crept to his side and found that he was dead. "We are saved our trouble," he said sorrowfully. "The poor fellow has smashed his skull. What's to be done, Tony?" His friend looked blankly round and shook his head. "Blest if I know, Phil! Here we are with two Russian coves, one of them dead, and here we've got to stick for a matter of four hours and more. It beats me. The farmer chap saw them both come in here, and it won't take long for him to search. It's a regular fixer." "And the worst of it is too, Tony, that if we are found with this dead man we shall be accused of having killed him. I have it. We'll hoist him to the loft again, and place the other fellow alongside him. Then we'll take up our quarters there. If we are discovered we can make a good fight for it, and if the farmer comes in search he may think his unwelcome visitors have left the shed to investigate some other spot and will return to his house." Tony looked at his friend as if to say, "Well, you're a good 'un," and, without venturing on a remark, stepped to the wall and returned with the traces which had already served as a rope. One of these was buckled round the dead man, and the other trace attached. Then both climbed into the loft and hoisted their burden after them. Another trip and the still unconscious figure of their enemy Petroff was dragged up beside them. The harness was returned to its peg, and with a hasty glance round to make sure that there was nothing about the shed to show that a struggle had taken place within it, Phil and Tony climbed into the hay-loft and sat down to regain their breath and rest after their exertions. Two hours passed almost in silence, when Phil suddenly slapped his knee and gave a sharp exclamation of delight. "We'll reach our friends yet, old man," he said enthusiastically. "I've thought the whole thing over and have decided what to do. At first I imagined that our best way would be to relieve these gentlemen of their clothing in exchange for ours. But it would not do. If we were captured it would mean a file of muskets at six in the morning, for we should certainly be condemned as spies." Tony grunted hoarsely, showing that he had a decided dislike to this arrangement. "But though we do not take their clothes, we will make free with their swords and ponies," continued Phil, "and so soon as it is dark we will get away from this. By riding at night, and making allowances for the wide detours we shall be compelled to undertake, we should reach our friends in three days at most. We have still a large piece of meat left, and with that and the bread that remains, and an occasional drink of water, we must be satisfied. Now we'll secure this fellow. Slip down and get some of that harness, like a brick, will you, Tony?" That evening, soon after dusk had fallen, two stealthy figures crept from the shed, and stole towards the outhouse in which the Cossack ponies were kept. The door was only latched, and, waiting merely to slip on the bridles and tighten the girths, the two adventurous Englishmen vaulted into the saddle and rode out into the night. They were not gone many minutes when the farmer, wondering at the prolonged absence of the Cossacks, and having seen them turn their ponies into the shed, came to see if the animals were still there, and, finding them gone, returned in anything but a pleasant mood to his house. "Those two brutes are gone, wife," he said testily. "They have not even thanked us for our hospitality, nor paid for the vodka which they drank. May it kill them then is all that I wish!" Had he but known it, his unkind thought had already been partially accomplished, for in his hay-loft one of the Cossacks lay dead, a victim indeed to the fiery spirit, while the second, destined for many days to be sick in his house, and demand careful nursing and feeding at his expense, reclined, unconscious, in a heap of straw, bound hand and foot, but left ungagged, a circumstance of which he took advantage early in the morning by screaming for help at the top of his voice. Once more returning to the post-road, Phil and Tony rode along it quietly, only the jangle of their Cossack swords breaking the silence. Three hours later a line of watch-fires in the distance told them that they were approaching the Russian field-army, and warned them to find some safe hiding-place. "They are seven or eight miles away at least," said Tony, "and we are lucky to have spotted them so soon." "Yes, Tony, we are," Phil remarked thoughtfully. "We are still more lucky, for this side they will have only a few pickets and outposts, and we must be far outside their circle. Also they will not be expecting anything. I fancy our best course will be to ride to our left, keeping the lights at the same distance as now. Then we will choose some sort of a shelter, on high ground if possible, so that to-morrow we can see what direction to take. Once past those troops, Tony, and safely through the scouts who are certain to be watching our fellows, we shall be back in the British camp." "Safe in the British camp. Yes," echoed Tony, "and I hopes stowing away the first decent feed for many a long day now. Coffee and bread's all right, but my strength is just going for the want of meat." More than two hours later, and just before the dawn broke, they rode their ponies into a big vineyard situated on the slope of a hill which seemed to command the camp. Daylight discovered a splendid panorama spread out before them, for they had been unconsciously but steadily ascending all night, and now were at such an elevation that they could see, beyond the Chersonese heights, Sebastopol in the far-off distance, merged in a haze of sea and land, and only distinguishable by the whiteness of its masonry; while directly beneath them, as it seemed, lay the Russian camp, seething with horses and troops, which were very soon to try the fortunes of war with their adversaries. To the right of the Chersonese heights another line of rugged hills stretched as far as the river Tchernaya, which could be seen winding here and there, and flashing back the sun. Along these heights ran the Woronzoff road, branching off before it reached the river, and, running parallel and at some distance from it, deflected by other heights, known as the Kamara. To the right of these was a deep valley, the ever-memorable "Valley of the Shadow of Death", opposite which, by straining their eyes and shading them with their hands, the broad folds of the grand flag of England could be distinguished flaunting in the breeze, even at that distance, so clear was the atmosphere. Phil pointed it out to Tony. "That's the place for us," he said shortly, "and we must manage to get into that valley. After that all will be plain sailing. But it's a big job. I fancy I can make out earthworks along that road you see upon the heights, and, if I am not mistaken, there is a large camp to the right, resting by a collection of houses close to the river." Tony followed the direction of Phil's finger, and gazed long and earnestly. "It's a camp, Phil," he agreed, "and I suppose it ain't likely to lie British. Tothers is earthworks, I think, and manned with guns, or I'm a wrong 'un. Look! you can see one against the sky-line. If they are our batteries, all the better. But in any case I am for steering clear of them, and cutting into the valley." "Yes, I think so too, Tony; and now, how to get there. We are well to the left of the Russian camp below us. By keeping still more so, we ought to reach that big clump of houses and vineyards you see over there before the morning, and next time the night falls I hope we shall be able to answer an English challenge." Had they but known it, Phil and Tony were to meet with more than one adventure before the well-known "Halt! Who goes there?" struck upon their ears, for this was the 23rd of October, and on the 25th that small camp down by the river Tchernaya was to be swollen by the emptying of the one directly below them, and the Russians were to try conclusions with the Allies. It was destined to be a brilliant spectacle, and brimful of gallant deeds--one more striking than all the rest, and to find a lasting place in the history of our race, a deed of dare-devilry and sheer disregard of life and limb which Phil and Tony were never to forget, and the honour of their having taken part in it will ever be cherished by their descendants. Having made a thorough survey of the scene below them, Phil and his friend removed the saddles and bridles from their ponies, and replaced the latter with a halter attached to the saddle. Then, finding a stream near at hand, Tony watered them and led them back to the vineyard, where he secured them in a part completely obscured from view. Meanwhile Phil crept out to a shed at the end of the vines, and returned with a large armful of hay. That done they ate some of their bread and meat, and, flinging themselves down in the shadow of the vines, were soon fast asleep. The sun was low down in the heavens and fast sinking when Phil awoke, and, rubbing his eyes, kicked Tony playfully. "Up you get, old chap," he cried cheerfully. "We'll have a meal, and then make for that clump of trees. Let us have one more good look at it before the night falls. See! by striking a little to the left we shall get into that narrow valley, and by keeping to it shall be going directly for our goal." Tony sprang to his feet, and, thrusting his stout stick through his belt, joined Phil in an open spot, from which, unseen, they could look down towards Sebastopol. A curious figure he was too--more like a scarecrow than a British soldier. A short stubbly beard covered his chin, while a flaming red handkerchief was tied round his head in place of his bearskin, lost long ago now at the Alma. His red tunic was tattered and stained with mud, and his trousers hung in rags round his boots. As for Phil, he was in no better plight; but still, strange to say, he looked spruce and neat beside his rough companion, the short fair down upon his cheeks scarcely showing, and contrasting most favourably with Tony's spiky beard. "Right again, young 'un!" agreed the latter, evidently in the highest spirits. "We'll lie up over there to-night, and then make a dash for it. That sleep has just put new life into me, and now I'm ready for anything; and I tell yer, Phil, it's got to be five to one afore I gives in to the Russians. Let's have a look at this here toothpick;" and he dragged his sword, a heavy cavalry sabre, from its sheath. "Sharp as a razor," he remarked, with a grim smile, feeling the edge. "All the better. It's got plenty of weight too, and once I wants to use it, blest if I don't make it cut clean through the head of one of our Cossack friends." He swished the sword round in the air, narrowly missing Phil in his eagerness. Then, thrusting it back into the sheath, he stalked across to the ponies and commenced to saddle up. That night they reached the vineyard close against the heights bearing the Woronzoff road, and in it they passed the following day, devouring an abundance of grapes, which were perfectly ripe, and served to keep off the pangs of hunger, now that their bread and meat had disappeared. When darkness fell again they were fully prepared for the last dash. A nek between two stunted hills forming the ridge of heights had been chosen, and through this they were to ride into the valley, and from there into the British camp. Crowning the heights they could discern three batteries, but no flag flew above them, though the fact that the guns, which were now clearly distinguishable, were turned towards the opposite Kamara heights, in occupation by the Russians, pointed conclusively to the fact that they were manned by the Allies. "They are our batteries undoubtedly," said Phil when discussing the question with his friend, "but for all that, I propose we slip between them, and make for our own camp. They may be occupied by the French or Turks, and as we could not answer their challenge, and our speech is as likely to be taken for Russian as for English, we should run a great chance of being shot or bayoneted before they discovered which side we belonged to. No, decidedly, I am for slipping through." Tony expressed his approval, and indeed it was the wisest course to take, for as it turned out the batteries were manned by Turks, who, on the following day, were to defend them valiantly, and the majority of whom were to lose their lives in doing so. At last the moment for setting forth arrived, and the state of excitement into which Phil and Tony had worked themselves may be imagined. This was the last struggle for freedom, the trump card upon which their fortunes depended. If they failed to pass unnoticed through the ground intervening between themselves and the batteries no doubt a hoard of Cossack scouts would be quickly on their track, like vultures on their prey, for the waning light had shown numbers of these shaggy horsemen dotting the plain below. Still, the risk was no greater than that which they had already run, and, buoyed with the hope of liberty on the morrow, and, as Tony did not forget to mention again, a substantial meal for the first time for many a long day, they vaulted into their saddles and commenced to ride from the vineyard. "Hark! What is that?" asked Phil suddenly, in a subdued tone of alarm. "I am certain I heard something over there;" and he pointed towards the Kamara heights. Both listened intently, and distinctly heard the rumble of distant wheels, and a dull, heavy sound as though of a large force of men approaching. "Back for our lives!" cried Phil excitedly. "It must be the Russian troops coming this way. We must watch them, Tony." "Ay, it's the enemy right enough," muttered Tony angrily. "Phil, them chaps is always coming up against us and spoiling our fun. First they stopped us from carrying that colour back, and then blest if a Cossack cove didn't try for to keep us when we was bolting from the camp. He paid for that, he did, and I expect he'll be more careful in the future. Then them drunken swabs turned us out of what was house and home, if yer can call an old rickety carriage such. Law! what a jolly time we give them too! And now they are after us again, the brutes!" and with a grunt of disgust Tony dragged the club from his belt, silently determining to fight the whole Russian army, if need be, and to help his comrade back to liberty. "Hush! Can't you keep quiet?" whispered Phil sharply. "Follow me through the vineyard. The road runs close beside the farther end, and we must hide there and watch." Somewhat abashed, Tony followed, and soon both were crouching within, a few yards of the road. A few minutes later a front guard of Cossacks passed like so many silent ghosts. Then field-guns and ammunition-wagons rumbled by, followed by battalions of infantry, and by regiments of Cossack horse. It was an impressive sight, especially when the Russian horsemen filed by, for in front of each regiment rode the commander, superbly mounted, and chanting a song, while behind him came other horsemen, clashing cymbals, to the accompaniment of which the whole regiment took up the refrain, and sang with voices far more melodious than could be expected from rough soldiers. "There is some big movement on," whispered Phil, "and I fear our difficulties in getting through will be vastly increased. Still, I am for trying to-night. To-morrow we might be hunted out of this. What do you say to our joining the stragglers, who are certain to follow the main body? The night is too dark for them to recognise us except when close at hand." "Seems to me a likely way out of the fix," agreed Tony, after a moment's consideration. "There won't be many of them, and if one happens to spot us, why--it'll be his own fault, Phil. Yes, we'll follow, and by keeping reasonably near we shall see where these fellows bivouac, and have a better chance of slipping through." Accordingly they waited till the army had got a quarter of a mile away, and then fell in behind. Occasionally stragglers passed them, and once a squadron of horsemen galloped by; but, taking the two solitary figures for scouts, they swept on without a word. An hour later they were beyond the Russian camp and ascending the nek. No one seemed to be about, and they were not challenged. Once over the summit they turned abruptly to the left, and rode down into the valley, keeping close to the heights. But here again another difficulty faced them. Watch-fires twinkled in every direction, some undoubtedly being Russian, and, fearful of falling into the enemy's hands, or what would perhaps be equally bad, stumbling against a French or Turkish outpost, and being shot before an explanation could be given, they once more selected a vineyard and bivouacked there till the day broke, hoping to be able then to make a dash for the British camp. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. BALACLAVA. The dawn of October 25th broke dull and chill. Banks of fog hung over the heights, and the "Valley of the Shadow of Death" lay hidden in mist, as if cloaked already with a funeral pall. Blades of grass and leaves drooped with the added weight of the moisture, and Phil and Tony, crouching in their vineyard, shivered and longed for the sun to rise and bring warmth and cheerfulness. A gentle breeze was blowing, and, freshening, it soon cleared the fog away, while the mist in the valley disappeared mysteriously a little later. It had scarcely done so when the boom of guns on the Russian side of the heights which the two friends had crossed during the night broke on their ears, while flashes from four points on the summit, and still louder reports, showed that the Turkish batteries, between which they had passed, were hotly engaged. Situated as they were, close to the end of the Causeway heights, along which ran the Woronzoff road, Phil and his friend were in an excellent position to view a large portion of the historical battle which was now commencing. Facing across the valley, with the Chersonese height on their left, they looked towards the river Tchernaya, and a group of low hills, known as the Fedioukine heights, already manned by Russian guns and infantry. And now they gazed upon a wonderful sight. A Russian army of 25,000 infantry, 34 squadrons of cavalry, and 78 guns was commencing its march, intending to cross the Causeway heights, descend into the valley south of that ridge, and capture the harbour of Balaclava and all our stores of food and military equipment. And between them and their goal were interposed 4 Turkish batteries with 9 guns in all, the foremost being two miles in advance of its nearest infantry support, which consisted of some 500 of the 93rd Highlanders under command of the famous Sir Colin Campbell, a few Turks, and a battery of horse artillery. In addition, some 600 horsemen, belonging to Scarlett's Heavy Brigade, lay in the valley south of the Causeway heights, while 600 sabres, composing the Light Brigade, sat on their horses at the opening of the Tchernaya valley--the valley now better known as that of the Shadow of Death, and within a short mile of Phil and Tony. "What can be happening?" asked Phil, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "The guns we hear must be those belonging to the army that marched past us last night, and the cavalry are certainly the same who sang while they filed by in the darkness. What does it all mean, Tony? There must be some huge movement afoot, for I have never seen so many men marching together, save when the Allies advanced on the Alma." "And now it's the Russians advancing towards the camp of the Allies," Tony answered thoughtfully. "What's their game? you're asking, Phil. Why shouldn't it be Balaclava? The harbour is just chock-full of British shipping, and, if that was captured, where should we be without our stores of grub and ammunition? Nowhere. That's their plan, I can tell you. Depend upon it, that is what they're up to; but you'll see how it will end. I give them a couple of hours to play about in, and after that our chaps will drive 'em off the field." "Then I hope we shall have a chance of joining friends soon, Tony, for to be compelled to sit here and watch the battle would be harder luck than we bargained for. But look at the Russian army. What a grand sight it makes!" And indeed the greatest enemy of Russia, with mind morbidly awry with jealousy and dislike, could not look upon that advancing army and fail to admire. Steadily, and with a swing which told of long practice in marching, the infantry advanced in thick columns, rifles at the slope and caps well set back upon their heads. And between them and on either flank rumbled heavy cannon, the drivers holding in their horses as yet, while they turned eager eyes to the left to watch their more fortunate companions who at the moment were engaging the Turkish redoubts. Beyond the guns, and away in front of all, rode the huge force of cavalry, squadron upon squadron, riding knee to knee and listening to the music of the guns and the jingle of their own equipment. Amidst the cavalry the flash of polished brass would occasionally be seen, while sometimes, as the squadrons moved apart for the moment, a battery of small field-guns came to view, the bright metal sparkling in the sun. But though a casual glance might suggest the idea that these were merely toys, given to the cavalry to play with, yet the day was not to pass before the men who manned these tiny field-guns were to show that, protected by horsemen and capable of an extremely rapid advance and retreat, these same batteries became a formidable item when fired at moderately-close range. "Yes, they make a very fine sight," Phil admitted, to himself again, "and I only wish I thought that we could beat them as easily as Tony suggests. I wonder what our troops are doing!" Turning his eyes to the left he swept them along the Chersonese heights, and saw a long line of infantry there hurrying towards Balaclava, while on an eminence to the left a brilliantly-dressed group suddenly appeared, and, lifting telescopes, fixed them upon the Russians. It was Lord Raglan and his staff. Lowering his eyes still more, Phil swept them along the valley, and soon hit upon the Heavy Brigade, looking, even at that distance, a most formidable body of men, while their horses, laden with cavalry saddles of great weight and a considerable amount of kit, seemed huge when compared to the Cossack animals. Passing from Scarlett's famous "Heavies", Phil's eyes then lit upon the 600 troopers of the Light Brigade. Bright, gallant fellows they looked as they sat there jauntily upon their saddles and slowly rode up the valley. And little did Phil and Tony, and for the matter of that hundreds more who looked upon them in the early hours of that morning, imagine that, long ere the sun set again and the grey mist fell upon hill and valley, more than half of those fine horsemen would be silent and still for ever. Slowly, and as if careless of the huge mass of the enemy, they rode up the valley till the mile which separated them from Phil and Tony was considerably decreased. There were friends close at hand, and, saddling up hurriedly, the two prepared to gallop across to them. But now a turn in the fortune of battle changed their plans, for, gallantly clinging to their position, the Turks holding the battery on the extreme left nearest the Russians had been decimated by a storm of shell, while, before they could think of retiring, 11,000 grey-coated infantry came rushing up at them. What could a mere handful of men do in the circumstances? They broke and fled, and, seeing this, their comrades in the other redoubts also took to their heels. Instantly a cloud of Russian horse burst from their ranks, and, sweeping into the plain, made short work of the flying gunners. Phil and Tony looked on, disconcerted, for to ride across to the Light Brigade now would mean almost certain destruction. "Done again by those Cossacks!" grumbled Tony, who took all the enemy's horsemen to be Cossacks. "Done brown this time, Phil!" "We'll have to wait, that's all," said Phil, with a sigh of resignation. "We are safe here, and it won't be long before those fellows ride back. See! they are already riding up the heights on our right after the Turks who bolted into the other valley." This was the case, and to follow the movement we must for the moment leave the valley into which Phil looked, and ride with the Russian horsemen over the Causeway heights. Scarcely heard upon the springy turf, the horses' feet strike hard and ring with a sound of iron upon the beaten path, and then the thunder of a thousand hoofs dies down again as if by magic, and he who rides with the fiery Cossack horsemen hears only the dull stamp upon the yielding grass, and the clatter and jangle of sabres and accoutrements. And when the summit is topped, another valley comes into view, running almost parallel with that just left behind, and merely separated from it by the Causeway heights, the slopes of which gently fall in rolling stretches of green till the bottom is reached. From there the grass runs on, undulating in big waves, sometimes falling and sometimes rising, till at last an upward sweep brings the rider to a crest from which the narrow basin of Balaclava can be seen. Yes, there it is, a fairy pool set in this wide stretch of green, and bearing upon its flashing surface a host of vessels, anchored and crowded close together. There, too, is its narrow entrance, scarcely wide enough to pass in two vessels side by side, and there, close beside its shores, is an array of huts already filled with stores, while outside, boxes of biscuit and barrels of salt pork are piled in huge stacks which overtop and completely swamp the dwellings. And where is the defending force? Where are the men told off to protect this most important harbour and its valuable contents? The rider stares and gasps with astonishment when all he sees is a handful of kilted men standing to arms upon the sloping grass leading to the harbour. Long ago their paucity of numbers was known to the enemy, and now the Russian commander sends his Cossacks against them, hoping to sweep them aside and capture the harbour. Rallying to their comrades, a thousand lances swept down against the thin line of 93rd Highlanders. It was a sufficiently imposing array to have scattered a stronger body of troops, but the brawny kilted warriors were maddened by the sight of the unhappy Turks being cut down in their flight, and moreover, at that moment a ludicrous affair set them roaring with laughter. They had received as supports some Turkish troops, and these, having no stomach for a cavalry encounter, fled from the ranks. "Let 'em go," muttered one Highlander, with a laugh. "We come out here to fight for those chaps, and see how they help us. We'll turn the cowards into servants." But one at least was roused to indignation. One of the women of the regiment struggled amongst the Turks, belabouring them with a club, and, catching one big fellow at this moment, thrashed him soundly, ordering him between every stroke, and in shrill falsetto, to return to the fighting-line. Roars of laughter and cheers ascended from the thin line of Highlanders, and laughing still they were, and bandying jokes with one another, when the Russians swept down upon them. "Back, lads! back!" shouted Sir Colin, waving his sword, and having to do his utmost to keep his eager men from rushing down upon the enemy. Then came the sharp command to fire, and, a second discharge following, the Russians broke and fled. And meanwhile the widely-separated regiments composing the heavy brigade of cavalry were quietly riding along the valley, keeping the Causeway heights on their left. Suddenly Scarlett, who was in advance with 300 of the Greys and Inniskillings, saw a perfect forest of lances upon the summit of the heights, and not more than 600 yards away. Three thousand Russian cavalry had just come into view, and, seeing the British horse, their trumpets rang out shrill, and like an avalanche they dashed down the slopes. Scarlett's decision was taken in a moment. "In any case it must mean death and destruction," he thought. "Better to meet the enemy face to face than ride across their front and be cut to pieces." "Left wheel into line," the gallant old fellow shouted, and as calmly as if manoeuvring at home the squadrons took up their new position. And then--think of the audacity and coolness of the action--they were halted, while the officers, facing round, dressed the line, which had been somewhat broken by rough ground. And a stubborn line it proved to dress, for not a man but leaned forward in his saddle, cursing the delay, and eager to fly forward. Hoarse growls arose from the ranks, and troopers snatched angrily at their bridles, pulling their horses back upon their haunches, well knowing all the while that it was themselves and not the willing animals they bestrode that needed curbing at that moment. "Had not Greys and Inniskillings led the field, charging side by side at Waterloo?" each man asked himself. "Yes, their ancestors were on that glorious battle-ground; and were they, their descendants, to be kept back now? 300 against 3000 charging down upon them. What mattered the odds?" Well was it that Scarlett delayed no longer, for his men were out of hand. "Charge!" he roared, his eyes blazing with excitement. His trumpeter sounded the call, and away went the gallant band, their fine old colonel fifty yards in advance of them, mounted on a remarkably big horse. And the Russians, seeing this spectacle, halted. Three thousand of them halted and pondered--almost wavered with doubt. Crash! The gallant old colonel had struck the mass and cleft into its very heart, and following him, with a fierce shout of exultation, 300 men rushed in, and were instantly lost to view, nothing but plunging horses and flashing swords being visible. Truly it was a marvellous sight, and the 93rd, together with the First and Fourth Divisions, who were marching down in support, held their breath and halted to see what next would happen. They had not long to wait. Gathering pace as they advanced, the 4th Dragoons, who were some way in rear of Scarlett's 300, thundered down upon the Russian flank, and with never a pause swept right through the mass of cavalry from flank to flank, leaving a lane of wounded and killed and frantically struggling horses in its path. Ah! it was grand work that Britain's sons were doing for their Queen that day, but more was yet to follow, for with hoarse shouts and the fierce lust for battle in their eyes, the Royals, the 5th Dragoons, and another squadron of Inniskillings burst upon the Russians, cut their way to join their gallant colonel, and, crumpling the enemy on every side, finally put them to flight. Three thousand flying for their lives from a sixth of their numbers! Truly it was a great day for Britain, and at the final act a perfect torrent of hoarse cheers burst from the onlookers, head-gear was tossed into the air, and men turned and shook each other heartily by the hand, blessing the fact that these fine cavalry fellows were their brothers, and that they had the fortune to be their countrymen. And now let us return to the valley on the right slope of which Phil and Tony lay in hiding. Unconscious of what had happened, and yet aware by the rattle of distant musketry and the heavy booming of guns that a battle of large proportions was in progress, they itched to be moving so as to rejoin the battalion of Grenadier Guards and take their share in the fight. "Bother those fellows! When will they clear off and give us a chance?" exclaimed Phil impatiently, anathematising the Cossack skirmishers who still galloped about on the plain beneath in search of more fugitives. "Why do not our horse attack them? The Light Brigade might easily sweep the whole lot up and give us the opportunity of joining them as they rode by. And we'd take it, Tony," he added enthusiastically. "We have some scores to settle, and once the chance comes we'll have a smack at those Cossacks." "Never fear, Phil. Take it easy, old horse. The day is only just beginning, and our chance will come. Do yer think all them cavalry of ours will sit still and do nothing? Bet yer life they'll be sweeping up here soon. Ah! Glad we stuck here so long. Look at them fellers returning." Tony pointed to a horde of mounted Russians, the flower of their cavalry, which at this moment swarmed in disorder over the Causeway heights, and swept down into the Tchernaya valley, still too much unnerved to draw rein after their defeat by the Heavy Brigade. "That looks well," muttered Phil. "We saw those fellows ride over half an hour ago as cocksure of victory as possible. They've evidently had rough handling. Why on earth does not the commander of our Light Brigade charge them? He could take them in flank, and, broken as they are, he could cut them to pieces. Charge! Why don't you charge?" he shouted excitedly, standing up and raising his voice to the highest pitch as though it could possibly reach right across to the Light Brigade. "Come down," cried Tony fiercely, dragging his friend to the ground. "I'm ashamed of yer, young 'un. You'll be giving the whole show away, and one of them Cossack chaps will be riding for us. Wait and we'll have a go at 'em yet. Yah! why don't yer charge?" he said bitterly, shaking his fist at the distant British cavalry. But though the Light Brigade were ready enough for anything, as was yet to be shown, their colonel still held them back. Posted as they were, at the mouth of the valley and on some rising ground, they too had witnessed every incident of the battle. They had seen the gallant charge of the `Heavies', and they bit their lips and swore beneath their breath, itching to be let loose, and show their comrades that they too could ride straight, ay, and fight too, till death settled their account if need be. As the Russian cavalry came flying in clouds over the Causeway heights, their eagerness made them almost unmanageable, and loud growls of anger and vexation came from the ranks. But Lord Cardigan, who was in command, had orders to defend his position, and to strike at anything that came within distance of him. Undoubtedly this was the opportunity he should have taken, but he chose to forego it, and thereby allowed the Russians to escape, while his men looked on and fumed with rage and disappointment, and Tony and Phil hid in the vineyard and thought all manner of awful things. But now the enemy commenced to remove the guns from the captured Turkish redoubt, and an order reached Lord Lucan--who commanded the combined brigades of cavalry, heavy and light--to recapture the Causeway heights. Lord Raglan had, however, omitted to provide the necessary infantry supports, and in consequence the movement was delayed. Then a second and more peremptory order was sent to Lord Lucan, by means of Nolan, a noted cavalry officer, who believed that all things were possible with that arm of the service. _Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front_, it ran, _and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns_. "To the front? What front? Surely not right up the valley and into the very jaws of the Russian army!" everyone will mutter. Lord Lucan also was bewildered. Long ago the captured Turkish redoubts had sunk into insignificance, and the guns now most in evidence were those right up the valley. That too was "front" to Lord Lucan. Then what could be the meaning of this message? "Attack what? What guns are we to attack?" he asked anxiously, fixing his eyes upon the batteries on the Causeway heights, and then upon those at the tip of the valley. "There," replied Captain Nolan, with something akin to a sneer, and in tones which angered Lord Lucan. "There, my lord, is your enemy, and there your guns." And he pointed away up the valley to the Russian batteries occupying a commanding position nearly two miles away. It was a monstrous error, for how could horsemen hope to live and be effective after such a ride, when cannon fired directly into their front, while the heights on either side, converging to the apex occupied by the battery, were lined by more guns and by infantry in huge numbers. On whose shoulders rests the onus of the terrible error it is almost impossible to state. Had less ambiguous orders been issued it would never have occurred, and a deed of daring, unparalleled in war, would never have been recorded in the annals of heroic struggles to which England is ever adding. Lord Lucan transmitted the order to Lord Cardigan in person. The latter saluted, and pointed out the desperate nature of the undertaking, but being told that there was no choice but to obey, turned and gave the command, "The brigade will advance!" "By George! They are off," cried Phil, who had been watching the Light Brigade intently. "Get ready, Tony. You were right; our chance has come at last." Both tightened their girths and prepared to dash out, for the direction the cavalry were taking would bring them close at hand. "It's a charge right enough," cried Tony excitedly, "and I'm going to be one of 'em! Come out!" and with a whirr he dragged his sabre out of the sheath. "Good heavens! look at what is happening!" cried Phil aghast. For the Light Brigade had suddenly swerved away from the Causeway heights. "I thought they were to attack the Turkish redoubts, but they are heading right up to the centre of the Russian army. It is madness! sheer suicide!" At this moment they saw a horseman, the unhappy Nolan, gallop transversely across the now fast-galloping Light Brigade. He had discovered the terrible mistake, and attempted to set it right, but a shell from the battery in front burst with a roar in front of him, and killed him instantly. "Now for it, Tony," shouted Phil, kicking the ribs of his pony. "We'll join our friends at all costs, and see more fighting before we die." "Hurrah! I'm with yer, young 'un! Who-hoop! at 'em for all we're worth!" Fortunately both ponies were fast and sturdy animals, and, still move fortunately, Phil and Tony had had good practice on horseback when with the menagerie. They thrashed the animals with the flat of their sabres, and, dashing down the hill, fell in beside the 4th light Dragoons, who, with the 11th and 8th Hussars, formed the second attacking line, the first being composed of the 17th Lancers and the 13th Light Dragoons. Faster grew the pace, and still faster. Men sat close down on their saddles, and jerking their sword lanyards higher up their wrists, clutched the hilts, and stared straight before them with a look of enthusiasm in their eyes. The blood of the British cavalry was up, for as yet they rode silently, a warning sign to those whom they might come against, for your Englishman does not shriek aloud. He says things beneath his breath till the moment comes, and then what a shout he gives! And as they charged, from either side and from the front, flame and smoke belched out, and the valley echoed with the sound of exploding cannon. Shells shrieked overhead, rolled like huge cricket-balls along the turf, and burst in the midst of the gallant horsemen, sweeping scores to the ground. And yet they did not flinch. Instead they dug their spurs still deeper, till they were actually racing for the Russian enemy. What a sight! A green-clad valley, cloaked in eddying smoke, which was rent asunder every second by a blinding flash; and through it, all that remained of that galloping 600 now clearly visible, and a moment later plunging deep into the reek and smoke of the cannon. Suddenly the guns in front ceased to fire. The first line, or rather what was left of it, rode over them and dashed pell-mell into the cavalry behind, breaking them and scattering them like chaff. And now came the moment for the second line, and for Phil and his friend. It was indeed a race, men and officers doing their utmost to outdistance the others. Long ago Phil had lost sight of his companion in the smoke, but now a riderless horse, frenzied by fear, came up and thundered along on either side of him. Suddenly a ringing "Tally-ho!" came from some officer in front, and with a roar of furious excitement the line rode over the smoking guns and dashed full into a huge mass of Russian cavalry. Phil found himself still with the riderless horses alongside, amidst the men of the 11th Hussars. Standing in his stirrups, he leant over and cut savagely at the grey-coats which seemed to rise up on either side of him, while a loud hissing sound, produced by the excited Russians, filled the air around. There was a rush and a crash, and the horse on his right was swept away. He scarcely noticed it, but, seeing a comrade at that moment fall in front of him, he pulled his pony in with a jerk, and made such good play with his weapon that for a moment he kept the long Cossack lances from the fallen man. Whack! A tremendous blow on his shoulder sent him flying from his saddle to the ground, where, looking up, he was just in time to see Tony standing in his stirrups with sabre raised on high. Down it came on the head of the man who had just struck him from his pony, and with a groan the Russian flopped upon his horse's neck. "Up! Up yer get!" shouted Tony, laying about him with a will. "Full yourself together, old man." Phil sprang to his feet, and, holding his sabre in his mouth, lifted the prostrate form of the trooper. "Hold on here, Tony," he cried. "That's it. Now wait a minute. Those horsemen have cleared away." Rent asunder by the terrible British horse, the Russians had in fact opened out and retired, disclosing the bulk of their army forming into square close at hand. Phil took advantage of the lull. A riderless horse stood close at hand, and in a few seconds he was in the saddle. Then he sheathed his sabre, and, riding up to Tony, said: "Now, hand him up here. He's stunned by the fall." "And what about getting back, mate?" asked Tony, still holding the man. "It'll spoil yer chance. They are certain to come after us." "I'll run the risk of that. Now, up with him, Tony," answered Phil abruptly. "Look here, old pal, this is my job," said Tony stubbornly. "I owe yer a score, and I'll take this fellow for yer." It was a generous impulse which prompted the gallant fellow, for to hamper one's retreat with the body of a comrade was practically certain to lead to a fatal result. But Phil ended the matter promptly. His eyes gleamed savagely, and though, when all was over, he thanked Tony with tears in his eyes, yet now that his wishes were opposed, and he had set his heart on the matter, his temper got the better of him. "Hand him over," he hissed angrily. "Come, there is no time to waste; the men are falling-in again." Tony looked as though he could have wept, but he helped to pull the trooper up, and, having seen him into Phil's arms, fell in behind, determined to bring his friend through or perish in the attempt. "Rally, men! rally!" the officers were shouting, and at the sound the troopers came hurrying up. There was a short pause to allow stragglers to regain the ranks, and then, setting their heads down the valley, the remnant of that gallant 600 retreated at full gallop. Bang! bang! The guns were blazing at them again; from behind and on either side grape and shell came shrieking at them. Then suddenly came the gleam of lances in front, and there stood a body of cavalry prepared to hedge them in and make them prisoners. As well set a mouse to catch a lion! These were the men who had ridden into the very "jaws of death", into "the gates of hell"; and was one single regiment of cavalry to bar their retreat when they had fearlessly attacked an immense army? Ridiculous! And bracing themselves once more, the British horsemen swept them on either side as if with a broom, and torn, shattered, bleeding, and exhausted, returned, still exulting, to their friends. Heroes indeed! Well has it been said of them, "Honour the Light Brigade, noble six hundred!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. HONOUR FOR THE BRAVE. Balaclava was saved, and the historical battle, which had, seen two memorable cavalry charges, ended with the return of the Light Brigade. But the redoubts on the Causeway heights still remained in the enemy's hands, and Liprandi at once set about strengthening them, while battalions of grey-coated infantry bivouacked, there, ready for instant attack or defence. The Allies therefore found themselves confronted by a series of defences of formidable character, and barring their inlet to Sebastopol, while within the town was an army greater in number than their own, and from whom a sortie in force might be expected at any moment, thus pinching them between two bodies of troops, both within easy striking distance. And of no less importance to the invaders was the fact that winter was at hand, to be spent by them--and particularly by the British, who were to suffer all the torments of starvation and exposure, and amongst whom disease was destined to find many victims--in one long struggle with privation and misery. But to return to Phil and his friend. Almost falling from their saddles with fatigue, they rode slowly towards the Chersonese heights when once they were out of range of the Russian guns. By a miracle neither had been hurt during the retreat, but already Phil felt the effects of the blow across his shoulder. His arm was stiff and almost powerless, while the sabre with which he had been struck had cut through his clothing and inflicted a nasty slash which had bled freely. However the blood had long since congealed, and a plentiful supply of strapping later on in the day did all that was necessary. At the mouth of the valley an officer dressed in the same uniform, as the man Phil carried in his arms and accompanied by two troopers rode up to him. "You can hand over our comrade to these men," he said. "Now, corporal, what is your name and corps. By your tunics you should be Guardsmen; but how on earth you came to be with us in that glorious charge is more than I can understand." "We were taken prisoners at the Alma, sir," Phil answered, "and were escaping and hoping to ride into the British lines upon two ponies which we captured, when the battle commenced. We both belong to the Grenadier Guards." The officer stared at Phil. "Corporal Western by any chance?" he asked, with a lift of his eyebrows. "Yes, sir," that is my name, "and this is the friend who was captured with me." To the absolute astonishment of the two young soldiers the officer shook each in turn eagerly by the hand. "Ah, my lads!" he said gaily, "we have heard of you already, and your friends, I guarantee, will give you a lively welcome. Let me tell you that the affair of the flag has gone through the allied camp. Lieutenant McNeil wrote a letter with all the particulars, and had it passed through to as by the courtesy of the Russian general I expect that there will be something waiting for you, and you thoroughly deserve it. As for this other matter, I shall take it in hand. You are a gallant fellow, Corporal Western, and saved that man's liberty if not his life. Now I must be off, but some day I shall hope to hear all about the escape." "Can you tell us where the Guards are?" asked Phil, after having thanked the officer. "Over there, Corporal;" and he pointed to a force of men returning along the Chersonese heights. "The First Division marched out early in the morning, and by cutting across here you will reach camp almost as soon as they do." The officer rode off, and Phil and his friend turned their tired animals to the heights and rode for the Guards' camp in silence, their thoughts too much occupied by what they had heard to allow of speech. Sundry deep chuckles, however, told that Tony at least was immensely pleased at something that had occurred. Half an hour later, looking more like beggars than Guardsmen, they rode into the camp. "Let's ride straight up to our own mess and get something to eat," suggested Tony. "I am fairly empty, and longing for some grub." But the sight of two tattered Guardsmen riding through their lines was too much for their comrades. "Why, who are they?" they shouted, rushing forward to meet them. Then, recognising them, a man in Phil's company cried at the top of his voice, "Hi, come along, mates! Blow'd if Corporal Western and his pal ain't come back to us. Where do yer come from, Corporal? And what's happened to yer both since yer was taken?" Men rushed forward and plied them with questions, and then, becoming enthusiastic, they lifted the two young fellows from their saddles and carried them shoulder-high through the camp. It was a hearty greeting, for the men were anxious to do full honour to their two comrades who had gained distinction at the Alma. Very soon the babel had roused the officers, and before Phil and his friends could well collect their scattered senses, they were standing stiffly in front of the colonel and his adjutant, war-worn, weary and bedraggled, but for all that holding their heads erect, and quivering with excitement. "What's this? What is all this noise about? Who are these two men?" the former asked abruptly, gazing at them searchingly and failing to recognise them. "They are the corporal and man who helped to rescue Lieutenant McNeil's colours, sir," the adjutant replied, looking at them proudly. "They belong to the regiment." "Ah!" and the colonel's face beamed. "Two of our brave fellows! Yes, I recognise them now. My lads," he continued earnestly, "many a brave act was done by our men at the Alma, but of all yours was the most conspicuous. We are proud to own you. You, Corporal, are promoted to full sergeant, and you," addressing Tony, "to full corporal." Flushing with pleasure, Phil and his friend thanked the colonel and retired to their comrades, who had prepared a sumptuous feast for them. "Here yer are, Corporal!" said one enthusiastic fellow, addressing Tony, and emphasising the corporal, "take a bite at this;" and he offered him a helping of a wonderful pie. Tony blushed, and looked upon the point of exploding, for he was unused to his new title. But he took the helping and quickly caused it to disappear. "Look here, mates," he said, after a long pause, "I'm promoted corporal, and yer can call me that as much as yer like to-day, but after that it's off. Remember that;" and he glowered round at them. "This here pal of mine," he continued, pointing to Phil, "is a full sergeant, but that ain't all--he's a gent, and this very day he's done what'll bring him the gold lace of an officer. I tell yer all he saved a chap right up there by the Russian guns, when the Light Brigade charged, and brought him safely out. That's what he did, and mind what I say, to-morrow or next day will see him an officer. Then I chucks the stripe and takes on as his servant." The honest fellow's face shone with pleasure, while his comrades looked on in astonishment. Phil reached over and grasped his gallant old friend by the hand. "Tony," he said with a gulp, "you're talking bosh. Of course I sha'n't be an officer; besides, you helped to bring that wounded man out as well. But if ever I do get a commission I'd have you as my servant and true friend sooner than anyone." The men cheered eagerly. "Hallo!" said one of them, recovering from his momentary excitement, "what's this here about bringing a pal out? Yer talk about the Light Brigade. Spin us the yarn, mates, and don't forget to tell us how you was taken, and how you gave them Russians the slip." Late that night, when all turned in, Phil and his friend were the heroes of the camp, and Tony, whose admiration for his friend had increased, if possible, during the past few trying days, blurted out to the man lying by his side that Phil would make as fine an officer as ever wore queen's uniform, and that if anyone dared to gainsay this he would smash him to pieces. A loud snore was his only answer; but, relieved to some extent by this outburst, the noble-hearted fellow fell peacefully asleep. When the orders for the army were published two days later, there was one portion which particularly attracted the attention of the Brigade of Guards. _Corporal Western_, the paragraph ran, _is promoted to sergeant for gallantry at the Alma in helping to save a colour_. Then it continued: _Sergeant Western, who was captured at the Alma, escaped from the enemy, and, taking part with his comrade in the memorable charge of the Light Brigade, rescued and brought out a wounded trooper. For this act of bravery he has been appointed an ensign in the 30th Foot_. The paragraph ended: _Lieutenant Western's comrade, who was promoted to corporal, resigns that rank_. In a state of huge excitement Tony managed to secure a copy of the order, and rushing up to Phil, presented it with an elaborate salute and a face which worked with emotion. "Congratulations, sir," he said hoarsely. "You're ensign in the 30th Foot." Phil hastily glanced at the order, and for the moment felt dizzy, for here, long before he could have expected it, was a commission. Clutching Tony by the hand, he shook it warmly, while tears rose to his eyes. "Thanks, my dear old friend!" he murmured, with a catch in his voice. "At length I have obtained what I wanted. But it will make no difference to us. Promise me that, Tony. We have been comrades so long, let us continue so, and if you still wish to be my servant, as you have often declared, why, come, by all means; I shall be more than glad to have you." "Spoken like a true 'un, mate," growled Tony, sniffing suspiciously, and glaring round as much as to say that if anyone were even to suggest that emotion had got the better of him, he would do unutterable things. "Beg pardon, sir, Colonel's compliments, and will you go over and see him now," said a stalwart orderly, approaching at this moment and saluting with such smartness that Phil nearly jumped out of his skin. It was a moment of intense pleasure to all the fine fellows standing round. Here was a comrade who by his own bravery had obtained a commission from the ranks. They were intent on doing full honour to him, and though the strange anomaly of seeing an old friend, bearing sergeant's stripes, saluted as an officer caused many to indulge in a secret grin, yet it was his right now, and they were determined upon seeing he had it. Utterly bewildered, Phil made his way to the colonel's quarters, where he received more congratulations. "There now, we won't worry you any more," said the colonel kindly. "The adjutant will tell you what to do in the way of uniform, and, Western, my lad, remember this, the Grenadier Guards will always welcome a visit from you." At this moment the adjutant took Phil into his tent. "Of course you must get some kind of uniform," he said. "I dare say there will be no difficulty in obtaining the kit of one of the officers of the 30th killed at the Alma. I will send over and enquire. Meanwhile you can do as you like: mess with us, or go back to your old comrades for the night." Phil looked at his tattered and mud-stained garments. "I think I'd rather do that," he said. "Once I have the proper kit I shall feel more like an officer. At present I can scarcely believe it." Accordingly he returned to his messmates, who did full honour to him that night. An extra tot of rum had been secured, pipes were set going, and a pleasant evening was passed with songs round a blazing camp-fire. The next day he was fortunate enough to obtain a complete kit of an officer of the 30th, and, buckling on his sword, strode over to their camp, where he was expected. His new comrades gave him a cordial welcome, and recognising that he was a gentleman, and, moreover, one whose pluck had already been tried, they made the most of him. From that day Phil was kept remarkably busy. He had his share of outpost duty to do, and when not engaged in that he was in the trenches under continual fire, for the batteries on either side thundered all day long. Already the French had recovered from the explosion at Mount Rudolph, and, increasing their guns, were now ready to rejoin their allies in another attempt to reduce the fortress. Once the redoubts were destroyed, and the enemy's cannon put out of action, there would be a general combined assault. November the 5th was settled upon as the date for the bombardment. "How it will succeed I scarcely like to guess," remarked Phil to Tony one afternoon as they trudged back to the camp after a long spell of duty in the trenches. "On the last occasion the fire we poured upon Sebastopol was simply terrific, and one would have thought that not a living being could have survived. And yet, though some of the Russian guns were silenced, the majority hammered away at us in return, and did no little damage. Look at the French battery. Mount Rudolph, as our allies called it, was simply blown to pieces." "Yes, sir, it was that," Tony agreed. "And it was just that fact that prevented our capturing this place we're sitting down in front of. That night we should have assaulted, but the explosion took the heart out of the Froggies, and when next morning came, and they were feeling a little more like themselves, why, the fortifications which our guns had knocked to pieces had been rebuilt. They're hard-working chaps over there, and plucky too; but this time it's going to be a case of `all up' with them. You'll see our guns smash them to pieces. Why, it was bad enough when we were prisoners in there, so what will it be how when the Allies have any number of guns in addition. Depend upon it, mate, we'll do no end of damage with shot and shell, and then we'll assault and capture the place." "I wish I thought so, Tony," Phil answered doubtfully. "I cannot forget that the Russians are at least two to our one, which is just the opposite of what it should be, for a force assaulting a fortified place should always be of greater proportions than that defending. Then look at our trenches and the distance which intervenes between them and the Russian earthworks. Long before we can race across, it seems to me that the guns, which will be trained to sweep the open, will blow us to pieces. Still, we'll have a good try if the orders come for an attack. But I shall be happier about our success if we can sap still closer, until little more than two hundred yards separate us from the Russians." Now the fear that the fortress might be taken at the next attempt had not failed to rouse the Russians. They recognised the necessity of diverting the attention of the Allies, and, moreover, receiving on November 4th large reinforcements from Odessa, they determined to march against the positions held by French and English, and if possible annihilate them, or at least drive them still farther south towards Balaclava, and so render the causeway leading from Sebastopol over the Tchernaya river less open to attack. By means of this causeway they replenished their garrison, which was daily diminished by the severe losses it suffered. This time the wily enemy chose a different field for their operations. At dawn on the 5th a huge force left the fortress and formed up on the Inkermann heights, beyond the Tchernaya. These heights, filled with caves, littered by massive boulders, and capped by grey battlemented walls, formed a background, bounded on the west by the Careenage ravine leading almost south, and on the north by the great harbour. Directly in front of the heights, and separated by a wide stretch of valley, was a horseshoe-shaped crest, behind which lay the Second Division. On its extreme right was the sandbag battery, without guns, and composed merely of a bank of earth, while between it and the Russian position was a conical hill, known as Shell Hill, which was very soon to be manned by some 100 Russian guns. Combining with another force, the total numbers reaching nearly 40,000, the enemy advanced against our position, hoping to capture it, while the remainder of the field-army threatened the French from the Causeway heights and made a feint of attacking. The huge garrison within the fortress, too, were to take a part, for their orders were to fire steadily at the trenches, and if much confusion was noticed, to make a sortie and capture them. Thus it will be seen that nothing short of a complete and overwhelming defeat of the Allies was aimed at. Had it not failed, England's reputation would have gone for ever, but November 5th was destined to be a glorious day. Scarcely 4000 were to keep at bay and cause awful losses to an enemy vastly outnumbering them, and that 4000 was composed of British infantry; alone, almost unaided, they were to beat back the enemy, and to their dogged pluck, their fierce lust for battle and disregard of death, and the fortunate assistance of a thick fog which obscured them and hid from the Russians the thinness of their ranks, they were to owe this glorious victory. There was no order, no scheme of defence. It was impossible in the circumstances. It was essentially a soldiers' battle. Broken into knots and groups of anything from 200 to 20, our gallant fellows fought on, at first with a furious valour, white-hot in its intensity, and later, when almost dropping with fatigue, with a grim, undaunted firmness of purpose which stamped them as men--true men--of an unconquerable bull-dog breed. Phil and Tony bore no small share in the battle, for, on the very evening before, it fell to the former's lot to be on outpost duty. "Take your men well up the valley and post them at wide intervals," said the colonel before he started. "There is no saying when we may be attacked by the enemy, and, to tell the truth, I am uneasy. The Russians have tried to take Balaclava and failed; but they captured the Causeway heights, and from there they are constantly menacing the French. Supposing they were to take it into their heads to advance from Inkermann against this ridge here, there is only the Second Division to bar their progress, and what could we do against a horde when we barely number 4000? No, I tell you, Western, I am troubled and uneasy, and that is why I am so particular as to my orders. Post your men at wide intervals, and before leaving them settle upon some rallying-spot. I would suggest the barrier at the neck of the valley. In any case, if you notice any movement in the enemy's camp, send me word and fall back slowly. The longer the delay the better." "Very well, sir. I understand perfectly," Phil answered, and, raising his sword in salute, he turned and strode away to his tent. "Bring along a rifle for me, Tony," he said. "We may have trouble this evening, and if we do I'd rather return to my old friend. I know it well, and feel better able, to fight with a bayonet in front of me." "Right, sir!" was the cheerful answer. "Glad to hear that you wish to return to it. It's won England's battles, I reckon, and, compared to a sword, why, it's--it's worth a hundred of 'em. Look at yours. A regular toothpick to go out and fight with!" With a disdainful toss of his head Tony picked up Phil's latest weapon and drew it from the scabbard. Then, wiping its blade upon the tail of his tunic, he thrust it back and set about getting other matters ready. A handful of dry chips enclosed in a sack were placed in the middle of a small collection of sauce-pans and cups. Over these a couple of blankets and a small sheet of oiled canvas were laid and then rolled tightly. That done, the faithful fellow went across, to another tent, and returned with an extra rifle and bayonet. A large ammunition-pouch accompanied it, and in addition Tony provided his master with a haversack, into which a piece of bread and some half-cooked pork were thrust, so that, if by chance he were separated from his men and the bivouac, he would yet have something with which to keep away the pangs of hunger. An hour later twenty-five men of the 30th foot fell in, their blankets over their shoulders, and canteens slung from their belts. Then Phil emerged from his tent, looking smart and soldier-like in his new uniform. A hasty inspection having satisfied him that each man was provided with ample ammunition, and prepared for a night's outpost duty, he gave the order to march, and, slinging his rifle across his shoulder with a freedom and ease which told his men that he was well used to it, and had lately been one of themselves, he strode down the hill, and, crossing a wall of stone known as the "barrier", which practically shut the mouth of the valley, he led his small command straight on towards the Russian camp. "Halt!" he cried as soon as he had reached a spot much broken by boulders and overgrown by brushwood. "Now, my men, you will go on duty every two hours, one half relieving the other at the end of that time. You will post yourselves in a wide circle, some twenty paces apart from one another, and stretching well across the valley. If anyone hears a noise, he will inform those on his right and left and then come and let me know. I may tell you that trouble is expected. If it comes, stick to your positions to the last, and then fall back upon the barrier. That will be our rallying-place. Now, let the rear rank fall out and choose a good site on which to bivouac I will take the front rank on and post the sentries." Leaving the others to select some comfortable spot, Phil strode on with the front rank of his command, and only halted them when the brushwood showed signs of becoming too scanty to act as cover. Then he took each man individually, and, repeating his orders to him, placed him in the position he was to occupy. That done to his satisfaction, he returned to the camp, to find that Tony had spread the blankets beneath an overhanging rock, and was already engaged preparing supper. But Phil had other matters than his own comfort to think about. "I am sure the colonel expects an attack," he murmured, as he sat upon a boulder and gazed at the flames. "Something is about to happen. I have been put in the responsible position of commander of the outposts. If I fail in my duty the result might be terrible to the Allies, for if only the Russians could reach the camp of the Second Division without observation, nothing could stop them from driving the remaining troops from their camps and trenches down to Balaclava. Well, at any rate I am warned, and to make sure that my sentries are alert I will go round every hour." Accordingly, Phil spent a restless and watchful night, constantly passing from man to man and listening for movements of the enemy. But nothing seemed to disturb the silence save the moaning of the wind and the splash of rain as it beat upon the boulders. Towards dawn, however, he fancied he heard sounds from the heights of Inkermann, and, posting himself amongst his men, he waited anxiously, vainly endeavouring to pierce the thick, white mist which had replaced the rain, and now filled the valley from end to end. Tramp, tramp, tramp! What was that? The sound rolled dull and muffled along the valley. Scarcely had Phil time to ask the question when a battery of Russian guns, placed on an elevation in front, fired a perfect salvo, the shells shrieking overhead, and bunting near the camp of the Second Division; while at the same moment columns of grey-coated infantry loomed up in front and to either side, marching rapidly towards him. Hastily lifting his rifle, Phil sighted for the central one and pulled the trigger. There was a flash, a sharp report, and the rattle of other rifles answering the Russian fire, and telling those in the English camp that the enemy was upon them, and that the battle of Inkermann had commenced. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS. Huge indeed was the Russian army which Phil and his outposts saw advancing upon them through the mists of the valley. Thousands of infantrymen were in each of the thick columns, while far behind were others, resting on their arms and waiting in reserve. To attempt to keep back such a force was ridiculous, but much could be done by resolute men to delay its march, and Phil decided to attempt this with the handful at his command. "The columns to right and left I must leave to themselves," he said hurriedly. "In any case they will march on and overlap me. But the central column is the biggest and most important, and, therefore, I will concentrate all my fire upon it. Pass the word along there for the men to close," he shouted. Then, turning to his sergeant, he said: "Hurry back to the camp at once and warn them that three Russian columns are advancing. Say I will hold them in check as long as possible." Saluting hurriedly, the sergeant turned and ran back towards the barrier, leaving Phil and his handful of men face to face with the Russians. Nothing daunted, and well knowing that much depended upon his exertions, for a long delay would enable the Second Division to get under arms and take up good positions, Phil concentrated his men, and with a rapid order formed them into line, the ends of which he swung backwards till they were in a semicircular formation. "Now," he said, standing in front of them with rifle at the slope over his shoulder, "about turn; retire ten yards, and when you are well in among the bushes, lie down and wait for the order to fire." Steadied by the example of coolness and determination shown them, the outpost-party swung about and retired into a thick belt of scrub, which, with the aid of the dense morning mist and numerous boulders, completely hid them. Each man at once threw himself upon the ground and waited, with rifle resting upon a stone. Standing in their midst, Phil directed the greater part to pour their volleys into the central column, while a few files on the flanks engaged those on either side. Tingling with excitement, and filled with dogged determination to harass the Russians to the last, the men levelled their rifles and waited eagerly for the word. And as they waited, the tramp of thousands of feet grew nearer and still nearer, while the low and buzzing hiss of excitement, which Russian soldiery indulge in when about to attack, seemed already to have passed beyond them. Suddenly, however, a puff of wind blew the mist away in long trailing flakes, and the central column appeared, marching at a rapid pace, and already within thirty yards of the outpost. Almost at the same moment the lateral columns came into sight, but separated by a little wider interval. "Fire!" cried Phil in a loud voice. Instantly a rattling volley was poured into the dense masses of men, who came to an abrupt halt, while confusion and alarm spread through their ranks. Then officers rushed to the front, sword in hand, and called upon them to charge. Flash! Another volley was poured into the struggling ranks, and men were seen to drop on either side. Bending down so that the scrub just concealed them, Phil and his men rapidly reloaded, and had emptied their rifles again before the mist fell once more and hid the enemy from sight. "Load again," cried Phil. "Now, are you ready? Then follow me to the right. We will change our position before these fellows recover sufficiently to open fire." Running through the dense growth of bushes, the outpost-party soon took up a new position in front of one of the other columns, where, spreading out so as to pour their volleys into all three columns, they waited again for the command to fire. Meanwhile shouts and oaths came in a perfect storm from the Russians, and their hiss of excitement rose to deafening pitch. Then the mist was suddenly rent asunder by a flash of flame which ran along their front, and a hail of bullets was poured into the bushes where Phil and his party had lain not a minute before, sending a shower of twigs and leaves pattering to the ground, and striking the boulders with a series of sharp thuds, which told that but for the fortunate change of position, the outpost-party would have been decimated. "Now we'll give them another taste," said Phil aloud. "Then we'll retire some fifty yards and wait for them again." The movement proved even more successful than he could have hoped, for, bewildered by the mist, and fearful that they had stumbled upon a strong force of the Allies, the Russians still stood rooted to the spot, while the bullets tore remorselessly through their crowded ranks, doing awful execution at such close quarters. Standing in front of them, officers waved their swords gallantly and called upon them to advance, but, stricken by the fire and in dread of the British bayonet, the grey-coated host stood there doubtful and hesitating, and kept from flying only by the press of men behind, unaware as yet of the trouble which had befallen their comrades in advance. "We'll play the same game again, my men," cried Phil coolly, as soon as the retirement had been carried out. "Then we'll make for the barrier and rejoin our friends. The 80th is there by now, and will be ready to help us if we are in difficulties." "What's that there, sir?" asked Tony suddenly, standing by his master's side and pointing to the left. "That's a column of Russians, I reckon, and if we're to get back to friends alive we'd best be quick about it. See, they're already behind us." Staring through the mist, Phil recognised with a start that the force of Russians to the left, suffering less from the galling fire of the British outposts, had recovered their wits, and, advancing up the valley, were tramping past him and already deploying between himself and the "barrier." "Get together, men," he cried hastily. "Now, in two lines, and bayonets to the front! Keep your fire till at close quarters!" Springing to their feet, the outpost-party hastily fell in, and, following Phil, who went some paces in front, retired at a ran, darting round boulders and clumps of brushwood, and keeping as much under cover as possible. But though they retired rapidly, the Russian ranks deployed even more quickly, and while those to the far left pushed on directly in their front, taking the course of a narrow ravine, others spread towards the centre, hoping there to join hands with their comrades. And now an additional element of danger presented itself to Phil and his comrades. Behind them they had left the bulk of the enemy hesitating and uncertain how to act, and pouring an aimless and useless fire into the cover which had concealed those who had done them so great a mischief. At first firing independently and wildly, they had soon taken to well-ordered volleys, and, there being no answer to these and no more missiles of death flying through their ranks, they took courage and, coaxed by their officers, advanced. Arrived at the brushwood cover, they found not a single British soldier. Only deep footprints in the mud, and the litter of twigs brought down by their own bullets, could be seen, and recognising that they had been duped, they broke from a hiss of excitement into a roar of fury, and, breaking from control, dashed forward over boulder and scrub towards the British lines. "Hark! What is that?" said Phil, holding up his hand to arrest his men. "What do those cries mean?" "It's the Russians coming," answered Tony. "Listen: you can hear them tearing through the wood. Quick, or we'll be taken. Look, there are men in front of us." A hasty glance told Phil that Tony was speaking only the truth, for at this moment a swarm of grey-coats could be seen between themselves and the barrier, and one of these, turning round at the moment, caught sight of the British outposts, and with a shout attracted his comrades' attention. "Get together, lads!" said Phil, with coolness and decision. "There, that will do. Now let me take my place on the right. Remember, keep your fire till the muzzles almost touch their coats, and then pull the triggers. Are you ready? Then charge!" In a close and compact mass, and with bayonets well to the front, the little party dashed forward, and, directed by Phil, charged where the Russian ranks seemed thinnest. With eyes flashing, and courage roused to the highest, the men behaved with a coolness and disregard of danger which was magnificent. Waiting till the whites of the Russians' eyes were distinct, they poured in a terrible volley, and then threw themselves upon the enemy with a shout. For five minutes a furious melee raged. Bayonets thrust the air wildly on every side, and death seemed in store for Phil and his small command. Struck by bullets, or thrust through by the steel, some of his gallant men fell before a minute had passed, but, undismayed, and filled only with an enthusiasm and fury which made them forget all else, the remainder wielded their weapons unceasingly, and, plunging ever forward, cut their way to the heart of the enemy, and then through its crowded ranks, until not a Russian lay between them and the barrier. Then turning fiercely they waited only to cast off a few who still clung to them, and, dashing them to the ground, took to their heels, and within a minute were over the barrier and lying full length upon the ground, panting and endeavouring to regain their breath ere the enemy were upon them. As for Phil, he cast his rifle to the ground, and, seating himself upon a boulder, waved his arms at the officers surrounding him, and endeavoured to tell them how vast was the force about to attack the British camp. "There, sit still and say nothing," said the colonel who had spoken to him on the previous evening. "Thanks to the timely warning you sent by the sergeant, we are as prepared as it is possible to be, though our numbers are dangerously small. Still, we are ready, and we must thank you, Western, for delaying the enemy and so giving us time. Let me tell you you have done a gallant and most useful service for the army. Now, I see you are better. Take a small nip from this flask. It will help you to pull round." Phil did as he was directed, and just as the enemy reached the barrier had recovered his breath and strength sufficiently to snatch up his rifle again and join his company. And now commenced a battle upon the fortunes of which depended the fate of the Allies. Here was an immense army marching in three columns upon a ridge held only by a division scarcely 4000 strong. In rear of it lay the French, at present wholly unable to help or reinforce, for, though not attacked, they sat in their trenches, menaced by Liprandi's large force from the Causeway heights, captured on "Balaclava" day. And on their left the roar of cannon from the fortress could already be heard as they thundered at the British, while behind the masonry thousands of Russians were massed in preparation for a gigantic sortie upon the investing trenches. No one could help that gallant 4000, for everywhere troops were urgently needed against threatened attack. But lack of numbers was fully compensated for by a courage which becomes even more remarkable as one thinks of it--courage sufficient to urge them to march over that crest, and, leaving their tents, amongst which cannon-shot were already hurtling, to descend the slope and advance against an army of huge proportions. Fortune favours the brave, indeed, for where can history show a brighter example? Eager for the fight, and reckless of the consequences, the British troops descended the ridge and threw themselves upon the enemy. The mist opened, and the Russians saw a double line of red, and faces furious with excitement and lust of battle, charging upon them, but next moment the British ranks were hidden. A breath of wind to dispel the vapour would have turned the fortunes of the battle, and changed glorious victory for the British into disastrous defeat. But there was no breeze, no puff of wind to clear the atmosphere, and, ignorant of the thinness of the opposing lines, and feeling sure that they were already face to face with the bulk of the allied army, the Russians came forward slowly and carefully. There was none of that dash and recklessness which would have brought them victory; instead, they paused, swayed this way and that, torn incessantly by volleys from rifles which, far superior to their own, caused ghastly slaughter in their ranks; and gave way whenever a company of England's soldiers fell upon them. Meanwhile what had happened at the barrier? Two hundred of the 30th Foot lay behind it, and alone met the central column with their bayonets. Rushing at the low wall of stones, swarms of grey-coated warriors attempted to climb it, only to be hurled back from the bayonets. Time and again did they renew the assault, but always with the same result. And all the while bullets pelted amongst them, so that at length, despairing of surmounting the barrier, they turned to the left and joined one of the lateral columns. All day long did that gallant handful of the 80th cling to their position, and almost incessantly were they called upon to oppose other bodies of Russian troops, who came to renew the combat. Worn out with their exertions, with blackened faces and blood-stained clothing, they threw themselves upon the miry ground and slept the sleep of exhaustion till another alarm was given, when, shaking off their drowsiness by an effort of will, they sprang to their feet once more, and, grasping rifles, again flung themselves upon the enemy. Gallant souls indeed they were, but not more brave and determined than their comrades upon that memorable battle-field. Sweeping by them on the right one Russian column fell upon the flank of the British and hurled it aside by sheer weight of numbers. Then, advancing rapidly, they wheeled to the left, and were within an ace of taking the division in rear. But again fortune favoured the British. Buller hurried up with reinforcements at this moment, and, falling upon them with bull-dog ferocity, pushed them back, then rent them in pieces, and sent them hurrying away in disorder. And on the British right events of no small moment were taking place. Pushing past the barrier, with the 200 of the 30th growling on their flank, and constantly hurling volleys at them, an enormous column closed with the soldiers in red and pressed them up and up the hill till the crest and the sandbag battery were reached. And now commenced a stage in the battle that is memorable, that stands out amongst all the glorious deeds of that splendid day as more glorious than all the rest. As if at school and struggling for the possession of some imaginary castle, British and Russians fought fiercely for the sandbag battery. A mere mound of earth, and having no guns, it was but a mark, a ridge upon the rolling crest, which attracted the eye. Foiled in their main attempt to force the enemy back and march on towards Balaclava, the Russians forgot the object of the day, and those in the neighbourhood of the battery straggled furiously for its possession. Frantic with rage and disappointment, and with noble courage, they hurled themselves upon it time and again, only to be as bravely met and dashed down the hill once more. Grim, bareheaded, and full of valour the Guards clustered round that battery and disputed its ownership with the Russians. Undaunted by the numbers advancing, time and again they hurled them back, and then stood leaning upon their rifles, and between their gasps for breath called to the Russians to come again, to mount the slope and capture the position. And the grey-coated host glared up at them across a stretch of beautiful green turf now piled high with poor lads who had fought their last fight. Yes, hundreds of fine men lay there, some barely more than boys, others in the prime of life, gaunt, raw-boned Russian linesmen, with ugly red streaks upon their faces, or big patches of like colour growing ever larger upon the grey cloth of their uniforms. Amongst them, too, still clutching rifles, and some even with hands clenched and tightly grasping their enemies, lay fine stalwart Guardsmen, young men in the pride of youth and strength, and veterans. Death had called them away, and just as many an eye would dim, and cheeks be moistened, in far-away Russian cabins for those near and dear who had gone, so in good old England women and lasses would soon be weeping for those gallant sons and brothers who had died for the country's good. For long hours the conflict raged round the battery, but though the Russians were in far greater numbers than the British, the Guardsmen budged not an inch; and when the day was done, stood victorious and proud owners of the position. Meanwhile the orderly lines of the Second Division had been broken by sheer weight of numbers, and pushed back here and there; in other parts they pressed forward with irresistible valour into the enemy's columns, and fought on in parties of two hundred, and often less--as few even as twenty,--with desperate courage and determination, and with a lust of battle and ferocity that was truly marvellous. Not once, but many times, these small groups flung themselves upon the enemy, and, thrusting and slashing on every side, cut their way to the very centre of the mass of grey, pushed on with assailants surrounding them, and at length passed to the other side, only to turn and bury themselves once more in the Russian ranks. Late in the day, too, when the fate of the battle still hung in the balance, more artillery arrived, and, engaging the batteries on Gun Hill, caused them to retire. Then slowly and grudgingly the Russian infantry turned round and retreated in disorder to the heights of Inkermann, leaving an enormous number of killed and wounded behind them. Oh for Scarlett's Heavy Brigade, or the remainder even of that glorious 600 horse who had charged into "the gates of hell" on Balaclava day! One dash, one fierce charge amidst those retreating soldiers, and defeat would have been a rout, a decisive victory, which even at this date might well have led to the surrender of the fortress and the humbling of Russian pride. But no horse were there, and the retreating forces of the Czar reached their bivouacs sullen and dispirited at their crushing defeat, but without suffering further injury save from the shell and plunging shot as the British guns opened upon the flying mass. But that deep valley and the slopes leading to the ridge were piled with dead and wounded innumerable, for both sides had lost heavily, the Russian casualties amounting to many thousands. Phil took his full share in the battle, while Tony hovered like a guardian angel near him, many a time turning aside a flashing bayonet meant for his friend. One thrust, indeed, got home, the bayonet transfixing Phil's thigh and bringing him to the ground. With a roar Tony was upon the man and had knocked him senseless with a tremendous blow on the head from the stock of his rifle. Then, lifting Phil, he carried him into a safer position behind the barrier of stones. "It's nothing," exclaimed Phil, with a smile. "Slit up my trousers and just tie your handkerchief round. That's it. Now I think I shall be all right. The pain made me feel a little faint." Taking a pull at his flask, which contained weak brandy and water, he was soon on his feet again, and had taken his place in the fighting-line. When all was over, Tony helped him back to his tent, and fetched the regimental doctor, who bandaged the wound. "It's a simple flesh wound," the latter said encouragingly, "and, if you rest a little, will give you no trouble beyond a little stiffness. The difficulty is to get you young fellows to sit still for a moment. But you must rest, and as there happens to be a convoy going to Balaclava in an hour's time I'll send you with it and have you put on one of the ships." "I'd rather stay here and get well," said Phil eagerly. "After all, it's only a scratch, and will be right in a week." "Now, I'm treating you, my boy," the doctor exclaimed shortly, "and for your own good I shall send you on board ship, so there is an end of the matter." Phil resigned himself to what he thought was a hard fate, for he was anxious to stay with his regiment. But no doubt rest for a few days was required, and the doctor was right in insisting upon it. "Pack up my things, Tony, and we'll see whether I cannot get a lift in an araba," he said. "The convoy is to start from the crest, so you might slip up and see what can be done." Tony did as he was told, and was able to secure a place for his master. Phil was then carried to the top of the hill, and, being lifted into the cart, was driven off. The convoy reached Balaclava at dawn, and Phil, with Tony in attendance, and some fifty other wounded men was sent on board a small schooner, which at once weighed anchor, and sailed out of the harbour. "Nasty place that," said the captain, a rough-faced, genial old sea-dog, jerking his thumb towards the harbour. "Safe as a house so long as the wind's off shore; but once it begins to blow the other way, God help those aboard ship. There'll be only bare rocky cliffs to welcome them if the vessels go ashore, and how could they help doing that, for the anchorage is notoriously unsafe? Can't imagine why they stick there! There's many a safer harbour hereabouts." The captain looked anxiously at the fine transports swinging to their cables, and then muttering "Thank heavens I shall be at sea and have a better chance than they!" nodded to Phil and dived below. He was a knowing man, this sailor, and, being accustomed to the Black Sea, was well aware that the season for violent gales and storms of rain and snow had now arrived. That night indeed, and all the following day, it blew so fiercely that the vessel's bowsprit carried away, and she was obliged to put back into Balaclava for repairs. A few days later she once more set sail. "Don't like the look of things," muttered the captain, looking round anxiously as they sailed from the mouth of the harbour. "If it comes on to blow on-shore to-night it'll be bad for them ships in there. But it isn't my affair. The chap as is in command has been warned more than once already." "Do you think we are going to catch it again?" asked Phil. "Can't say for certain, but it looks precious like it; I wonder what the glass is doing?" and with an anxious expression the captain went to consult his barometer. "Falling fast," he said shortly, "and it's getting much colder. We're in for a dusting, I think. Mr King, get those sails taken off her, and make all taut. I'll go my rounds in half an hour and see how things are." He crossed the deck and fell into earnest conversation with his mate, leaving Phil to make his way aft and talk matters over with Tony. The captain's fears were not unfounded. That evening, November 14th, a gale of wind sprang up, blowing dead on-shore, and soon a terrific storm was raging. With her head jammed close up into it, the _Columbine_ seemed to make fair progress; but soon darkness had obscured the cliffs, and there was nothing by which to judge their position. "We're far closer to those cliffs than I like," Phil shouted in Tony's ear. "Still, we seem to be getting well out to sea, and if only we can manage that we ought to be safe." "I'd rather be fighting the whole Russian army than knocking about here," Tony roared back. "'Tain't that only neither. This sea puts a chap off his grub, and we ain't had such a lot of late as to let us afford it. Look what a rat I'm getting;" and with a comical air of despair he clutched the tunic he wore, to show that it was too large for him. An hour passed, and it was very evident that the fury of the storm increased rather than diminished. Phil struggled on to the poop and found his way to the captain's side. "We're in the hands of Providence, I reckon," cried the old sailor reverently. "Every foot we make we lose to leeward, and away over in that direction are the cliffs. We're running a trifle more along the coast now, for there's not a ship that's built that could face this gale. God help us, young man! We can do nothing more for ourselves." Three hours later a tremendous sea struck the ill-fated ship and smashed her rudder to pieces. Instantly she commenced to broach to. "Get a grip of something to hold you up," shouted the captain. "That'll finish her. Good-bye, lad!" Phil grasped his hand for the moment and looked into his face. It showed more clearly than a book could how desperate the situation was. Leaving him, he crawled along to Tony. "Get hold of a rope, old man," he screamed in his ear. "She's going fast towards the rocks." Whipping out their knives, they soon obtained two long pieces of stout cordage. With these they tied two of the large wooden gratings at the hatchway together, and obtaining some more rope, secured themselves to the woodwork, so that if the ship went down the hatchings would float away and support them. Meanwhile huge billows of green water poured on board, thumping the ship till every timber quivered. Then one immense wave curled right over her and smashed her decks like an egg-shell. Immediately all was confusion. Shouts occasionally reached Phil's ear, and he once caught sight of the grey-headed old captain kneeling in prayer. A moment later another wave turned the unfortunate _Columbine_ completely over, and, filling at once, she sank like a stone. Phil felt as though he was being smothered. The din of rushing water rang in his ears, and intense darkness surrounded him. He fought and kicked madly. Then something struck him sharply on the head, and he grasped the grating to which he was tied, and with an effort dragged himself upon it. Close alongside was the other grating, and upon it, clinging with all his might, was Tony. And thus, side by side, one now dancing on the summit of a wave, while the other hung in the trough, drenched with water of icy coldness and almost smothered by the surf and rain, they drifted fast towards those inhospitable black cliffs against which the tempest thundered. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. SAVED FROM THE DEEP. More than an hour of misery and terror passed as Tony and Phil clung, half-submerged, to their gratings, and as they held on, the sound of huge waves, breaking upon the iron-bound coast to which they were fast approaching, grew louder. Phil pulled upon the rope which kept their fragile rafts together and shortened it, bringing them close alongside one another. "Good-bye, old man!" he shouted, between two gusts of wind. Tony's mouth opened and he bellowed something, but the words were carried away on the gale. Conversation, even by shouting, being hopeless, they once more fell into despairing silence. "What has happened?" cried Phil half an hour later. "We seem to have left the crash of waves on the cliff behind us, and already the sea seems to be going down." Tony crept closer. "The wind ain't going down," he shouted hoarsely. "It's blowing stronger if anything, and though we lies low in the water, we're bowling along in fine style. Can't make it out, mate; this sea going down looks as if we'd been washed into some sheltered cove. Anyway we shall know soon," and he jerked his arm to the right, where already the black clouds were lifting. Half an hour passed, when Phil suddenly caught sight of high cliffs to right and left, while on the summit of one of them seemed to be a fort, for the white masonry was distinctly visible. He stared through the gloom and sweeping sheets of spray, and thought he detected another fort on the opposite side. A few minutes later they were washed through a large opening in the cliffs, and the forts flashed by on either side; at the same moment the sea became still quieter, and the roar of the wind seemed left behind them. "I think I saw a fort on either side," cried Phil, "and as I know there is only one harbour on this coast with high cliffs and forts, I feel certain that we are drifting into Sebastopol. Great Scott! We shall be made prisoners again." Tony groaned. "Can't be helped," he shouted, suddenly brightening. "If we are, why, it'll just give us the fun and excitement of escaping again. But, old friend, this here's an escape from sudden and horrible death, and if it hadn't been that the Almighty up there, above them black clouds, had been keeping His eye on us, we'd have been washing about amongst the fishes hours ago." Tony looked upwards to the sky, and his lips moved. Phil watched him curiously, and there, tossing on the storm-troubled water, offered up a prayer for his safety so far. Nor could he help contrasting Tony's condition of mind as it was at that moment with what it had been when first he made his acquaintance in the menagerie many months before. "Hallo! What's that over there?" he suddenly shouted, catching sight of a dark mass in the water. "It looks like a piece of wreckage. Perhaps there is someone on it." Both stared at the object which, being much larger and higher out of the water, bore down upon them quickly. There was no doubt now that it was a portion of a ship, perhaps of the wrecked _Columbine_, and in the hope that it was, Phil and his friend dipped their hands in the water and slowly propelled themselves so as to lie in its path. "I can see something red on it," said Phil, shading his eyes. "Can you make anything out, Tony?" "There's a chap there in red breeches, or I'm an idiot, Phil. Yes, I can see him plainly. He's tied to the wreckage, and as far as I make out there isn't a move in him. Tell yer what, old man, that would be a safer place than these here gratings, and I advise that we swop." When the floating mass reached them, Phil and Tony sprang on to it, securing their gratings to it, and casting off the ropes with which they had fastened themselves. Lashed to a ring-bolt was a little, red-breeched French linesman, apparently dead. Phil cut his lashings free, and turning him on to his back, tore his coat open. "Not dead yet," he cried eagerly. "Lend a hand here, Tony. We'll pull this fellow round. He is as cold as ice, so we'll take his shirt off and rub his chest and arms. That ought to restore the circulation." Setting to work with a will they tore the clothing from the unconscious Frenchman, and chafed his body and limbs with such energy that soon there were obvious signs of returning consciousness, and moreover their exertions had made both of them thoroughly warm, whereas before they had been numbed with cold. Suddenly their ally opened his eyes and stared round wildly. "Mon Dieu!" he groaned, and seemed to relapse into unconsciousness. Once more opening his eyes he stared at Phil, and, recognising him as an English officer, stretched out his hand, while a look of relief and gladness overspread his face. "Mon cher, mon cher!" he cried joyfully. "Ah, zis is ze grand plaisir. Ah!" "Cheer up, my good fellow," said Phil kindly, patting him on the shoulder, for, overcome by emotion, the little man had burst into tears. "Come, tell us how you came to be wrecked like us. You speak our language, so we shall be able to understand." "Oui, monsieur, I speak ze language of ze English. Ah, I speak 'im well!" laughed the Frenchman, with some pride. "Once I live in England three months and act as a waiter. You wish to know how I came here. Ah, c'est terrible!" And he covered his face with his hands. "Now then, pull yerself together, little 'un!" exclaimed Tony encouragingly. "We're all in the same box. Fire away and let's have the yarn." "Eh, bien," said the little man, sitting up. "I leave my beloved France six months ago, and sail for to fight ze perfide Russian. Then after ze battle for Balaclava,--monsieur, what horsemen terrible are yours--I get ze malade; ze--what you call 'im--ah, ze water and ze cold do catch me here;" and placing his hands on his stomach, he rolled his eyes till the whites alone showed, and groaned dismally. "Ze officer say, `mon pauvre garcon!'" he continued, "and send me on the ship _Henri Cinq_." "What! you don't mean to say that that fine boat has gone down?" interrupted Phil. "Alas, monsieur, it is true!" the Frenchman answered, lifting his hands. "Behold, all is peace; ze sun 'e shine so brightly. Then ze tempest come, ze ship fight bravely, and then rush on the land. `Sauve qui peut', ze captain shout, and I tie myself here. Then I think of my country, and all is dark. I wake, and you are here, mon cher. Aha! what does he matter? Mais--ah, monsieur, mes pauvres camarades!" and once more the little man relapsed into tears. Meanwhile the wreckage had been rapidly drifting, and as the darkness lifted it became perfectly evident that the harbour into which the gale had swept them was indeed that on the shore of which Sebastopol was built. Soon sentries noticed the wreckage, and before long boats had put off to secure it, for wood was of value for fires. To offer any opposition was hopeless; the three were lifted into one of the boats, and were rowed swiftly into the inner harbour, where they were handed over to a guard. "Our second visit to this place," said Tony disgustedly. "Blow'd if it ain't the hardest luck as ever was. But I sha'n't grumble no more. We've come safe through when other lads have gone to their last. I say we was saved by a miracle." "Yes, indeed," agreed Phil. "We have much to be thankful for." "Then you have been prisonaire before?" asked the Frenchman, astonished. "We only escaped a matter of three weeks ago," answered Phil. "You make ze escape, monsieur?" the little man repeated, lifting his eyebrows in his amazement. "Truly, you Englishmen are brave. Ha, ha!" he went on, clapping his hands, "what need I, Pierre Moutard, fear? We will make ze escape with each others, and we will snap ze fingers at our perfide enemy;" and, putting his arms akimbo and throwing his chin proudly in the air, he frowned at the nearest sentry as though he would eat him. The man answered with a hoarse growl, causing the Frenchman to start and take his place between Phil and Tony rather hurriedly. "Aha, ze perfide!" they heard him mutter beneath his breath. "He think 'e frighten me." "I wonder where they will take us!" mused Phil. "If only they will be good enough to put us in the same prison as last time, I think we can guarantee that we will get out somehow." "That we will," answered Tony with emphasis. "But what about this here Froggy with the red legs?" he asked in a cautious whisper. "He's kind of tied himself on to us--made pals of us, yer see,--so I suppose he'll have to escape with us too?" He asked the question as though an escape had been already arranged. "Heaps of time to think of that," said Phil, with a laugh. "But I must say the little man seems rather nervous." "Pah! nervous! Just fancy getting frightened when one of these surly-looking guards growls at him. It's disgusting, that's what it is." "Well, we won't worry about it now, Tony. Look out. Here come our orders." An officer joined the group at this moment, and closely inspected the prisoners. "What has happened?" he asked, less gruffly than usual. "We were wrecked by the storm and blown into the harbour," answered Phil in his best Russian. "Ah, you speak our language, sir! Good! You were wrecked, you say, and must therefore be cold and exhausted. Sergeant, take the prisoners into the guard-room, and bring this officer to my quarters. See that coffee and a glass of vodka are given to the other two. In half an hour you will call for my guest and march them all three to the prison-hall." The man saluted, and led Tony and Pierre away, while, taking Phil's arm, the Russian led him on one side and asked how he happened to have the little Frenchman in his company. A few minutes later he strode away, but rejoined Phil when the latter had been taken to the quarters set aside for officers. "Sit down there, sir," said the Russian, politely motioning Phil to a chair. "Now we will have breakfast, and I am sure you must be in great need of food. You look quite exhausted." He struck a bell, and a meal of steaming hot fish and coffee was brought in, to which Phil did ample justice. Then a cigar was handed him, and he puffed at it with the greatest pleasure. "It has been a terrible night, a truly awful gale," remarked the officer after a few moments' silence. "Even here we have suffered. Vessels have sunk in the harbour, and roofs have been torn from the houses, and many people killed in consequence. But at sea the unhappy English have met with a shocking disaster. It is said that along our coast and within the harbour of Balaclava no fewer than twenty-two fine transports have gone ashore, including the French ship _Henri Cinq_. Few lives have been saved, I fear, and how you and your comrades managed to escape is past belief. It is the fiercest storm we have experienced for years." Phil was struck dumb with consternation. "Twenty-two ships ashore!" he murmured in a broken voice. "How awful! All those lives lost, not to mention the stores." It was only too true. Twenty-two vessels had been wrecked, and of these the majority were filled with valuable stores of warm clothing and food, the former being urgently needed at that moment, for the cold weather had set in in earnest, and snow and sleet were falling. "I grieve for you, sir," said the officer kindly. "It is ill fortune indeed. But, if you feel so inclined, tell me how you came to be washed into our harbour? It must have been a terrible experience." Phil described the foundering of the _Columbine_ and their miraculous escape. "To be taken prisoner is always painful, Englishman," the officer said consolingly, "but to be dashed upon the cliffs is to meet with a reception compared to which your comfort here will be perfect luxury. It is unfortunate for you, but war is always filled with misfortunes. I will see that you and the two men with you are given blankets, and I will speak to the prison official for you. For myself, I leave for the field-army to-night. Ah, I hear the sergeant! Farewell, sir, and the best of fortune!" Phil thanked him suitably, and half an hour later found himself in his old prison. As before, there were a number of other soldiers present, who greeted them enthusiastically, and eagerly asked for news. "Some of us have been here since a day or two after the Alma," said their spokesman, "and we are dying for news. These Russian beggars won't even give us a hint. But we keep our spirits up, and when there's an extra heavy bombardment, we shout and sing till the guards get angry and come in and threaten to shoot. But we only laugh at them. It is the same if the food is bad; we kick up as much noise as possible, and in the end get what we want, for these fellows seem almost afraid of us." "Is there no chance of escape then?" asked Phil. "Not a morsel, sir. We've had a try all round, but always failed. There was an officer here named McNeil. He was wounded, and in trying to escape got stuck again with a bayonet. Then an ugly little brute they call an inspector of the prison came in and struck him with his whip. He seemed to know him, too, and accused him of inciting us to escape. That afternoon the lieutenant was dragged away, and we have never seen him since." "Hum! that looks bad for us, Tony," muttered Phil. "If it is Stackanoff, and he recognises us, it will be a bad business. He is sure to pay off old scores if possible." "Trust the brute," growled Tony. "But if he tries to come any of his larks on us he'll be getting a tap over the head like that fellow who found us hidden in the carriage." At this moment the door of the prison was thrown open, and some blankets were given to the new prisoners. "Prepare for a visit from the inspector," said the jailer curtly, "and see that everything is clean and straight, so that you do not disgrace me. It will mean evil for you if his excellency is not pleased." A yell of derision met this speech, for the English prisoners had already met with such poor entertainment that they could scarcely receive worse, and, moreover, finding that a noisy, mutinous line of conduct overawed their guards, they had long ago got quite out of hand. "Don't you go for to worry yerself, Whiskers," cried one sturdy linesman. "This place ain't no palace, so the cove who expects to find it such will be a fool. But it's clean, and always will be, 'cos us chaps ain't the sort to live in a pig-sty. Now hop away, Whiskers, and don't fret. We'll put it right with the inspector." The Russian looked round at the grinning faces, while Phil, who had translated his message, put the last speaker's into Russian, taking the liberty, however, of making it more polite. "Very well, do not fail me," growled the jailer, showing his teeth. "It will be the worse for you if you do." "He will discover us as sure as we are alive!" remarked Phil as soon as the man had gone. "I mean Stackanoff, of course, for I suppose he is inspector. We must try to disguise ourselves." Accordingly he and Tony ruffled their hair and disarranged their clothing. Then they took a place amongst the prisoners, taking care to keep well in the background. Suddenly the door was thrown open with a crash, and Stackanoff stalked in majestically, his little pig-like eyes glaring at the prisoners. "Line them up," he said, with an angry snap. "I wish to see if all are here." The prisoners fell into line, and Stackanoff slowly inspected them. "Who is this?" he asked, as he came opposite Pierre. "This is a Frenchman." "He came with two other prisoners this morning, Excellency," answered the jailer. "They were wrecked and washed into the harbour." "Fool! What do I care about their method of reaching here?" snarled Stackanoff, turning on the trembling man. "They are prisoners. That is good enough. Bring them before me." "It's all up, Tony," whispered Phil. "We are to be brought before him." "Let him take care, that's all!" muttered Tony, looking daggers at the Russian. "I'll down the fellow yet." Stackanoff stared at them spitefully when they were marched in front of him, but for the moment did not recognise them. "Ha! what is this?" he suddenly exclaimed, gazing at Phil. "Your face I know. Who are you? Ah!--villain!" And suddenly realising that Phil was the Englishman who had thrown him from his saddle and brought him into disgrace, he drew his sword, and, mad with rage, threw himself upon him with tigerish fury. Phil was helpless. Another moment and he would have been cut down, when Tony grappled with the angry Russian, and, picking him up like a child, turned him upside-down, and, using all his strength, held him there, cursing and screaming with rage, and with his head resting on the floor. "Get hold of his sword, Phil," he shouted. "Now I'll let him up if he promises to behave." Phil snatched up the weapon, while Tony, now aided by a second prisoner, clung to the legs of the frantic Stackanoff, while the remainder looked on and laughed at the ridiculous scene till they were doubled up with merriment. "You can let him go now," said Phil quietly. "If he rushes at me again I shall set to work with my fists and give the brute a thrashing." Tony and his helper promptly released the inspector, and he doubled up in a heap on the floor. A second later he was on his feet, glaring savagely at Phil, his lips curling away from his teeth, and his hair and beard bristling with fury. But the steady stare with which Phil greeted him, and his air of preparation, caused the Russian to pause and think before attacking him again. "Viper! Wretched Englishman!" he hissed. "You shall pay bitterly for this insult. Ah, you are dressed now as an officer! You were a private before. Your friend too has different uniform. You are spies--spies!" he shrieked, with a hideous laugh. "Yes, the tale of the shipwreck is a lie, and you two have been sent here to learn our plans. Take them away. They shall be severely dealt with." "Where to?" asked the jailer, who had looked on anxiously at the scene, not knowing how to act. "Fool! To the cells, of course," Stackanoff cried. "We have an empty one. Place them there, and take this Frenchman too. He also is a spy;" and he glared at poor Pierre as though he would kill him. "What is it, monsieur?" the little man asked tremulously. "What are they about to do to ze prisonaires?" "He says we are spies," answered Phil. "Ah, spies! He make ze lie. Pierre is no spy. But they will not believe, and we shall all die!" The poor little man threw himself on the floor and howled dismally. "Come up, won't yer?" exclaimed Tony with disgust, clutching him by the seat of his red breeches and hoisting him to his feet. "Ain't it enough to know as you're to come along with us? Ain't that bad enough? Shout when you're hurt, but till yer are hold yer tongue, or it'll be the worse for yer." Pierre wept softly, his narrow shoulders and baggy breeches shaking with convulsive sobs. His chin was bowed upon his breast, and altogether the unhappy little Frenchman looked the very picture of despair. "Pshaw! At least the Englishmen have courage!" scowled Stackanoff disdainfully. "Call the guard." Half a dozen armed Russians marched in and surrounded the prisoners. Then, followed by shouts of farewell and encouragement from their comrades, the three prisoners were taken to the opposite side of the town, close to the fortifications facing the British guns, which could be heard booming in the distance, while an occasional shell passed overhead. "You see that," said Stackanoff maliciously, drawing Phil's attention to a group of low buildings which in parts were tumbled into ruins. "The cells are there, and perhaps a friendly message from your comrades on the heights may find you out. It would be best for you, for no man has yet insulted me and lived to boast of it." Phil did not deign to answer, but, looking closely at the buildings, noticed that they had indeed suffered heavily from the British fire. Walls were lying flat, roofs were broken, and a large brick chimney had been shorn off like a stick struck by a sword. The escort halted opposite it, and a door was thrown open by a jailer. "Place these three in number five cell, and come to me when you have done so," said Stackanoff. "I have special instructions to give you as to their comfort," he added cynically. He turned on his heel and was gone, while Phil and his comrades followed the jailer down a steep flight of stone steps and entered a gallery. They stopped opposite a door studded with big nails. It was thrown open, and half a minute later had closed behind them with a harsh clang. CHAPTER NINETEEN. YOU ARE SPIES. "We are properly bottled this time," exclaimed Phil, with some concern, closely examining the cell into which they had been thrust. "Look at these walls, all of thick stone, and pierced by two tiny windows with grilles. It is a regular cage, and after a first look at it I should imagine escape will be impossible." "We was in a worse hole before," cried Tony encouragingly. "And yer must remember there's lots of ways of getting out besides digging holes in the wall. For instance, we might collar that surly-faced jailer and make a bolt for it. But it wants a bit of thinking out." "Consider now, monsieur," chimed in Pierre in a plaintive voice. "To make ze escape from this--ah--I do not know 'is name, mais--maison--oui, maison--comprenez-vous, monsieur? To make ze escape will bring ze death to us, ze bang and ze bullet. Alas, it will be for ze no good!" "Nonsense!" said Phil shortly. "If we want to get out we must chance that." "Mais, monsieur, we are so happy. Why should we make ze escape? See, ze wall is strong, and ze cannon will not reach us," Pierre answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Bah! thought you was for getting out?" cried Tony in disgust. "Look here, little 'un, if we tries the game you're welcome to this here cell to yourself." Pierre subsided into silence, and commenced to make beds of the blankets, while Phil and Tony made a thorough inspection of the cell. "Not a loophole for escape," growled Tony. "I suppose we'll have to dig our way out, for get away from here I will." "And I too, Tony," Phil answered quietly. "There must be a way. What is this?" and he pointed to an open grate, upon the hearthstone of which were the long-cold embers of a fire. He put his head into it and looked up the chimney, but all was black as night. Suddenly a familiar voice, sounding a long way off, reached his ear. "What can it be?" he cried, withdrawing his head. "I can hear that brute Stackanoff distinctly. Hush! I will get higher up into the chimney. Pierre, if you hear footsteps warn me in good time." Phil crawled beneath the overhanging lip of the grate, and stood up in the chimney. Then, finding a rest for his feet, he gradually ascended. Suddenly his head struck against some brickwork, and by stretching out his hands he found that the chimney bent upward at an easy slope. Surmounting the corner he crept up with some difficulty. The voice now sounded much nearer, so he lay still and listened. "Know, then, that I have set hands on your comrades, beggarly Englishman!" he heard Stackanoff cry in a cruel voice. "They have been taken as spies, and I hope will be shot. I promise you that you shall see the fun." "Wretch!" a weak voice replied, in tones which sounded like Lieutenant McNeil's, "have you not already ill-treated me sufficiently, and must you now persecute my poor countrymen? Were it not for this wound, which lames me, I would spring upon you and crush the life from your miserable carcass. Leave me, you coward!" A derisive laugh was the only answer, and, having waited in vain to hear more, Phil slipped back into the cell, looking more like a sweep than a British officer. He was greatly excited, and that, together with the fact that he was partially choked by soot, made it difficult to answer Tony's eager question. "What luck!" he cried at last. "This cell must communicate in some way with the next one, and in that is Lieutenant McNeil. Listen, and I will tell you what happened." Sitting on his blankets he rapidly communicated the words he had overheard. "I'm going up there again," he said, when some ten minutes had elapsed. "If this chimney allows us to reach the other cell, it will allow us, perhaps, to escape. Evidently our pleasant Stackanoff knows nothing about it. At any rate, if I can get into McNeil's prison, and can find some way out for both of us, he comes with me. Poor chap! See how long he has been shut up." "What, another!" exclaimed Tony aghast. "Ain't it bad enough to have this here Froggy? ain't that hard enough? And now yer wants to take on another pal?" Phil glared at him. "Very well," he said curtly, "we'll not make the attempt. I am sorry, for I did not know you were a coward." "Call me a coward, me a funk!" cried the gallant Tony, springing from his blanket-bed and striking himself on the chest. "Me, yer old pal too!" He looked half-sorrowfully and half-angrily at Phil. Then his face suddenly flushed. "So I am," he cried hoarsely. "Ain't the poor young officer in distress, and me wanting to desert him? Phil, old friend, here's my hand. I won't say another word against it." "That's right," said Phil, with a smile of relief. "I knew I had only to call you names to make you give way. Now I'll go up again. Come and give me a lift." Climbing into the chimney he worked his way up laboriously. Soon his hand caught upon a sharp ridge of brick, and happening to look up at that moment, he saw a square patch of light with somewhat rugged margins. "By George," he muttered, "that must be the broken chimney." He turned over so as to be able to inspect it the better, and, with an exclamation of annoyance, noticed that several bars crossed the chimney some eight feet up. "That will be our greatest difficulty," he thought. "Still, they are only built into brick, and we ought to be able to loosen them. Now for the other cell." He felt the brickwork with his hands, and was delighted to find that it descended suddenly at an angle, showing that it corresponded to the part in which he was lying, and that two fireplaces were evidently arranged to pour their smoke through one common chimney. The flue down which he was looking then must communicate with the other cell. "McNeil!" he cried softly. "McNeil!" "Hallo! Who's that?" came a muffled answer. Phil repeated his name again more loudly. "Come to the chimney!" he cried. "I am up here." A minute passed, and then the small patch of light which he could just discern beneath was suddenly obscured. "Who are you? Whatever is happening?" McNeil asked in an eager whisper. "Hush! Speak low. The jailer lives close outside my cell." "Do you remember Corporal Western and his friend? The two who helped you with the flag?" asked Phil, making a funnel of his hands. "Yes, of course I do. But who are you?" "I am Corporal Western, or rather I was," said Phil. "I am now a lieutenant in the 30th. But I will explain later. My friend and I, together with a Frenchman, were wrecked and blown ashore this morning. That brute Stackanoff recognised us, and has put us in the cell next to yours, with the accusation that we are spies." "Stackanoff! That man must die, Western," the stern answer came. "He has treated me with the foulest brutality. I am half-starved, and altogether lame, for the second wound I received while trying to escape has festered, and I am racked with fever. For God's sake get me out of this, old chap!" "I mean to," Phil cried cheerfully. "We have no idea how we shall get out yet, but we gave the Russians the slip once before, and will do so now. Be ready at any moment. But I will try to warn you in good time. Now I will slip back, but to-morrow I will come right down into your prison." Carefully lowering himself, it was not long before he was back in his own cell, and telling Tony all that had happened and what chances there were of escape. "Speak low, mate," said Tony cautiously. "Tell yer what it is. This 'ere Froggy"--and he nodded contemptuously at Pierre--"ain't worth a bag of salt. My advice is, don't tell him what we're up to. You can see he ain't got the pluck to get out of this, and he's bound to know he'll catch it if we get away and leave him. So he'll round on us if we're not careful." "Impossible!" exclaimed Phil. "Look at the fellow then, and perhaps you'll change your mind," replied Tony in a whisper. Pierre was lying disconsolately in his corner, and when Phil glanced at him the Frenchman's eyes were shifty. He looked ill at ease, and was evidently deeply curious as to his fellow-prisoners' movements. "What for does monsieur mount ze chimney?" he asked peevishly. "Eef ze door open, what happen? Vraiment, ze bang;" and he shuddered at the thought that all would be shot. "Look here," said Phil sternly, and with hardly repressed anger and contempt, "that man Stackanoff has got us in his clutches, and if we are to live we must escape. I went up the chimney for that purpose, but could see no way out in that direction. If we find a loophole, you must decide whether to accompany us; but mind me, do not attempt to betray us, or we will break your neck!" "Betray monsieur! Ah, non!" the little man cried, lifting his hands in expostulation. "Surely I will come with you. I will brave ze death." "Mind yer do then," grunted Tony, looking searchingly at him. But the incident, small as it was, was sufficient to put Phil and his friend on their guard, and after that they kept their counsels to themselves. At dusk, the sour-faced jailer brought in some bread and a jug of water, and without answering Phil's remarks that the cell was not fitted for officer or men, banged the door and locked it. Before he did so, Tony caught sight of six Russian soldiers standing in the doorway. "No chance of rushing that when the jailer comes in," he said shortly. "Never mind, the chimney's good enough for me." The bread was now divided up, and they fell to hungrily. Then, when his wound had been dressed, Phil and his friends lay down. Fortunately for the former, the bayonet had made a clean thrust through the muscles, and though he suffered some pain, and was stiff, the wound was too slight to incommode him greatly. The following morning, just as dawn was breaking, Phil slipped off his coat, climbed up the chimney, and slid down into the other cell, where he found McNeil sleeping soundly. He was shocked at the poor fellow's appearance. He was greatly emaciated and intensely pallid. Phil woke him gently. "Hush, keep quiet!" he said. "Here I am, come to have a chat with you." McNeil sat up with difficulty. "Ah, Western!" he cried, grasping Phil by both hands, while his lips quivered, "yours is the first friendly grasp I have felt since I was taken prisoner. So you are now a subaltern, and have been taken prisoner for the second time? How did you escape? I sent a letter to say how gallantly you and your friend fought by my side for the flag." "Yes, and it reached the camp safely," said Phil, "and I was promoted to sergeant, and my friend to corporal. But I will tell you all about it later. Now let me know about this brute Stackanoff." "Ah, he is a brute! See here, Western! He has refused me the help and advice of a doctor, and my wound daily gets worse and cripples me." Phil looked at it, and going to a basin in the corner of the cell, filled it with water and returned. "I'll set you right in a minute," he said. "I was for a little while in the cholera hospital, and know a little about wounds too." Some linen lay at hand, and with this he cleaned the wound and dressed it carefully. "Thank you, Western!" said McNeil gratefully. "You are my good Samaritan. Now what about this escape? I can just limp along, and shall be ready at any moment." "The door is out of the question," Phil replied thoughtfully. "It is too strong to break, and a guard accompanies the jailer. Then the windows are too small and too high up, while the floor is impossible. The only way is up the chimney." "Good heavens! up the chimney?" "Yes; listen! Our cells communicate by slanting flues, and above the junction rises a brick chimney, which is amply wide enough for our bodies. At present it has bars across it, but my friend--who, by the way, is now my servant--will help me to remove them. Fortunately, a shot has cut the chimney off short, and I noticed before coming in that the drop from the top to the roof is not very great." "And what do you intend doing once you get out?" asked the wounded officer. "Remember you are in the fortifications, and the Russians are as thick as peas all round." "We must make for the harbour, if possible, and in any case we must chance it. I have been thinking it over this morning; and that is the only way out that I can see. Of course if we cannot get down to the shore and secure a boat, we must creep out between the forts and bolt for our lives. That would be a desperate undertaking." Both were thoughtful and silent for a moment. "Now I think I had better return," said Phil. "Be prepared at any time, for the sooner we are away the better. Our lives are never safe while Stackanoff has us in his power." He grasped McNeil's hand and crept into the chimney. That night, when all was quiet in the cells, and only the distant booming of the English mortars, and the louder crash of their exploding shells, broke the silence, Phil and Tony crept into the chimney, leaving Pierre breathing heavily on his bed. Phil climbed to the angle and helped Tony to reach his side. Then, taking it in turn, they stood on one another's shoulders, and wrenched at the bars. They were more solidly-wedged than had at first seemed likely, but the shell which had struck the stack had cracked the brickwork below, and this lessened the difficulty of their task. It was terribly hot work, however, and by the time two heavy bars had been wrenched free they were exhausted. "We'll jam the loose bars here," said Phil in a whisper. "Who knows when we shall want weapons with which to defend ourselves!" Tony chuckled. "You're a cool hand," he laughed. "Who'd have thought of all this if it hadn't been for you. Now all's plain sailing, and I prophesies complete success. Ah, if only that chap Stackanoff would get in my way I'd smash him into a jelly!" Cautioning him to keep quiet, for both were by now still more doubtful of the cringing Pierre, they slipped down to the cell, and were soon sunk in deep sleep, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. On the following afternoon the cell door was thrown open, and Stackanoff stalked in with his guard. He glared at his prisoners in a manner that showed his temper had not improved since they saw him last. "Ah!" he said at last, glancing at the trembling Pierre,--who thought his last hour had come,--and gloating over his terror, "the whole plot is discovered. You are all spies." With a sob the little Frenchman fell on his knees, and with clasped hands cried, "Mercy, Monsieur ze Russian, je suis innocent!" "Get up, you little funk," said Phil bitterly, while Tony clasped him by the collar and jerked him to his feet. "Yes," continued Stackanoff, "you are all spies. The tale that you were washed ashore is exploded. Confess now, and I will promise to deal leniently with you." "Confess!" shouted Phil, roused to anger. "You know well that we are no spies. And let me tell you, you are merely an inspector, and have no right to punish us. Is this fit treatment for a British officer? Wait," and he shook his finger at the Russian, "I will yet communicate with the gentleman who dismissed you, and probably he will be less pleased with your conduct than before." "You will! then I will give you little time, you Englishman," snarled Stackanoff, beside himself with rage at the mention of his disgrace. "To-morrow I will have you brought before the military court, and I myself will swear that you are spies who escaped me once before. Then you will be shot. After all, it is an easy death," he laughed sardonically. Phil felt inclined to fly at him, but he kept his temper. "After all," he answered quietly, "it is more easy than death by the bayonet, and that perhaps is why so many of your comrades chose death by the bullet in the fight at Inkermann." "Ha, you would remind me of our disgrace!" hissed the Russian. "Listen, you stubborn English pig. Once you disgraced me and pulled me, Stackanoff, leader of a regiment of Cossacks, to the ground. I did not forget, and I will repay in full measure. You shall come before the military tribunal, as I told you, and that officer for whom you did that foolish deed shall be evidence against you. You will be condemned, and at early dawn, when the cold fog still lies on the ground, you shall be led out to your doom. I shall be there. Do you hear? I, Stackanoff, who hate you worse than any, shall be there, and I myself will shoot you. You shall hear the word, my brave Englishman; you shall see the musket raised, and you shall wait. Ah, yes! you shall have time to think over and regret your folly. Then, when your knees give way like those of this cur of a Frenchman, I will shoot you, and your body shall be flung into the sea. Thus you will learn that it is ill to bring disgrace on the head of a Stackanoff." Phil laughed in the man's face and looked at him with steady gaze, before which the fiery Russian's eyes lowered. "You call this man a cur," said Phil with a smile, nodding his head at Pierre. "Believe me, you Russian dog, he is a brave man compared with you, for he would not murder his fellow-being. If that time comes of which you have spoken, I will do my best to bear it; and should your time to face death come first, I trust you may set me an example. I doubt it though. Bullies, such as you, are ever cowards, and vengeance, when followed too far, is apt to bring disaster to the avenger. My only wish is that I could reach your comrades. They have proved themselves brave and honourable men, and would spit on you." The Russian's face was an ugly picture. Flushed with hate and rage, he looked as though he would repeat his former assault. But, standing upright and sturdy as he did, his head proudly held in air, Phil did not look a young man to be trifled with, even by one with weapons in his hands. Moreover, Tony was close alongside, his eyes fixed upon the Russian's face, and clearly showing that at the slightest attempt he would treat him less gently than before. "You defy me and laugh at me," said Stackanoff wrathfully. "Very well, I will leave you now and visit your friend. But you shall see me again very soon." With a snarl of rage he turned on his heel and left the cell. "What's it all about?" asked Tony eagerly. "This lingo's too much for me, and how you ever picked it up beats me altogether. Get up, you sniveller;" and with an angry growl he hoisted Pierre to his feet once more, for the Frenchman had given way to his fears. "He's off to McNeil's cell, Tony," Phil answered hurriedly. "I'll tell you all that passed in good time, but give me a lift into the chimney. I must hear all that happens." He sprang to the grate, and, helped by Tony, was soon at the angle. Breathless with his exertions, he climbed still higher, leaning his body well over the sharp edge of brickwork, and listened eagerly. Suddenly there was a clash, the dull hollow echo of which came rushing up the chimney, followed by Stackanoff's voice. "I shall be with this prisoner some time," he said, evidently addressing the jailer. "You and the guards can withdraw. I will hammer on the woodwork when I require you to let me out. Now close the door and dismiss the guard." "Now, sir," he continued, harshly addressing McNeil, when the door had banged. "I have a proposition to make to you, and consider well before you answer it. Liberty is dear to every man, and more so to you, who are sick and wounded. You can buy yours at the price of that man's life who dragged me from my saddle. Swear that he was a spy then, and that that is his regular employment, and I will set you free. I will myself hand you over to the English sentries." An inarticulate cry of rage burst from McNeil's throat. What followed Phil did not hear, for, suddenly overbalancing in his eagerness, he lost his hold and slipped headlong into the opposite cell, arriving with a crash into the open grate and rolling on to the floor before the astonished eyes of the prisoner and his Russian tempter. CHAPTER TWENTY. FROM THE MOUTH OF THE LION'S DEN. Never before had our hero so much need of courage and quick resolution as on that occasion, when, helpless to save himself, he slid like a sack down the chimney, and plumped into the very presence of his bitter enemy. But he was the kind of lad to make the best of a difficult situation. It was not for nothing that he had joined heart and soul in cricket and football, and in every manly game. He had gone through a schooling indeed which no English lad should neglect, and which no one ever regrets; for even in later days, when the cares and duties of life prevent one from indulging in the old games, the quickness and sureness of eye and the presence of mind still remain, and may at any moment extricate one from danger or difficulty. Phil was a young man whose muscles had been hardened in every game, and whose judgment could be relied on to count the chances of victory in each. Here was a game--one, indeed, of life and death--and instantly recovering from his surprise, and recognising that immediate action was necessary, he sprang to his feet and hurled himself upon the astonished Russian before the latter could grasp his sword. Linked together in a close embrace they swayed from side to side, but Phil had the advantage of size, and squeezing his adversary till the breath was driven from his body, he lifted him in his strong arms and dashed him to the floor. "Great heavens! you've done for him," cried McNeil, kneeling by the Russian's side. "Look, his neck is broken." "Then his death be on his own head," gasped Phil. "If I had not killed him, he would soon have had me shot, and besides, my tumbling down that chimney would have spoilt all our chances of escape. Now he's dead, and if we are to get away, it must be done to-night, for should the guards discover what has happened it will mean little mercy. As likely as not we should be taken out and shot before half an hour had passed." "But what about the jailer?" asked McNeil. "We can be sure that he has heard nothing suspicious or he would have been in here by this. He is aware, though, that Stackanoff is with me, and he will be waiting impatiently for his return?" "Yes, he will be getting impatient before long," mused Phil. "There is nothing else to be done at present. We will wait till his patience is exhausted, then my friend and I will knock, and as soon as he comes in we will collar him." "It seems desperately risky, but I suppose it is the only way, Western. If you get hold of him, though, it will save the trouble of climbing through the chimney, an acrobatic feat which, in my present condition, I shall not be sorry to be spared." "Quite so. I had not thought of that, McNeil," said Phil. "Now I will call Tony. I shall only be gone a few minutes." Slipping into the chimney, Phil soon regained his own cell. "Did you hear anything, Tony?" he asked shortly. "Nothing, mate; but what's been keeping yer so long. You look flurried too. What's happened?" Phil explained that Stackanoff was dead. "We must get away to-night, Tony," he said, with decision, "and first of all we must capture the jailer. He is to open the door at Stackanoffs knock, and I propose that we throw ourselves upon him. Now, listen. After knocking, I will stand behind the door so that he cannot see me, and will call to him to come in. You will crouch behind me, and bang the door to. Then we will pull him down and gag him. Bring your blanket with you." Meanwhile Pierre had listened anxiously, his ferrety little eyes shifting from face to face. "What is this that happens?" he asked eagerly. "Monsieur makes ze disappearance up ze chimney, then he come back again." "We must get away to-night, do you understand?" Phil replied, looking searchingly at him. "Are you willing to come?" "Vraiment, I will accompany you, monsieur," answered Pierre hesitatingly. "Mais--ah, what will ze Russian with ze face severe do to us? Surely he will make ze bang." "Oh, you little coward!" murmured Phil bitterly, "you will spoil everything yet. I tell you, Pierre," he added, clutching him by both shoulders, "if you wish to stay, do so; but you will probably be shot as a spy. That will be your bad luck in having been washed ashore with us. If you attempt the escape with us, beware how you behave, for should you make a sound to betray us, I will kill you. Now, stay here, and prepare to accompany us. We shall be back in half an hour. Come, Tony, it is already dark, and we must capture that fellow." "Then in a half of the hour you make ze return," said the little Frenchman, looking as though he had smothered his fears. "Bien, I shall be prepared. "Aha, my good fellows!" he muttered in his own language a few moments later, with quivering lips. "You have gone up the chimney, and will be back in half an hour. Why should I die for your foolishness? It would be suicide." Creeping to the chimney, the crafty little coward listened while Phil and Tony slid into the other cell. Then he stepped to the door, and prepared to give the alarm, hoping thereby to escape the fate which would certainly befall the others if discovered. But, overcome by terror of the consequences, he remained irresolute for more than ten minutes ere he dared to shout, for he had a wholesome terror of the fair-haired young Englishman who had brought him back to consciousness when lashed to the wreckage, and moreover there was an ominous look in Tony's eyes as that burly young giant looked at him for the last time before entering the chimney. Meanwhile Phil and Tony had entered the other cell. "Now for it," said Phil. "McNeil, you are too lame to help us, so had better lie down on your blankets. Tony, tear up the blanket and get the gag ready. You quite understand?" he went on, when all was finished. "You crouch behind me, and slam the door as soon as the fellow comes in. Then we jump on him. It is dark enough now, so we'll knock." Taking the precaution to drag Stackanoff's body into the corner behind the door, Phil knocked loudly, and, hearing footsteps outside, cried out in a feigned voice and in the fierce manner in which the dead Russian seemed to have been in the habit of addressing his subordinates, "Hi, you, fool that you are! Why do you not listen, and let me out?" A second later there was the sound of a key in the lock, and almost at the same moment a most unearthly scream. The escaping prisoners looked at one another with doubting eyes, but before a question could be asked the door was pushed open cautiously. Phil clutched its edge, so that it could not easily be closed, and waited. Then again came the scream, this time more clearly heard, while the voice of Pierre could be distinguished crying at the top of his voice, and still in broken English, as if that would be better understood by the Russians, "Help! help! Ze English prisonaire make ze escape!" "Ah! treachery!" gasped the jailer, stepping back and attempting to close the door. Phil darted out and made a grab at the man, but with a cry of terror the Russian took to his heels, and raced up the steep flight of steps, where he turned towards the town. Phil followed him to the top of the stairway, and then returned hurriedly. "He has got away, and has gone to call the nearest guard," he cried in hurried tones. "Tumble out, you fellows. They will be back here in a quarter of an hour or less, and if we are to give them the slip, it must be now. What are you doing, Tony? Come here, you idiot!" Tony crept from the chimney, into which he was in the act of climbing, and slunk back to his friend's side abashed, and yet full of indignation. "Going to leave that cabbage-eating French monkey?" he asked angrily. "What's he done? Why, just spoilt all our chances; that's all." "It is the very thing you will be doing, old man," answered Phil. "Now, give me one of those bars, and keep one yourself. McNeil, I'm ready, if you are. Here is Stackanoff's sword for you. As for that little coward, he has done all the harm he can possibly do us, so we will leave him to his own devices." They grasped their weapons, and Phil and Tony, placing themselves on either side of the wounded lieutenant to help him along, hurried out of the cell, up the stairs, and ran for a deep ditch which they had noticed as they were marched to prison. It seemed to be a trench constructed to command the rear of some of the fortifications, and for the moment would prove an excellent shelter. "Listen, I hear the guard returning!" whispered McNeil, "and the bell that is ringing must be a warning to announce that prisoners have escaped. Whew! that was a nasty one!" he exclaimed a moment later, for the guard had advanced with a blazing torch to assist in the search, and, the street being visible from the British trenches, and the range known to a nicety, a shell had been pitched with precision just in front of the group. The torch was instantly extinguished and all was darkness again, but the sound of distant marching, and an occasional order sharply given, proved that troops were being hastened from their quarters to patrol the streets and cut off the escaping prisoners. "They know that the harbour is our only chance," said Phil bitterly. "I fear it looks like failure this time, McNeil." "It does look bad," agreed the latter sadly. "What hard luck, when we had all set our hearts so much upon it!" "Are you game to try the other way?" asked Phil eagerly. "Game!" answered McNeil enthusiastically; "just you try me. I've had enough of Russian prisons for a lifetime, and I tell you I would rather die than go back." "Then we go forward," said Phil shortly. "Keep close together and steer between the forts. If anyone challenges, leave me to answer." Climbing from the ditch, they set their faces for the British camp and crept forward cautiously till they recognised the Malakoff looming big and shadowy in front. Phil led the way and attempted to make out the position of the earthworks and trenches. "There--there they are, only a few yards in front of us!" he whispered eagerly. "Hush! down for your lives!" A figure suddenly rose up in front of them and listened. Evidently the man was a sentry, and had heard something suspicious, for next moment he challenged loudly. Long ere this Phil had learnt that polite words are not usually wasted on Russian privates, and he determined to take advantage of the fact. "Idiot!" he answered roughly. "Cannot you see that I am your officer, and can I not give instructions to my lieutenant without your challenging?" "My orders are to challenge everyone," the sentry answered humbly. "Excellency, give the countersign and I shall know you better. Some dogs of prisoners have recently escaped, for I heard the bell, therefore I must be cautious." "My word, we're done again!" groaned Phil. Then taking the bull by the horns, he advanced a pace and said roughly, "How can I remember the word every night after all these weeks? Wait, though--ah, was not the first letter `N'?" "That is right, excellency; and our master the Czar's name also commences with that letter," the sentry replied encouragingly. "Nicolas!" cried Phil boldly. "Excellency, your pardon on my insisting; pass whither you will. All is well." "That is good, fellow," Phil cried. "Come, comrades, we have business with the Malakoff." Another fire minutes, and the sentry and trench were passed. Skirting by the great fortress, they bore up for the British trenches, crossing as they did so several rows of ditches and earthworks. Then they lay down and listened. Close at hand there was a hum of voices, while away on the left a sharp musketry fire was being maintained, the flicker of the exploding powder cutting the darkness at every second. In front all was pitch blackness in the valley in which they stood, but higher up on the elopes beyond fires were burning, and dark figures were occasionally silhouetted against them as they passed. "Now for it!" whispered Phil. "If there is any firing lie on your faces. We don't want to be killed by our own side." Sneaking through the mud and mire on hands and knees the three crept forward in absolute silence. Soon the last trench was passed, and the British earthworks loomed in the distance. At last they were close to liberty and friends. Not more than sixty yards separated them, and already the murmur of the men's voices could be heard, when, with a sharp exclamation, Phil disappeared. There was a scuffle, a startled cry of astonishment and fear, and the loud report of a musket. "Quick, help me!" Phil cried from the rifle-pit into which he had fallen. Then there was a choked cry, and all was silence for a few moments. With a growl of rage Tony threw himself into the pit, almost smashing Phil as he fell. "That you, Tony?" the latter asked coolly. "Yes, it's me sure enough, mate. Are yer hurt, old man?" "Not a bit, but it was a hard struggle. I fancy the Russian is dead, for I gave him a tremendous blow on the head with my iron bar. Now, let us push on, for the alarm has been given, and it will mean capture if we stay." But the Russian sharpshooters had taken the alarm. Occupying a row of pits, each of which was sufficiently large to hold one man, they had orders to worry the besiegers by their fire, and to be always on the look-out for an assault. At the report of their comrade's weapon they imagined that they were about to be attacked, and poured volley after volley at the British earthworks. Instantly the sharp crackle of Minie rifles broke out, and Phil and his friends found themselves in the awkward position of receiving fire from their friends. "Down in here for your lives," cried Phil; and within half a minute they were wedged in the pit, while a perfect hail of bullets swept overhead. Both sides imagined that a sortie was taking place, and the alarm spreading, the guns on either side opened fire, and a perfect torrent of shell hummed in the air and burst with deafening crashes in the darkness. A loud scuffling was then heard in the British trenches, there was a sharp order, and a host of dark figures sprang over the earthworks and dashed at the Russians. Phil and his friends lay flat upon their faces, while the Russians in the other pits for the most part fled for their lives. Those who did not were bayoneted. "Hallo, come out of it, you skulkers!" a voice cried; and, looking up, Phil caught sight of the figures of English soldiers at the mouth of the pit. "Don't fire," he shouted, "we are friends. We are escaping prisoners." "Now, then, none of yer sauce," the same voice answered wrathfully. "Most like you're deserters. Out yer come and let's take a look at yer." In a trice they were dragged ignominiously from the pit. "Why, what's this?" the sergeant, who had charge of the party, exclaimed. "The light's bad, but blow me if there ain't two British officers here. Get round 'em, boys, and bring 'em along." With a rush the group of soldiers returned, bearing Phil and his friends with them. "Now, send along that lamp," cried the sergeant, as soon as they were safely sheltered by the earthworks. "Blow me, but I'm right. They're Britishers or I'm a wrong 'un," he cried, lifting the lantern to their faces. "Hi, pass the word to Mr Ellis there." A moment later an officer came hurrying along. "What is all this commotion about?" he asked sharply. "The whole camp is disturbed, and you seem to have made a sortie, Sergeant." "Quite right, sir! There was a bit of a ruction over in them rifle-pits, and as I knew you was anxious to teach them Russians a lesson, and the boys was mad to get at 'em, why, we did a rush and cleared 'em out like rats. We found these three there. They said they were escaping prisoners, so we brought 'em along." "Who are you, then?" asked the officer, examining them by the aid of his lantern. "Why, bless my life if it isn't Western, reported drowned at sea!" he exclaimed with a start. "You're like a jack-in-the-box, Western. Who are your friends?" Phil mentioned their names. "We had a near squeak for it," he said faintly. "By the way, Ellis, is there a doctor near? McNeil is in need of dressing, and I fear I have got a bullet in my ribs." That was the case. At the first outburst of firing, a bullet had struck him in the side like a sledge-hammer, but Phil kept his groans to himself. Now, however, when all need for further silence and exertion had passed, he sat down suddenly, and went off into a dead faint, frightening poor Tony almost out of his life. A few drops of brandy were forced between his teeth, and by the time he had been placed on a blanket he was conscious again. Then he was carried with great gentleness up to the field-hospital. "Another bullet wound, my lad," said the surgeon kindly. "That makes the fifth I have seen already to-night. Let me have a look at it;" and with the greatest sympathy and gentleness he removed Phil's clothing and examined the wound. "Ah! a nasty one," he said gravely. "Two ribs badly smashed, and the lung injured. Not fatal, though. Oh, no! not by any means. We'll dress it carefully and get you out of this." Phil gave an exclamation of disgust. "It's awfully bad luck, doctor," he said testily. "Here I am, scarcely landed on the Crimea, and already I have been captured twice. And now I am to be sent away for the second time. Couldn't I possibly stay? I am very anxious to serve to the end of the campaign with my regiment." "Yes, I know you are, my lad, but Scutari is where you are going," the doctor answered firmly. "Twice captured since you landed! Yes, but you forget to mention that in the short time that has elapsed, you have escaped twice from the Russians, taken part in two pitched battles, and joined in a famous cavalry charge, not to mention having been promoted to a commission for distinguished gallantry. Now, no more talking. To-morrow you go, and your friend too." Expostulations were unavailing, and on the following day Phil and Lieutenant McNeil were carried to Balaclava and hoisted on board a ship bound for the great hospital at Scutari, with her decks full of sick and wounded soldiers. As was only natural, Tony accompanied them. Before the convoy set out from camp the news of their reappearance had got wind, and many officers of the 30th, besides friends from the battalion of Grenadier Guards and Lieutenant McNeil's regiment, came flocking to see them. Phil was scarcely in a condition to talk, and Tony, who had, as it were, mounted guard over him, insisted that the doctor's orders should be obeyed. But he himself was quite ready to dilate on their adventures, and he did so in a manner which would have made the bashful Phil blush. At length they were on the sea _en route_ for Scutari, and within two days, thanks to the cold and bracing air, and an excellent constitution, Phil was able to lie in a hammock, on deck, suspended between the mast and the top of the saloon skylight. Douglas McNeil had taken the greatest liking for his young friend, and to the latter's secret astonishment, spent hours in gazing at him thoughtfully, as though he were trying to recollect something. Very soon both were on the closest terms of intimacy. "What are you troubling about?" asked Phil with a wan smile one day, noticing the look of perplexity on his friend's face. Douglas was silent for a few minutes. "I will tell you," he said at last. "From the very first there has been something about you that has struck me; some strong resemblance to my dear mother. Sometimes I think, too, that you and I have features much in common. You never speak of your parents, Phil, and I have never liked to ask you, but if you care to tell me I should be glad to hear." "Parents!" said Phil, with a short and somewhat bitter laugh. "I never knew my real father and mother. I was sold at the age of two, and that's a good long time ago." "Sold! Who sold you? Where did it take place, and who paid the money?" Douglas asked excitedly, coming closer to Phil. "As far as I have been able to learn from my adopted father, a poor woman, with many children, sold me. Where, though, I do not recollect I was sold to Mr Western, at one time an officer in the army, but for many years a clergyman." Douglas McNeil stared at him with wide-open eyes, and seemed strangely excited. "Listen, Phil," he said earnestly. "About twenty years ago my aunt, my mother's younger sister, fell in love with a poor officer in the navy. She married him against the wishes of her parents, and my grandfather, who was a stubborn hard-hearted man, refused to have anything more to do with her, refused even to hear of her or help her in any way. A year later Frank Davidson, the husband, was drowned at sea, and my aunt brought a boy into the world. For five years her relatives heard nothing. But the old grandfather had already repented of his harshness, and enquiries were set on foot. It is an odd story, Phil, and is full of sadness. That unhappy aunt of mine was friendless, and to obtain a post as governess was compelled to part with her child. You can imagine the poor thing's grief and loneliness. She placed the child with a certain woman who kept a kind of baby-farm in the midlands. For a year all went well, but my aunt died very suddenly of fever, and we learnt afterwards, from people who lived near the baby-farm, that the boy we were in search of was disposed of to a clergyman. The neighbours remembered having seen him. I suppose one cannot blame the woman in charge, though the thing sounds hateful and impossible in our free England. But, finding there was no yearly instalment coming for the child's keep, she answered an advertisement and handed him over to a clergyman. Unfortunately she herself died a few months before we instituted the search, and although we advertised widely we never obtained any more information. Tell me now, Phil, what you think of that?" There was a long silence. "Could it be possible that, after all, he was indeed the lost child?" Phil asked himself. "Was it possible that the story just narrated was his own, and referred to his father and mother. Was the vicar's test to be a useless one, for he had trained an adopted son for one purpose only? What joy it would be to have relations of his own?" The thoughts crowded through his brain, and his lips trembled with hope and eagerness. "Douglas," he said at last, in a voice that was weak and broken with emotion, "I believe I am your cousin I believe that that unhappy lady you have spoken of was my dear mother, the mother I never knew. We cannot settle the question here, but my adopted father can do so as soon as we get back to England. Something tells me that you have helped me to discover the secret of my birth, and if so, then all I can say is, that I greet you as a cousin with all my heart. Providence has thrown us together, and let us hope that the same guiding hand will keep us good friends till the last." The lads shook hands silently, while Tony looked on with a grin of pleasure on his face. "Such a one as Phil is for making pals I never see," he muttered. "Lor', if it was girls around he would be turning their heads, and getting failed in love with by every one on 'em;" and with a loud guffaw he dived down the companion ladder. As for Phil and Douglas McNeil, they sat discussing the question of their relationship for more than an hour, and when they retired, it was with the mutual and hearty agreement that it was one of the happiest days in their lives when the fortune of war brought them together to fight side by side for the honour of England's flag. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A WELCOME DISCOVERY. It was a new thing indeed for our hero to have real relatives, and those who may happen to have read these chapters, and are placed in a position similar to his, will realise with what eagerness he hoped that it should turn out that he and Douglas McNeil were cousins. True, Phil had had an adopted father and mother who, if not indulgent, were at least kind after their own way. But home life for him had always lacked that sympathy and that geniality which are the makings of a happy family circle. Where all was austerity, Joe Sweetman's ruddy, smiling face had come like the sun to lighten the gloomy house. No wonder that Phil took to him from the first, and no wonder that, now that the real secret of his birth seemed to be on the point of discovery, in which case he would have friends, aunts, uncles, and cousins like others he met every day of his life, he was more than a little excited. He and Douglas had many a chat over the possibility of their being relations, and before Scutari was reached the latter had written a long letter of explanation to his parents, while Phil wrote to Joe and to Mr Western, telling of his new life and fortunes, and asking for particulars of the place and the woman from whose house he had been brought many years before. Then, as nothing further could be done to settle the matter, they dropped the subject by mutual consent. A week after they left Balaclava the huge barracks which now served as a hospital for the sick and wounded British hove in sight, and by evening Phil and his new friend were comfortably quartered in a small ward in which were three other officers. Fortunately neither was dangerously or seriously ill, though their wounds were sufficiently grave to make them incapable of active service for some time to come. Thanks, however, to healthy constitutions they were rapidly recovering strength, and therefore not in much need of attention. And it was well for them that matters were in such a satisfactory state, for the huge hospital, built on the quadrangular system, and with sides a quarter of a mile long, had some two miles and more of corridors and wards, all packed to overflowing. "I never saw such a thing," remarked Phil sadly, after he and Douglas had been placed in their cots. "The men are almost lying on top of one another, and it cannot possibly be good for them. This overcrowding must have a harmful influence on their wounds." "You are right there," answered one of the other officers bitterly. "I am a doctor, and I can tell you that the overcrowding and bad ventilation are killing the men in scores, and when to that trouble is added the lamentable fact that the hospital staff is quite inadequate, and attendants are too few and far between, you can imagine what suffering there is." "But surely there should be sufficient orderlies to nurse and look after the men?" exclaimed Douglas indignantly. "Undoubtedly there should be," answered the doctor, a man of some fifty years of age; "but the fact remains that there are not nearly enough. Who is to blame I do not know. Probably the lack of system is the chief cause of all our troubles, for without a regular system everything goes to the wall. It must be the case, especially when the strain comes, and it has come now with a vengeance. Men are simply falling sick in hundreds, and really you cannot be surprised, for as Balaclava is eight miles from the trenches, it is almost impossible to keep up supplies, and in consequence the men are nearly starved. Then the storm destroyed all their warm clothing, and as the rains have now set in, and many hours have to be spent in the earthworks, it means that our poor fellows are nearly always wet through. I can tell you that, after serving in many parts of the world, I have come to the conclusion that where an Englishman cannot live it is not worth the while of others to go. He can put up with most things in the way of heat or cold, providing he is well fed and clothed. But starve the strongest man, and see how quickly he will succumb to cold and exposure." That this was true could not be doubted, for, continually drenched as our soldiers were, cut by icy blasts of wind, and almost starved, they fell ill in vast numbers. Overworked by long hours in the damp trenches, and continually harassed by a musketry fire from the rifle-pits, they flung themselves down upon the mud and greasy mire at night, and snatched a few fitful moments of repose, wrapped in a blanket as worn out as themselves, and almost certainly dripping with moisture. It was no one's fault, this lack of clothing and supplies. It was the absence of a commissariat system of wide teaching power and with ample funds at its command. Given a base in England, with men there to choose and forward the necessary supplies in hired transports, there must still be others at the base in the invaded country to distribute what is sent, and yet again there must be more with clear brains and ready hands to bring those stores of food and clothing, and a thousand-and-one other things, to the very outskirts of the camp. Otherwise another burden is thrown upon your already hardly-taxed fighting regiments. And to distribute stores in this thorough manner, horses and carts are required, and, since the former cannot live on air, forage with which to feed them. Horses, too, like men, are apt to sicken and die, especially if ill-fed and exposed to bitter winds; and therefore remounts are always required, and these must often be sent for from far-off countries, and brought in big transports specially fitted for the purpose. All this was admirably carried out in the Boer War of 1899-1900. A perfect system of transport and supply had long before been arranged, and officers and men trained to carry it out. Those who have seen will give unstinted praise, for supplies, remounts, clothing, every conceivable thing, were obtainable, often brought to the front at the cost of no small amount of labour and forethought by those responsible for the work. In the days of the Crimea there was no such system, and, to add to everything, horses were extremely scarce, while eight long miles of mud intervened between the harbour of Balaclava and the trenches. Daily, men made beasts of burden of themselves, waded through the mud to Balaclava, and struggled back with food, which, when distributed, had too often to be eaten in an uncooked state, for fuel was at a premium. It is no wonder, then, that men were incessantly falling ill, and that the hospital at Scutari was thronged with soldiers, who died at an alarming rate. Up to and during that November, one poor wretch died out of every two, for if there was no transport or supply system, there was likewise no hospital organisation worthy of the name. Surgeons were few and far between, and too much occupied in their work of mercy to be able to give time to other matters. Thus, the hospital at Scutari, never noted for cleanliness, became a hovel of filth and insanitation, to which the alarming death-rate gave ample, if painful, evidence. Well was it for our poor soldiers that correspondents accompanied that army. By their publications, and by aid of the telegraph, the cry of the dying soldier smote the heart of the British nation, and roused it to wrath and pity. A fund was raised, and, better than all, those sent out by whose aid it should be rapidly and systematically distributed. Florence Nightingale, that grand lady of undying fame, instituted her band of nurses, and by her untiring energy and ready brain brought for the first time some system and order into the management of the hospital at Scutari. With a glance she conquered the whole working staff, doctors readily gave over the conduct of affairs to her, and in a wonderfully short space of time the death-rate had fallen vastly, dirt was hustled from the buildings, unhealthy sanitary arrangements were swept away and more suitable ones introduced, and last, but not least, a kitchen was built by means of which a thousand special diets could be prepared. Those who have fallen ill at home, and never ceased to fill the air with praises and thanks to the attentive nurse who cared for them so devotedly, can perhaps imagine what it means to some poor ailing soldier, sick almost to death, and with only the rough surroundings of war about him, to have some gentle hand to nurse him. It is better than all the delicacies under the sun, for where the womanly mind comes the material comforts will follow to a certainty. Phil and Douglas did not stay long at Scutari. A consultation was held on their cases, and it was declared that months must pass before they could be fit for hard work again. Accordingly they were sent on board a transport returning to England. "I'm jolly glad to get away, Phil," exclaimed Douglas with a sigh of relief. "Of course I'd rather have been with the regiment, but I fully realise that our advisers are right, and that we both require a long rest and change. To tell you the truth, too, I am not altogether sorry. All the big affairs in the campaign seem to be over, and now our fellows are having a miserable time in the trenches, waiting for the fortress to surrender. Besides, since we met, that little matter of your birth has puzzled me, and you can't tell, old fellow, how anxious I am to have it settled, though I feel quite sure now that you are my cousin. Every time I look at you I see the resemblance to my mother and aunt and to myself." "I agree with you there," answered Phil. "I've looked at myself more attentively in the glass than ever before, and I think it is no fancy, but that there is in reality a similarity of feature. I trust it will be proved that I am your cousin. I shall be a lucky fellow if it turns out true." "Perhaps you will be more fortunate than you imagine," said Douglas, with a gay laugh. "Why? How?" asked Phil inquisitively. "Oh! if you are my cousin, you will have little need to do hard work in the future." "Why? I don't understand you, Douglas," Phil answered doubtfully. "Great goodness! old man, you will be quite a Croesus," Douglas replied, with a laugh. "To tell you the whole truth, my grandfather was overcome with remorse, and, believing you would eventually be found, settled a large sum of money on you--larger than on any of his other children. My mother is one of the trustees of that fund, and I happen to know that it is now considerably swollen, having been most happily invested." "It would be nice to have an independent income," Phil mused thoughtfully, "but I think, Douglas, that I would far rather have the new relations. See what an interest they would give me in the future." "Yes, I think they would, Phil, particularly the cousins. I believe there are some fifteen of the latter, and ten at least are girls, one being my sister. Oh yes, old fellow! I've no doubt there would be a great amount of interest; for a young chap who wins his way from the ranks by a series of plucky acts, and who, moreover, is a gentleman and a cousin too, must necessarily be of absorbing interest to new relations." Douglas laughed merrily, while Phil coloured hotly. "I'm afraid I'm a shy fellow with girls," he stuttered, "but you'll stand by me, Douglas, won't you?" "Rather, old man, and do my best to be of more interest than you," laughed his friend. "Cousins, particularly of the fair sex, are exceedingly charming company. It'll be a regular picnic, old man." And now, before lowering the gangway and landing Phil, Douglas, and Tony on England's shore, let us briefly glance at the closing scenes of the Crimean war. In February, while our poor fellows were beginning to recover from their misery, and supplies, and even luxuries, were pouring into the trenches, the Russians attacked the town and port of Eupatoria, close to which the Allies had first disembarked, and which was now strongly held by the Turks and commanded by the guns of the fleet. The grey-coated battalions were driven back with considerable loss. And meanwhile, through all the dreary weeks, Allies and Russians crept towards each other, cutting new trenches, sapping in all directions, and endeavouring to place their opponents at a disadvantage. On March 22nd a huge sortie was made from Sebastopol upon the French line of earthworks, while another column was launched at our right. Both failed, and the Russians retired with a loss of 1300. Spring found the Allies in far better condition than they were earlier in the war, and particularly was this the case with the British. Supplies were now abundant, and, thanks to private enterprise, a railway extended from Balaclava to the camp, and so saved the labour of porterage. Accordingly the siege was prosecuted with renewed energy, and on April 9th another general bombardment of the fortress took place and continued for ten days, ten awful days for the Russians, for a few hours had been sufficient to reduce many of the fortifications, and, fearful of an assault at any moment, large reserves had of necessity to be kept close at hand. Through the ranks of these unfortunate but truly devoted men the iron hail poured, tearing them here and there and toppling masses of masonry on to them. In those terrible days 6000 or more of the enemy were killed or wounded, and if Scutari had been a sight to bring tears to one's eyes, then the Assembly Rooms and other temporary hospitals in Sebastopol were perfect shambles, while the streets and the road from the fortress were lined with unburied dead. Thankful indeed must we of more modern days be for the safety which the Geneva Convention gives. A red-cross flag over a hospital renders it sacred, and, once wounded, soldiers of all civilised nations can rely upon rest and freedom from further injury. Thus out of awful sufferings and loss of life we have seen that a new era of good has arisen. A Geneva Convention has sprung into being, and our army is provided with special departments for transport, supply, hospitals, and other matters, each ruled by a well-ordered system. On May 22nd the French attempted to capture a new line of Russian works which commanded their own trenches, but were beaten back, though their losses were considerably less than the enemy's. On the same date a combined fleet sailed to the east, entered the sea of Azof, and took the town of Kertch. They also destroyed and captured many ships engaged in bringing supplies to the Russian field-army, and wound up their operations by taking other towns, and destroying huge depots of supplies. On June 6th and 7th the fortress of Sebastopol was again subjected to a fearful bombardment from 544 guns, and its walls and forts reduced to masses of debris. In the evening of the second day the French attacked and took a position known as the "White" works. They then, with the aid of the Turks, captured a fort of great strength, and now for some time in existence, known as the Mamelon, while the English stormed and took others known as the "quarries". Thus the outer line of Russian forts and trenches was in the hands of the Allies. But still the stubborn and unyielding enemy clung to the fortress. The bombardment was resumed, and on the 18th the Allies assaulted the main works of the town, only to be driven back with heavy loss. After that, for many a day, they contented themselves with cutting their trenches and approaches, and slowly approaching to the fortress, the object being to get so close that their attacking-parties might rush across the open and reach the enemy before being swept away by the guns. On 15th August a battle was fought close to the Mackenzie heights, in which the French proved victorious, the Russian field-army, with whom they were engaged, retiring with heavy loss. On the 17th the bombardment of the fortress commenced again, and continued for some days. It was renewed on September 5th, and continued till the 8th, when a gigantic and combined assault took place. At a terrible cost in killed and wounded the Malakoff was taken and held by the French. The remainder of the attack failed, the English being forced to retire from the Redan, while the French were driven from the little Redan and curtain bastion. Next morning, after a defence of which all Russia may well be proud, the enemy marched over a bridge built across the harbour, and retired in good order, leaving burning fuses to their magazines. Of these no fewer than thirty-five exploded with terrific noise and awful results, keeping the camp in a state of alarm for two whole days and nights, while fires blazed in every direction and lit the skies with their lurid flames. And now a new phase of the campaign opened, for opposed to the Allies there was only a field-army. The two armies sat down facing one another, no battles of importance taking place; but in the meanwhile the docks and arsenals of Sebastopol were blown up by our engineers. Russia had lost heavily in men and money, and, moreover, Europe was in conceit against her. Nicholas had died on March 2nd, and now the new czar was prevailed upon to listen to reason. A treaty was drawn up and signed in Paris on March 30th, by which, amongst other terms of peace, the Black Sea should be neutral in future, and no power should interfere between the Sultan and his subjects. On April 2nd a last salvo of artillery from the batteries on the upland slopes announced that the Crimean war was over. Phil did not return to Russia, for his wound proved more severe than was at first imagined, while Douglas was still too lame to be fit for active service. They therefore remained in England. There is little more to tell about them. Phil did not find Mr Western altered. Indeed he seemed more austere than ever, especially as his adopted son had risen instead of going to the dogs, as he had prophesied. But Joe was jubilant. "Didn't I tell him you'd be no disgrace to him!" he cried, taking up his favourite position in front of the fireplace. "You've done well, Phil, my lad, and I am proud of you. Fancy, now! It seems to me only a year ago since you got into that scrape with the mayor. Ha, ha! what a mischievous young monkey you were! And now you're an ensign in the 30th, and have brave deeds to boast of. But there, you'll get conceited if I praise you. No, my dear boy, old Joe is right glad to witness your success, and still more pleased to find that your relatives have turned up. A year ago you were the adopted son of poor parents. Now you are the long-lost orphan, the offspring of gentlefolks, and heir to a tidy fortune when you come of age. Besides--I was forgetting--there are the cousins, the girl cousins, Phil;" and with a roar of laughter he pinched our hero's ear. Phil had, indeed, to use a common expression, fallen on his feet. He had learnt that he was of no obscure parentage, and in addition, he had made some excellent friends amongst his relatives, in whose eyes he was now a young lion, covered with no small amount of glory. Years rolled on in rapid succession, and in due time Phil reached the age of twenty-six, when he married his cousin Eva, Douglas McNeil's sister. When one meets him now, as he follows the hounds or stalks through the streets of London, one unconsciously turns round and takes a second look, with the muttered remark, "What a fine, soldierly-looking fellow!" For he still stands as straight as an arrow, carrying his years easily, while his fine face and big, grey moustache give him a most distinguished appearance. That Crimean veteran has many scenes to look back upon. He remembers his youth, his struggle to rise in the world, and the lifelong friends he made in achieving his object. He recollects with a happy smile his marriage, the toddlers who one by one made their appearance, only to grow up and flit away like fledglings to form nests of their own. Yes, he remembers all--that happy, gay old bachelor Joe, and his staunch, true-hearted Tony. Sometimes, too, when he sits in his chair and slumbers, he dreams that he is once again in the Crimea, and that his comrades, having heard of the laurels he has won, are still carrying him shoulder-high, and calling him "A Gallant Grenadier." The End. 
52473	----	file was produced from images generously made available by University of California libraries) RECOLLECTIONS OF A MILITARY LIFE [Illustration: HEAD QUARTERS, CRIMEA. WINTER OF 1854 _Farm House, in which Lord Raglan died_] RECOLLECTIONS OF A MILITARY LIFE BY GENERAL SIR JOHN ADYE, G.C.B., R.A. LONDON SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 1895 _All rights reserved_ INTRODUCTION Having served for many years in the Royal Artillery, and taken part in some of the campaigns in which the British army has been engaged during my period of service, I am in hopes that my recollections may be of some interest, and my views on military subjects worthy of record; and I therefore publish them, dedicating my book to the Officers and Men of the Regiment amongst whom I have passed my career. 1895. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. DAYS OF PEACE 1 II. COMMENCEMENT OF CRIMEAN WAR--INTERVIEW WITH NAPOLEON III. AT PARIS 10 III. BATTLE OF ALMA 23 IV. THE FLANK MARCH 34 V. BATTLE OF BALACLAVA 44 VI. BATTLE OF INKERMAN 55 VII. THE WINTER OF 1854 66 VIII. BOMBARDMENT OF APRIL, 1855 78 IX. CAPTURE OF THE MAMELON AND QUARRIES--INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL PÉLISSIER 87 X. BATTLE OF JUNE 18, AND DEATH OF LORD RAGLAN 96 XI. BATTLE OF CHERNAYA AND THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL 106 XII. THE INDIAN MUTINY 121 XIII. THE BATTLES AT CAWNPORE 129 XIV. CAUSES OF THE MUTINY, AND POLICY OF LORD CANNING 147 XV. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE MADRAS PRESIDENCY 171 XVI. RETURN TO BENGAL--AMALGAMATION OF THE ARTILLERY REGIMENTS 180 XVII. FRONTIER CAMPAIGN IN THE AFGHAN MOUNTAINS--ITS ORIGIN--POLITICAL AND MILITARY DIFFICULTIES 185 XVIII. HARD FIGHTING IN THE MOUNTAINS 195 XIX. POLITICAL COMPLICATIONS--END OF THE WAR 205 XX. VISIT TO PESHAWUR--SIR HUGH ROSE RETURNS TO ENGLAND--SIR WILLIAM MANSFIELD APPOINTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF 221 XXI. THE WAR IN BOOTAN 230 XXII. FAREWELL TO INDIA--RETURN TO REGIMENTAL DUTY AT WOOLWICH--APPOINTED DIRECTOR OF ARTILLERY--WAR OFFICE ORGANISATION 239 XXIII. SHORT SERVICE AND RESERVE 254 XXIV. LOCALISATION AND COUNTY REGIMENTS--INTERVIEW WITH NAPOLEON III. 265 XXV. VISIT TO THE CRIMEA WITH CHARLES GORDON, 1872--REPORT ON THE CEMETERIES 273 XXVI. RIFLED ORDNANCE AND NAVAL AND MILITARY RESERVES--APPOINTED GOVERNOR, ROYAL MILITARY ACADEMY--THE BRITISH ARMY IN 1875 284 XXVII. CENTRAL ASIA AND THE AFGHAN WAR OF 1878-79 300 XXVIII. APPOINTED SURVEYOR GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE--PRINCIPLES OF ARMY PROMOTION--EGYPTIAN WAR OF 1882 322 XXIX. GIBRALTAR--ITS VALUE FROM A NAVAL AND COMMERCIAL POINT OF VIEW--ZOBEHR PASHA A STATE PRISONER--SANITARY CONDITION OF GIBRALTAR 359 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS HEAD QUARTERS, CRIMEA, WINTER OF 1854. FARM HOUSE IN WHICH LORD RAGLAN DIED _Frontispiece_ BATTLE OF ALMA, SEPTEMBER 20, 1854 _To face p._ 28 BALACLAVA. SCENE OF LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE, OCTOBER 25, 1854 " 46 THE GARRISON OF LUCKNOW RETURNING TO CAWNPORE, NOVEMBER 1857 " 143 GOING TO THE WAR. CROSSING THE INDUS AT ATTOCK, NOVEMBER 1863 " 207 AFGHAN FRONTIER CAMPAIGN. STORMING THE CONICAL PEAK, DECEMBER 1863 " 213 SKETCH MAP TO ILLUSTRATE TOUR IN BOOTAN, JANUARY 1866 " 234 WAR IN BOOTAN, 1866. OUTPOST IN VALLEY OF THE CHIN-CHU " 238 RUINS OF THE TUILERIES, NOVEMBER 1872. LIBERTÉ--EGALITÉ--FRATERNITÉ " 282 EVE OF TEL-EL-KEBIR. ENCAMPMENT OF BRITISH ARMY AT KASSASSIN LOCK " 346 GIBRALTAR FROM QUEEN OF SPAIN'S CHAIR " 361 ZOBEHR PASHA " 373 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT PAGE DIAGRAM OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH ARMIES 20 FORMATION OF LIGHT BRIGADE UNDER THE EARL OF CARDIGAN 48 PLAN OF CAWNPORE, TO ILLUSTRATE BATTLE OF NOVEMBER 27, 1857 136 DUTCH MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION 175 SKETCH MAP OF NORTH-WEST FRONTIER 186 COPY OF SKETCH BY NAPOLEON III. 269 SKETCH MAP TO ILLUSTRATE BATTLE OF TEL-EL-KEBIR 345 VISITING CARD OF ARABI PASHA FOUND AT TEL-EL-KEBIR 356 ARMS OF GIBRALTAR 359 MAPS BATTLE OF ALMA _To face p._ 25 SKETCH SHOWING THE POSITION OF THE ALLIED ARMIES BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, OCTOBER 1854 " 39 SKETCH TO ILLUSTRATE THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN " 52 RECOLLECTIONS OF A MILITARY LIFE CHAPTER I DAYS OF PEACE 'Wakening the echoes of joys long fled.' In recording personal recollections of the varied scenes and events in which, during a long military service, it has been my lot to take part, it is scarcely necessary to enter into family details, and I will therefore merely state that my grandfather, Stephen Payne Adye, entered the Royal Artillery in 1762, and served in the war in Germany and in America; and since that date various members of the family have served in uninterrupted succession in the regiment down to the present day. Of his four sons, three became officers of artillery. The eldest, Ralph Willett Adye, was the author of the 'Pocket Gunner,' which was a standard book of reference for many years. He died at Gibraltar in 1804, and his monument still exists there, in the so-called Trafalgar Cemetery. The second son, Stephen Gallwey Adye, saw much active service. He was with Sir Ralph Abercromby in Egypt in 1801, and was slightly wounded in action near Alexandria. He was also at Walcheren in 1809, at Cadiz in 1813, and at Quatre Bras and Waterloo. He died a Major General and Superintendent of the Laboratory, Woolwich Arsenal, in 1838. The third son, John Miller Adye, was an officer in the Royal Navy. He served as a Lieutenant in Lord Nelson's flagship, the 'Vanguard,' at the battle of the Nile, and was wounded. In 1815 he was in command of the 'Partridge' corvette cruising off the Island of Elba, and conveyed Sir Neil Campbell (who was British Commissioner there) to Leghorn in February. Sir Neil, having received information that Napoleon intended to escape, returned hastily to Elba, but owing to light winds was delayed, and only arrived on the morning of February 28th to find that Napoleon had left on the night of the 26th. The 'Partridge' went in pursuit towards the Antibes, but, it being uncertain to what part of the coast he had sailed, failed to overtake him.[1] The fourth son, James Pattison Adye (my father), was also in the Artillery, and was present at Copenhagen in 1806, and served for several years in the Mediterranean. In 1834 I received a nomination to a cadetship at the Royal Military Academy Woolwich from the Master General of the Ordnance, Sir James Kempt, and went up for examination in February, at the age of fourteen. There was no competition fortunately in those days, and the whole affair, including medical examination, only lasted an hour and a half, and I was reported as having passed very satisfactorily. My career at the Academy was a happy one. I was treated with much kindness, and experienced none of the bullying or ill-usage which was supposed to exist. An amusing incident occurred soon after I joined. Each room contained four cadets, the head of my room being the late General William Gardner, R.A. He was at that time about twenty-one years of age, and having quarrelled with another cadet, who was a good fighter with his fists, a meeting was arranged in the Racket Court. Gardner, however, said that a pugilistic encounter was very well for boys, but as a man he claimed to fight with pistols. This gave a more serious turn to the matter, and I, as junior of the room, was ordered to prepare the bullets for the duel, and well remember remaining up late at night, melting lead in the fire shovel, and pouring it into bullet moulds. These serious preparations led to some arrangement, and the affair never came off. Colonel Parker was at that time Captain of the Cadets, and Wilford one of the subalterns. Parker, a fine old soldier, had lost his leg at Waterloo and wore a wooden one. He was nicknamed Peg Parker. One Sunday afternoon the cadets were being marched to church across the 'barrack field' at Woolwich, Parker as usual riding in front on a small white pony. All at once Wilford ran up to him and said, 'Beg your pardon, sir, but you have lost your leg!' and sure enough, on looking down, Parker saw that his wooden one was missing. It had tumbled off. Wilford, however, who had picked it up, screwed it on again, and the march was resumed. In December 1836, after nearly three years' residence, I received my commission as a second lieutenant. I was head of the Academy, and just seventeen. The late Sir Frederic Campbell was second, and we both selected the Royal Artillery. In the spring of 1837 I attended a levee of William IV., and, to my surprise, on hearing my name he kindly spoke to me and asked what relation I was to General Adye. The current story was that the king asked me what relation I was to my uncle, and that in my confusion I replied grandson; but this is apocryphal. Speaking of William IV. reminds me of a story about him which I believe is well founded. Soon after becoming king he one day visited Woolwich, and after inspecting the Artillery, &c., inquired who was Commanding Officer of the Marines, and was told it was Sir John McCleverty. The king said that Sir John was an old friend and comrade of his, and went off at once to call on him at the Barracks. He expressed great pleasure at seeing his old companion, and asked if he could do anything for him, adding, 'You know I am a king now, and can do what I like.' Old Sir John McCleverty replied: 'Yes, your Majesty, you can do something for me. My son not long ago was a lieutenant on board a man-of-war, and in the Channel one night in a thick fog, when he was on watch, they came into collision with another ship, and the Admiralty have in consequence tried him by Court Martial, cancelled his commission, and have nearly broken my heart, for he is an excellent officer.' The king promised that he should be restored, was as good as his word, and the son rose afterwards to some distinction, commanding the 'Terrible' in the Black Sea during the Crimean war. As the earlier years of my service were passed during a period of peace, they call for little remark. Towards the end of 1840 I embarked at Woolwich with my company for Malta in an old sailing transport, the 'Numa Pompilius,' and, owing chiefly to bad weather in the bay, the voyage occupied no less than two months. We sailed into Malta on the same morning that the British fleet under Sir Robert Stopford arrived from the capture of Acre. In 1843, having returned home, I was appointed Adjutant of the Artillery in Dublin, and was present when Daniel O'Connell was put into prison in Richmond Bridewell, and made a sketch of the building, which was published in the 'Illustrated London News.' I also witnessed the great procession through the streets of Dublin when O'Connell and the other prisoners were released. In 1845 I was appointed to C Troop, Royal Horse Artillery, at Woolwich. There were three troops there, each consisting of two guns, a waggon, and forty horses. They were all commanded by officers who had been present at Waterloo thirty years before--Fox Strangways, Frank Warde, and Ingilby; but only one of them (Strangways) was even a Brevet Major, and they were all between fifty and sixty years of age. Those were days of slow promotion. On one occasion Major Chalmers, R.A., had an interview with William IV., who incidentally asked him how long he had been a Captain of Artillery. 'Twenty-three years, your Majesty,' replied Chalmers. The king hastily said, 'I didn't ask you how long it was since you were born, but how long you had been a captain.' 'Well, your Majesty,' says Chalmers, 'I am very sorry, but I have been twenty-three years in that rank.' The king, who apparently could hardly believe it, laughed and said, 'And a very fine position, too.' 'Oh yes,' said Chalmers, 'undoubtedly so.' In the spring of 1848 I was in command of an artillery detachment in the Tower of London. There was at that time much anxiety about the Chartists, and as to the result of a meeting under Fergus O'Connor which took place on Kennington Common on April 10. The walls of the Tower and the top of the Bank and the Mansion House were to some extent prepared for defence, and sandbags were placed to form loop-holes for musketry, an attack by the mob being apprehended. The Lord Mayor applied for some hand-grenades to be thrown from the Mansion House in case of need, and I sent him a boxful in a cab, at the same time giving a hint that in using them he should not hold them too long in his hand, as they might explode prematurely. This caused a little uneasiness, and subsequently a bombardier was ordered to give him instructions as to throwing them. The clerks in the Ordnance Department at the Tower were sworn in as special constables, and were served out with batons cut out of old mop-sticks. On the morning of April 10 Sir George Cathcart, then Lieutenant of the Tower, sent for me. He had three large canvas frames in his drawing-room, and on them was painted in great letters: 'The Tower guns are loaded to the muzzle. If you attempt to enter, they will be fired!' He said his intention was, when the expected mob came, to hang them (the frames, not the mob) over the walls, with a bit of string. I ventured to point out that, if loaded as stated, the guns, which were old cast-iron carronades, would infallibly burst, but he replied that it was only to frighten the people, who would probably run away. We waited all day, but no crowd ever came near the Tower, and the whole affair collapsed. It is often said that extravagance prevails amongst the officers in some regiments of the army, and there is probably a good deal of truth in the remark. But at all events in the earlier days of my service real economy prevailed in the Artillery, as is proved by the following facsimile copy of my mess-bill in Dublin in May 1850, now in my possession. _May 1850_ £ _s._ _d._ Share of Mess Guest 2-1/2 To Ale 4 2 Cigars 10 Luncheon 2 0 Share of H.R.H. Prince George's Luncheon 6-1/2 3 Breakfasts 3 9 1 Cigar 5 2 Cigars 10 Luncheon and Soda Water 1 11 19 Dinners 1 18 0 -------------- 2 8 10 -------------- Entertaining royalty for 6-1/2_d._ can hardly be considered extravagant. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: _Napoleon at Elba_, Sir Neil Campbell.] CHAPTER II COMMENCEMENT OF CRIMEAN WAR--INTERVIEW WITH NAPOLEON III It is time now to pass on from the early reminiscences of a period of peace to the more interesting and important events of active service, in which for some years it was my good fortune to share. In the spring of 1854, after a peace which in Europe had lasted nearly forty years, the British navy and army were again called upon to take part in a great war; and the whole nation soon became deeply absorbed in the stirring events of the Crimean campaign. Lord Raglan at that time was Master General of the Ordnance and was also appointed to command the expedition, and I had the good fortune to be selected as Brigade Major to the artillery under General Cator. There is perhaps no operation of war more difficult than that which this country has to undertake in the embarkation of its army for a continental campaign. It is not merely as regards its _personnel_; but large reserves of ammunition and stores, and the armaments and equipments of the artillery, engineers, medical, commissariat, clothing, and other departments have to be embarked, and all so arranged as to be prepared for rapid landing after a long voyage, and possibly in the face of an enemy. In proceeding to the Crimea eight batteries of horse and field artillery, several siege train companies, and large reserves of munitions for the army were embarked in Woolwich dockyard during March and April. The combined naval and military arrangements were efficiently carried out; and although the field artillery were conveyed in sailing vessels, and were several weeks at sea before arrival at Constantinople, the loss of horses was only 4 per cent. out of about 1,600 embarked. Towards the end of April Colonels Strangways and Lake, Captains Patton, Gordon, and myself (all artillery officers) were directed to proceed _viâ_ France to Marseilles for Malta. On arrival at Paris, Colonel Strangways, who was personally known to the Emperor Napoleon, received a message that his Majesty wished to receive him and his brother officers at the Tuileries. Strangways informed our ambassador, Lord Cowley, who, however, said it was not according to etiquette, and that we ought to attend a levee in the usual way, and declined to go with us; so we put on our uniforms and drove to the Tuileries in a _fiacre_ without him. The servant at the entrance seemed rather surprised when we said we had come to see the Emperor; but after conference with a staff officer, we were conducted through the 'Salle des Maréchaux' to an inner room, and were received very kindly by Napoleon, who was in the uniform of a general. He made inquiries about the amount of artillery we had embarked for the East; spoke about the difficulty of conveying horses for a long voyage; and expressed a hope that the French and English armies combined would be able to act decisively--and then, wishing us prosperity, he invited us to come and see him again on our return. Alas! we were not destined to do so. Strangways was killed at Inkerman; Lake, who had a horse shot under him at Alma, and another at Inkerman, was invalided and died soon after; Captain Patton died of cholera at Balaclava; and many years elapsed before I had another interview with Napoleon, under very altered conditions, shortly before his death at Chiselhurst. We arrived at Malta about the middle of May. The streets were full of French soldiers on their way to the East; and there was a great deal of cheering and enthusiasm. On the 15th we embarked in the 'Medway' for Constantinople with the 55th regiment. As we approached the Dardanelles we passed a sailing transport, with part of a cavalry regiment on board, and as they had been some weeks at sea, and were making no progress owing to calm weather, we induced our captain to take her in tow. The officers in the transport made signs of their wish to communicate, so we lowered a bottle tied to a long string, which they picked up as it floated past, and we then pulled it back. We expected their inquiries might be as to the position of the Russians and the progress of the war, but their message was: 'Can you tell us who won the Two Thousand Guineas? We have several bets, and are very anxious!' As we entered the Dardanelles we were boarded by two French officers from a small transport, who begged assistance, as they were short of provisions, having only biscuits, and no water. We provided them with what was requisite, and also took them in tow. They belonged to the Chasseurs d'Afrique, and had been forty days on passage from Algiers. Passing Gallipoli, where there were several men-of-war at anchor and considerable French and English encampments on shore, we arrived at Constantinople on May 20. Our troops of the various arms were now arriving daily, and were accommodated either in the great barrack at Scutari, or encamped on the plain outside, in close proximity to large Turkish cemeteries. All was bustle and animation. The scene, however, soon changed, and at the end of May the Light Division under Sir George Brown re-embarked, entered the Black Sea, and landed at Varna, followed shortly after by the whole of the allied armies. Until my arrival at Constantinople, I had never seen Lord Raglan. Owing, however, to the failure of General Cator's health almost immediately on his landing, and to the numerous artillery matters which required discussion and decision, it so happened that I had from that time almost daily interviews with the Commander-in-chief. In fact, during the succeeding twelve months, and until his death in June 1855, it was my good fortune to be closely associated with Lord Raglan in the great events which rapidly succeeded each other. General Cator's advice to me was, never to trouble Lord Raglan more than absolutely necessary with details, to listen carefully to his remarks, to try and anticipate his wishes, and at all times to make as light as possible of difficulties. These excellent suggestions I did my best to carry out. The original intention in massing the allied armies at Varna was with a view of an advance to the Danube, although, in regard to land transport, the English force was but little prepared for rapid movement. However, the raising of the siege of Silistria towards the end of June and the retreat of the Russians led to an entire change of plan, and the expedition to the Crimea was decided on. The Duke of Newcastle was then Minister for War, and in his despatch to Lord Raglan, of June 29,[2] he gave instructions that no campaign in the Principalities should be undertaken, but that measures should at once be concerted for the siege of Sebastopol.' Lord Raglan's reply on July 19 said, that 'the descent on the Crimea is decided upon, more in deference to the views of the British Government than to any information in the possession of the naval and military authorities as to the extent of the enemy's forces or to their state of preparation.' Owing to the continued and severe illness of General Cator he was invalided home in August, and had to be carried on board ship in a hammock, being succeeded in command of the artillery by General Strangways. Lord de Ros, Quartermaster General, went home ill at the same time. During the month of August incessant preparations were made for the embarkation of the great expedition. The fleets of the allied powers arrived, and the bay of Varna was crowded with hundreds of transports, steam-tugs, flat-bottomed boats, and rafts; and the beach was strewn with thousands of gabions, fascines, and baggage of all kinds. Towards the end of the month the troops commenced embarking. One morning early, whilst superintending the departure of some batteries from the shore, Lord Raglan came up and spoke to me. He remarked that the artillery staff was insufficient, and that I had too much to do; and added, 'If you were a field officer I would appoint you Assistant Adjutant General, and give you help.' Having heard a rumour that an officer of high rank was coming from England as chief of the artillery staff, I ventured to say that I hoped Lord Raglan would not supersede me. He replied at once: 'Certainly not. I will take good care that you are not superseded.' The next day he sent for me, and said, 'I have got the Duke of Newcastle in a corner.' This rather puzzled me for the moment, but he continued: 'I have requested him at once to give you either brevet or local rank as a Major, and then the difficulty will be met.' The result of this was that within a month I was gazetted as a Major.' After the expedition had been decided on, and even after it had embarked, great difference of opinion existed amongst the generals and admirals of both nations as to its expediency. The late season of the year, the want of accurate information as to the actual force of the Russians and of the condition of the defences of Sebastopol, all were matters of grave concern. The prevalence of cholera and fever--which had greatly weakened the allied armies and fleets, and which continued after leaving Varna--also added to the difficulties. These considerations, however, were not allowed to prevail, and on August 25 Marshal Saint-Arnaud issued a proclamation to the French army, in which he said that Providence had called them to the Crimea, a country healthy as France, and that ere long the three united flags should float over the ramparts of Sebastopol. Lord Raglan also issued his instructions, which were as follows: 'The invasion of the Crimea having been determined on, the troops will embark in such ships as shall be provided for their conveyance.' Notwithstanding his proclamation, Saint-Arnaud, even when approaching the shore of the Crimea, remained in a somewhat vacillating condition of mind. During the voyage across, he made a signal requesting Lord Raglan and Admiral Dundas to come and see him on board the 'Ville de Paris.' They proceeded alongside in the 'Caradoc,' but Lord Raglan, having only one arm, was unable to go on board.[3] Admiral Dundas, however, visited Saint-Arnaud, who at the time was very ill and in great pain, and unable to converse. He handed the Admiral a paper without signature, in which it was urged that it would be too hazardous to land in face of a powerful enemy having a numerous cavalry; that the season was too late for a siege of Sebastopol, which, moreover, was known to be stronger than anticipated; and that consequently it was necessary to reconsider the situation and the measures to be adopted. Admiral Dundas, accompanied by some French generals, then returned to the 'Caradoc,' and a long debate took place with Lord Raglan, who at length ended the discussion by declaring that he would not now consent to alter a decision which had been come to after careful consideration at the last council at Varna. Without doubt the enterprise was a bold and dangerous one, undertaken at a late period of the year, with troops that were physically weak from cholera and fever. The orders of the French and English Governments were, however, peremptory, and therefore the allied generals had in reality no option in the matter. On the morning of September 14 the allied fleets and transports arrived off the coast of the Crimea, and the troops at once commenced landing on the shore about twenty-five miles from Sebastopol. The French were very quick in their movements, and, on our part, the Light Division under Sir George Brown lost no time; by the end of the day almost the whole of the British infantry, and twenty field guns horsed and equipped, were on shore. Just as the disembarkation commenced in the early morning a Russian officer with a Cossack orderly, rode up on some high ground between the French and English landing places, dismounted, and leisurely surveyed the scene; and then as our men on landing approached, he remounted and quietly trotted away. With that solitary exception, no enemy came near us during the five days occupied in disembarkation. The first night on shore it rained heavily, our troops were without tents or shelter, and the operations on several subsequent days were considerably retarded by rough weather and a heavy surf, rendering our position somewhat precarious. It has always appeared inexplicable why Prince Menschikoff should have allowed so critical an operation on the part of the allies to be completed, without any attempt on his part to oppose or delay it; for nothing can be more helpless than an army with men, horses, and material of all kinds huddled together in boats, and landing on an open beach. The probabilities are that he was occupied in concentrating his troops at the strong position on the Alma, and felt himself unable to disturb our operations. One morning after landing, I rode with General Strangways inland for a mile or two to get water for our horses, and found a battalion of the Rifle Brigade in possession of a large farm. The officers complained that some of the French soldiers were pillaging the neighbourhood, and driving off the cattle, &c. Sir George Brown had sent a remonstrance to the French on the subject. As we left the farm we saw a French staff officer, evidently very angry and in pursuit of some of his men, and General Strangways recognised Prince Jerome Napoleon, who was in command of the division close by. At length, on September 19, all being ready, the allied armies commenced their celebrated march on Sebastopol. The French were close to the shore, and the order of march is shown on the following plan. [Illustration: English Army. French Army. Sir Sir de Prince G. Brown L. Evans Napoleon Canrobert Bosquet +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ |Light| |2nd. | |3rd. | |1st | |2nd. | |Div. | |Div. | |Div. | |Div. | |Div. | +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ +-----+ Duke of Sir Cambridge R. England +-----+ +-----+ +---------+ |1st. | |3rd. | | Baggage | _Black |Div. | |Div. | | | Sea_ +-----+ +-----+ +---------+ Earl of Sir Cardigan G. Cathcart Forey +---------+ +-----+ +---------+ +-----+ | Cavalry | |4th. | | Baggage | |4th. | | | |Div. | | | |Div. | +---------+ +-----+ +---------+ +-----+ +-----+ |Turks| | | +-----+ DIAGRAM OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH ARMIES] The strength of the British Army was approximately as follows: Officers and men Cavalry 1,200 Artillery 60 guns 2,000 Infantry 25,000 ------ Total 28,200 The French were rather stronger in infantry, but had no cavalry. The division of Turks was about 6,000 strong. The troops were in excellent spirits at the prospect of immediate action. The country was open and undulating; the distant smoke of burning villages, and the occasional appearance of a few Cossacks hovering about on the flank, were the only evidences that we were in an enemy's country. The arrival in the afternoon at the small fresh stream of the Bulganac was most welcome to the men and horses of the allies, who for days had suffered from a scanty supply of indifferent water. Late in the afternoon the enemy's cavalry showed in considerable force, at a distance almost out of range, beyond the stream, and Lord Raglan with his staff moved to the front, accompanied by the Light Cavalry under Lord Cardigan. Suddenly a Russian battery opened fire and a round shot passed through the Light Cavalry, taking off a man's leg, and bounding like a cricket ball over the heads of the staff. That was the first shot of the campaign in the Crimea. Two batteries of Horse Artillery were at once sent forward, and on their coming into action the enemy fell back out of range, covered by a cloud of skirmishers. Our loss was four troopers severely wounded. It was almost dusk, and Lord Raglan, being anxious to inform Prince Napoleon of what had occurred, as he was with his division about a mile distant, directed Colonel Count Lagondie, the French military attaché, to ride over and give him the necessary information. The French colonel was riding a fat Flemish mare which he called 'Medore,' and as he cantered leisurely off the remark was made, 'If Lagondie does not move a little faster it will be a long time before he comes back.' He never did come back, as will be explained presently. Shortly after dusk all staff officers were directed to attend at head quarters, which were established in a small hut close to the Bulganac. General Airey, the Quartermaster General received us, and desired that all general officers should be informed that the enemy in considerable numbers being in the vicinity, a good look-out must be kept during the night, and that there should be no sounds of drums or trumpets. He then went on to say that the Russian army, computed at 45,000 men with a powerful artillery, occupied a strong entrenched position on heights beyond the Alma, a few miles distant, and that a general action was imminent on the morrow. The night passed quietly. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 2: Committee of the House of Commons on the state of the army before Sebastopol.] [Footnote 3: This account is taken from a pamphlet written by the late General Sir W. Brereton, R.A., who was on board Admiral Dundas's flagship at the time.] CHAPTER III BATTLE OF ALMA 'Though till now ungraced in story, Scant although thy waters be, Alma, roll those waters proudly; Roll them proudly to the sea.' _September 20._--In the early morning the allied armies formed up in position as on the previous day's march, in readiness for the battle. It was then discovered that Colonel Lagondie was absent from head quarters, and inquiries were made without result. As it was supposed he might have remained during the night with his French comrades, a message was sent to Prince Napoleon. The prince, however, said that Lagondie had arrived the previous evening with Lord Raglan's message, and then left. The mystery of his absence remained for the time inexplicable. Soon after the battle of the Alma, however, Menschikoff's carriage, containing a number of his papers and letters, was captured, and amongst them a note from a lady in Sebastopol saying how much pleased they were with the charming French colonel he had sent in to them, and hoping he would soon send some more. This at once cleared up the mystery of our friend Lagondie; and it subsequently transpired that on leaving Napoleon at dusk, being short-sighted, he had missed his way, and had ridden straight into the Russian cavalry and was made prisoner. Considerable delay occurred on the morning of September 20, before our troops were prepared to advance, owing to numerous cases of cholera and fever amongst the men during the previous night, and the necessity of conveying them to the shore, for embarkation in the transports. The French, being close to the sea, had a considerable advantage in this respect. During the morning Marshal Saint-Arnaud, with a large staff and an officer carrying a silk tricolor standard, rode along the front of the British Army to confer with Lord Raglan, and was loudly cheered by our men. Whether the French marshal was a great general or not, I had no means of judging; but when we consider that he was then suffering from a mortal disease--of which, indeed, he died a few days later on board a French man-of-war--I think that he evinced a brave and heroic spirit under such circumstances in leading and commanding a French army in a great and successful battle. [Illustration: BATTLE OF ALMA.] At about eleven o'clock the allied armies advanced, the whole front covered by a cloud of skirmishers. The order of battle was an _échelon_ from the right. General Bosquet's division led off, marching along the sea shore, with the Turkish force in rear. Then came the divisions of Canrobert and Prince Napoleon, with that of General Forey in rear in reserve. The English then took up the _échelon_; the second division under De Lacy Evans being next to that of Napoleon, then the Light Division under Sir George Brown, followed in a second line by the troops of Sir Richard England and the Guards and Highlanders under the Duke of Cambridge, the batteries of artillery in the intervals of brigades--the fourth division under Sir George Cathcart and the cavalry under Lord Lucan being held in reserve on the outward flank, which was three or four miles from the shore. As the armies thus advanced to the attack we were able to take a more complete survey of the Russian position, and whilst the ground in front of the French was seen to be precipitous and difficult, it was evident that the main body of the Russians was in position, and partly entrenched, on slopes which the English forces were about to storm. It has sometimes been argued that the English ought to have attempted a movement turning the Russian right; but when it is considered that our base was the sea, it is, I think, evident that the only prudent course in attacking a strong, partially entrenched position on the other side of a river, was the _échelon_ movement as described. It was about noon when the first gun was fired; Bosquet's brigades crossed the river near its mouth, and commenced climbing the precipitous slopes, their advance being assisted by the fire of some vessels of the fleet. The enemy, however, were not in great force at this point, and the French gained the crest with comparatively few casualties. The divisions of Canrobert and Prince Napoleon as they reached the river crossed in succession, and were vigorously opposed as they swarmed up the heights. Great difficulties also were encountered in bringing up their artillery; but a flank movement of Bosquet's troops along the crest finally enabled the French Army to make good the ascent, although with considerable loss, and the Russians were compelled to yield the ground.[4] So far the battle had satisfactorily progressed, but a sterner and far more terrible struggle had commenced on the left. The two leading English divisions as they approached the river and came within long range of the enemy's guns were deployed into line, and, whilst waiting for the completion of the French attack, were ordered to lie down. The English batteries came into action; but the enemy's guns were both powerful and numerous, and on commanding ground, so that at the beginning we were rather at a disadvantage. Urgent messages having been received from the French, it was apparent that the moment of action had at length arrived, and Lord Raglan then gave the order for the advance of the whole army. The village of Burliuk on our side of the river, in front of Sir De Lacy Evans' division, was set on fire by the enemy, and led to the temporary separation of his two brigades, one passing it on either side. Lord Raglan, having given the order, passed with his staff through the burning village to the right, and by a narrow lane came suddenly down to a ford of the river. In riding through the village we passed the body of Lieutenant Cockerell, a young officer of artillery, who with his horse had just been killed by a round shot from the heights. A sharp skirmish was going on between the Russian outposts and the Zouaves of Napoleon's division as we reached and crossed the ford. At that moment Lieutenant Leslie, of the Life Guards, orderly officer to Lord Raglan, fell from his horse, shot through the shoulder, and was laid under the bank on the opposite side. The horse of Captain Fortescue, R.A., was killed at the same time by a bullet in the head.[5] Lord Raglan pressed on, and passing some French skirmishers in the vineyards, soon reached high ground, from which he had an excellent view of the Russian position. Perceiving the important advantage he should gain by artillery fire from this spot, he consulted General Strangways and then sent me back for some guns. Fortunately Captain Turner's battery was just crossing the ford, and two guns were quickly brought up, followed shortly by the others. Their fire, directed against the Russian columns and batteries, who were now heavily engaged with the advance of the Light and Second Divisions, had a powerful effect, not only materially but morally, as showing the Russians that whilst their front was being stormed their flank was already turned. Lieutenant Walsham, R.A., was killed whilst with these guns. [Illustration: BATTLE OF ALMA, 20TH SEPTEMBER, 1854] In the meantime the two leading divisions, covered by skirmishers, moved steadily across the plain. Their ranks became somewhat disarranged by the gardens and vineyards as they approached the river, and still more so as they waded across the stream, which was fordable at many places. They, however, found a momentary shelter behind the broken ground on the opposite bank, and then the great crisis began. It was a moment of intense anxiety as the men of the Light and part of the Second Divisions jumped from their cover, and with a rattling fire commenced the charge. The ground over which they had to pass was of the nature of a smooth, steep glacis, and was swept by infantry and artillery fire. Three of our batteries, however, had converged towards the bridge over the Alma, and gave material support to the advancing troops. Up to this time every advantage had been on the side of the enemy. The scale, however, now began to turn. As the English line approached the Russian columns, its formation, straggling and irregular as it was, enabled it to open a continuous line of fire. The enemy's forces could be seen opening out and endeavouring to deploy; but it was too late--our regiments were close upon them. Then the Russian masses began to shake; then men from the rear were seen to run; then whole columns would turn and retire, halting and facing about at short intervals, but, with artillery smashing on their flank, and with Codrington's and Pennefather's brigades still streaming upwards, the enemy's troops could no longer hold their ground, but fled disordered up the hill. The converging fire of their batteries, however, still made a fearful havoc in the English ranks, and a wide street of dead and wounded, the whole way from the river upwards, showed the terrific nature of the fight. Breathless, decimated and much broken, but with victory crowning their efforts, the centre regiments at length dashed over the main entrenchment and captured two guns. But the battle was even then by no means over. The Russian reserves moved down, and Codrington's brigade, whose force was almost expended, was obliged to give way, and victory for a moment seemed doubtful. Succour, however, was at hand. The three regiments of Guards, with the Highlanders on the left, the whole under the Duke of Cambridge, were now advancing up the hill in grand array. Some slight delay occurred until Codrington's brigade had fallen back and cleared the front, during which time the casualties were numerous, but then the chance of the Russians was over and their whole army retreated in some confusion. Lord Raglan in the meantime had left his position on the hill and joined his victorious troops, and by his orders five batteries of artillery were concentrated and fired on the broken columns of the enemy until they were out of range. It was a great victory, not only in its immediate result, but in its general effect on the Russian army. Our losses in killed, wounded, and missing were very severe--amounting to 2,006 officers and men. About half of the entire number occurred in the Light Division alone. The following diagram gives the position of the infantry regiments chiefly engaged, and of the casualties in each: 19th 23rd 33rd 7th Fus 95th 55th 226 210 239 222 193 115 Coldstream Guards Scots Guards Grenadier Guards 80 181 122 The joy and excitement of the English troops were intense as Lord Raglan rode along the line formed on the heights they had just won. On coming to the Highland Brigade rather an amusing incident occurred. Sir Colin Campbell addressed the Commander-in-Chief, and begged him to do him a favour. Lord Raglan, in reply, said it would give him pleasure to serve him in any way. Sir Colin then said: 'My lord, you have in years gone by shown me kindness when I was a young officer, and now I am an old one. My request is that, so long as I am at the head of the Highland Brigade, I may be allowed to wear the Highland bonnet.' This delighted the Scotchmen, and great cheering followed. In addition to the two guns captured, two Russian generals were taken prisoners and about 900 of their wounded men were left on the field. The total loss of the Russians in the battle is stated to have been upwards of 5,000. The battle ended about four o'clock in the afternoon, the head quarters camp being pitched near the river, and Lord Raglan then went in search of his orderly officer, Lieutenant Tom Leslie, and with the help of some guardsmen, with a stretcher, brought him to his tent. Lord Raglan asked me if I knew Tom's mother, and on my replying in the negative, he said: 'A charming woman. I must write to her. How proud she will be to hear that he has a bullet in his shoulder!' Several years after the battle, when in India, I met an old artillery man at Delhi, who claimed my acquaintance, and reminded me of the incident of bringing up Turner's guns from the ford. He said he was one of the drivers of the battery at the time, and that I rode up to him in the river and said: '"Johnson," says you, "you'll not spare whip nor spur till you get to the top of that hill, for Lord Raglan wants you."' I cannot vouch for the absolute correctness of his personal reminiscences, but the main fact is correct enough. The two days following the victory were passed in collecting our wounded (upwards of 1,400), and carrying them in hammocks and stretchers to the beach for embarkation. Amongst others I remember saying a few words to Baring of the Coldstream Guards, as he was carried away from the field. He had lost an arm. Reserves of ammunition were also landed from the transports to meet the expenditure, which, however, was not large, the infantry having fired about six rounds a man and the artillery fifteen rounds a gun. The Russians' muskets, lying about the field in thousands (many of them with the old flint lock) were broken, and the accoutrements, knapsacks, &c., collected in heaps and burned. The Russian Commander-in-Chief having omitted to send in a flag of truce, or to make any inquiry as to his wounded left on the ground, they were collected in a field and as far as possible attended to. An English medical officer, having volunteered, was left in charge of them as we marched away; a message being sent to Prince Menschikoff informing him of the arrangement. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 4: General Canrobert was slightly wounded during the attack.] [Footnote 5: Nearly two years afterwards, when peace was signed, I re-visited the scene of the battle, and found the skeleton of the horse lying in the lane, with its skull pierced by a bullet.] CHAPTER IV THE FLANK MARCH On the morning of, September 23 the allied armies left their position on the Alma, and after a march of about seven miles arrived at the Katcha, meeting with no opposition, and on the following day reached the Belbec, a small stream within a short distance of Sebastopol. From our pickets on the heights we could see the harbour and their line-of-battle ships at anchor. Hitherto the intention of the allies had been to attack the forts on the north side, but the plans were suddenly altered, chiefly in consequence of the recommendation of Sir John Burgoyne. In a very able memorandum, written the day after the Alma, he pointed out in the first place, that the city of Sebastopol, with its docks, wharves, reserve armaments and stores--in fact, its chief resources--were on the south side of the harbour, and that the land defences there were imperfect and incomplete. In the second place, that the harbours of Kameisch and Balaclava would give the allied forces a safe base of operations, and free communication with the fleet, whereas on the north they had only the sea shore to rely on. Under these circumstances he recommended the abandonment of the north altogether, and establishing ourselves to the south of the city. The strategical advantages of this course were apparent, and the plan was adopted, and on September 25 the flank march began, the English army leading off, and proceeding for some miles in a south easterly direction through the woods. I remember when the Duke of Cambridge received the order to march south-east through the forest, he remarked that he had received many orders in his day, but that was the first time he had ever marched by compass. It so happened that on the same morning Prince Menschikoff, ignorant of our sudden change of plan, was moving a considerable force inland from Sebastopol, in order to take the allies in flank, and as we emerged from the woods on the open ground at Mackenzie's farm, our advanced troops suddenly ran into the rear guard of the Russians. In fact, both the opposing armies were making a flank march at the same time, and the head of one came into collision with the tail of the other. Both sides were taken unawares, but some of our cavalry and Maude's troop of Horse Artillery at once pursued and captured a few prisoners and a considerable number of waggons, with ammunition, supplies, and baggage. This unexpected encounter must have rather mystified the enemy; but Lord Raglan, knowing that his forces were scattered for some miles on a long thin line, pushed on, and towards sunset the Light and First Divisions reached the bridge over the Chernaya on the road leading to Balaclava, and bivouacked for the night.[6] The following morning the march was resumed across the plain for two or three miles to Balaclava, that small fishing village, with its land-locked harbour scarcely larger than a dock, which was destined to be the British base throughout the war. As the staff and leading troops approached the village, a deputation of the inhabitants came out bearing bread and salt as a token of submission. Almost at the same time a gun was suddenly fired from the ruins of the old castle on the heights, and a shell splashed into the marshes close by, followed by another. Lord Raglan, through an interpreter, asked the deputation the reason of this unexpected demonstration, as bread and salt and bursting shells seemed inconsistent with each other; but the only explanation they could give was that the small garrison had not been formally summoned to surrender. The troops of the Light Division at once swarmed up the heights, and half of C troop of Horse Artillery, under Brandling, came into action; the other half I took, by Lord Raglan's orders, up the steep hill overlooking the castle. Just as we got into action, the 'Agamemnon,' with Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, arrived off the harbour, and the small garrison, finding themselves under a converging fire from three sides, hoisted a white handkerchief on a pole in token of surrender. Their armament consisted of four antiquated brass mortars. The commandant, an old Greek colonel, had been wounded in the foot, and was carried down to Balaclava, where he met the staff who had just ridden in. The commandant's wife, on seeing her husband's condition, rushed out of her house in a flood of tears, fell on his neck, and kissed him repeatedly. Lord Raglan, however, spoke kindly and reassured her. In the meantime some Russian ladies who had left Sebastopol and taken refuge in Balaclava, terrified by our sudden arrival, crossed the harbour in a small boat in the vain hope of escape. Accompanied by another officer I followed them across, and we tried to reassure them. Knowing nothing of their language this was a difficulty. We tried 'Buono, Russ buono,' but it was not sufficient. Fortunately, at length we found one who spoke a little French, and then they became comforted and returned with us to the village, and were taken care of. Such was the capture of Balaclava. Many years after, in 1872, on re-visiting the Crimea with the late Colonel Charles Gordon of Khartoum, we found that the old commandant (Colonel Mammoo) was still alive, being over eighty, and we called on him. He was much pleased to see us and to talk over old days, and said that he should never forget the kindness he had received from the English when a prisoner of war. The officers and men of the navy in the man-of-war which took him to Constantinople treated him, he said, like a prince. In the meantime the condition of Marshal Saint-Arnaud had become critical, and on September 25 he resigned the command of the French army, and was succeeded by General Canrobert, who was then forty-five years of age. Saint-Arnaud embarked at Balaclava on board the 'Berthollet,' and was visited by Lord Raglan and Sir Edmund Lyons. He was then almost at the point of death, and his last words to Lord Raglan were: 'Je vous suivrai toujours par la pensée.'[7] He died on board on September 29. At the end of September the allied armies took up their position on the plateau in front of Sebastopol, the French on the left with their base at Kameisch; Lord Raglan establishing his head quarters at a farm house. [Illustration: SKETCH showing the position of the ALLIED ARMIES before SEBASTOPOL Oct. 1854.] [Illustration: Russian Names. T. _Malakoff Tower_ _Kornileff Bas._ M. _Mamelon. Gordon's Hill_ R. _Great Redan_ _Bastion No. 3_ D. _Barrack Batteries_ G. _Garden Batteries_ B. _Bastion du mât_ _Bastion No. 4_ C. _Bastion Centrale_ _Bastion No. 5_ L. _Lancaster Battery_ X. _Left Attack. Chapman's Batteries_ Y. _Right Attack. Gordon's Batteries_ S. _Sand bag Battery at Inkerman._ _English_ _French._ References to Balaclava. _A. B. C. D. E. F._ {_English {Batteries._ 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. {_Redoubts {manned by Turks._] The land defences of the city at the time were incomplete and not continuous. On the east stood a round tower with four guns (the Malakoff), and on the west a crenelated wall, with another tower overlooking Quarantine bay, and between these were some earthworks (called afterwards the Redan, Bastion du Mât, &c.), unfinished and unarmed. These defences were not formidable, and the idea of an immediate assault suggested itself and was advocated by some officers of high rank. On the other hand, the garrison was almost equal in number to the allies; the approaches were commanded by guns, although few, of heavy calibre; and the enemy had so placed their line-of-battle ships in the harbour as to sweep the ravines leading down to the city. On the whole it was considered more prudent to land the French and English siege trains, with a view to a bombardment, to be followed by a general assault. As to the general plan of attack, Sir John Burgoyne, having, with Lord Raglan, surveyed the position, drew up a memorandum in which he indicated the Malakoff as the chief point for consideration. He said: 'On the right, the great tower appears to be the key of the whole position, and the only work to prevent an assault at any time; a good site, or sites for not less than eight guns ... must be sought for to demolish that tower.' The French, however, demurred to this view, and it was finally decided that the main attack should be made by them on the Bastion du Mât, an earthwork in their immediate front on the left. When we remember that at the end of the siege, which lasted nearly a twelve-month, the city fell chiefly by an assault on the very position originally indicated by Sir John Burgoyne, we have a striking proof of the clear insight and great ability of that distinguished soldier. During the first fortnight of October the allied armies were incessantly occupied in landing and moving up heavy guns and ammunition from Kameisch and Balaclava, and in constructing batteries and trenches in front of Sebastopol, and it was arranged that the bombardment should open on the 17th, to be followed by a general assault, the combined fleets simultaneously attacking the forts at the mouth of the harbour. Lord Raglan's order was as follows: 'The fire upon Sebastopol to commence at 6.30 A.M. from the French and English batteries, in co-operation with the allied fleets--the signal to be the discharge of three mortars by the French. The troops off duty to be ready to fall in at a moment's notice. Horses of the field batteries to be harnessed.' A thousand seamen with heavy guns were landed from the British fleet, and formed a naval brigade to act in co-operation with the Royal Artillery in the trenches. The enemy, however, were equally energetic in developing and completing their earthworks, and, having an almost unlimited supply of heavy ordnance and munitions close at hand, they were in reality, as the event proved, able to strengthen their defensive position faster than the allies could concentrate their powers of attack. The bombardment commenced at daylight on October 17, the infantry and field artillery being held in readiness for a general assault during the day. Our hopes and expectations were, however, destined to a great and speedy disappointment. The French siege batteries in front of the Bastion du Mât were soon seen to be in difficulties, being over-matched by those of the enemy; and early in the morning one of their magazines exploded, followed by a second, resulting in great loss of life, and practically putting an end for the time to their fire. The Russians, having thus gained a considerable advantage in one direction, turned their attention more immediately towards the English position, and a vigorous bombardment was maintained on both sides. Lord Raglan, in his despatch of October 18, alluding to the British batteries, speaks in high terms of the conduct of the sailors and of the Royal Artillery. He says that they kept up their fire with unremitting energy throughout the day, to his own and the general satisfaction, and to the admiration of the French army. About three o'clock in the afternoon, a magazine blew up in the Redan, and for a time the Russian guns were silent. Lord Raglan said that, under other circumstances, this explosion would have been the proper moment for assault. The combined fleets during the day also engaged the sea forts and suffered considerably, but from our inability to take advantage of their action no decisive results were achieved. In short, the great bombardment of October 17 was a _coup manqué_, and although the conflict was still vigorously maintained, and although the French in a few days partially re-opened fire, it began to be apparent that the allies were growing weaker by the wearing out of their guns and carriages and the exhaustion of their ammunition, whilst the Russian defences were becoming consolidated and their armaments augmented. General Canrobert did not at first take so gloomy a view of the position. Writing a few days after, he stated that his means of attack were concentrated on the Bastion du Mât, and that, assisted by the English, he hoped soon to gain possession of it. Lord Raglan, however, writing on the 23rd, said that the fire of the enemy was not seriously diminished; that, with plenty of men and unlimited resources, they were able to repair their works, remount guns, and re-open fire from batteries which had been silenced, and that consequently, he was unable to say when ulterior measures could be undertaken. The situation was growing serious. In the meantime the enemy were also beginning to appear in strength on the Chernaya, in the direction of Balaclava. Since our arrival, at the end of September, considerable attention had been given to the defence of this important base of our operations. Defensive entrenchments were constructed on the heights immediately surrounding and overlooking the harbour, armed with guns of position, and held by a force of marines; whilst the 93rd Highlanders and a battery of artillery were in front of Kadikoi, the whole under the command of Sir Colin Campbell. In the plain beyond, and about a mile in advance, a girdle of small detached hills extended in a curve across the valley, and upon these, several battalions of Turks were distributed and began to entrench themselves. As they had no ordnance suitable, some cast-iron howitzers were by Lord Raglan's direction lent to them for the purpose. Such were the main outlines of the precautions taken for the defence of Balaclava. They were by no means too strong; but what with the incessant duties before Sebastopol and the great extent of ground to be covered, our troops were overworked, and no more were available for the defence of this flank of the position, covering, indeed, the sole base of our supplies of food and munitions. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 6: Lord Raglan's Despatch, September 28, 1854.] [Footnote 7: Bazancourt, ii. 276.] CHAPTER V BATTLE OF BALACLAVA 'Not once or twice in our rough island story, The path of duty was the way to glory.' Early on the morning of October 25, the Russian army having received large reinforcements, General Liprandi advanced in force and attacked the unfinished redoubts held by the Turks; and although the latter were supported in the plain by the British cavalry and Maude's troop of Horse Artillery, they were not able to hold their ground, and, after a short defence, fell back disordered to Balaclava, leaving their guns behind, many of the Turks calling out 'Ship--Johnnie--Russ no bono' as they ran past our troops. It was during this early part of the action that Captain Maude[8] was seriously wounded and had his horse killed under him. Soon after the commencement of the battle, Lord Raglan, General Canrobert, and their staffs, arrived, and took up a position on the edge of the Sebastopol plateau overlooking the plain, and thus gained a complete panoramic view of the scene below. Lord Raglan, on perceiving the defeat of the Turks in the outlying forts, at once ordered the First Division under the Duke of Cambridge, and the Fourth under Sir George Cathcart, to proceed from the front to strengthen the force at Balaclava. The enemy, having somewhat easily gained an important advantage by the capture of the Turkish position, after a short delay made a further movement towards the inner line of defence, and a large mass of Russian cavalry advanced rapidly and with great boldness across the plain. One portion approached the 93rd, who were in line in front of Kadikoi, but, being received with perfect steadiness by the Highlanders, they did not follow up the attack. The main body bore down towards the English Heavy Cavalry under General Scarlett, who, however, wheeled into line as the Russians approached, and charged straight into them. Having been sent with an order to Brandling's C Battery of Horse Artillery, it so happened that I was at the moment only a few hundred yards distant, and witnessed the whole affair. For a few minutes it seemed as if our cavalry, owing to the great superiority of the enemy's numbers (estimated at three to one), were almost surrounded. Then small bodies of red-coats could be seen vigorously fighting and in close personal combat with the Russians. At length the latter gave way, their retreat being hastened by the fire of two batteries of Horse Artillery. Lord Raglan in his despatch said that the charge was one of the most successful he had ever witnessed. It was made at an opportune moment, and completely checked the enemy's movements, their infantry remaining at a distance, partially concealed behind the captured Turkish forts. A pause now ensued. Whilst the events just related were taking place, the First and Fourth Divisions were marching down, and arrived in the plain. In the meantime, the Light Cavalry under Lord Cardigan had moved to the outer valley, just beyond the Turkish forts. A small force of French Chasseurs d'Afrique was on their left. Lord Raglan, being anxious to recover the position lost by the Turks, sent the following order in writing to the Earl of Lucan, who was in chief command of the cavalry: 'The cavalry to advance and take advantage of every opportunity to recover the heights. They will be supported by infantry, which has been ordered to advance on two fronts.' Instructions of a similar purport were sent to the infantry divisions. As some delay occurred and the object was not accomplished, and, further, as Lord Raglan from his position on the heights observed that the enemy were removing the captured guns, he sent a second order, _also in writing_, to Lord Lucan, by Captain Nolan, as follows: 'Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent them carrying away the guns. Troop of Horse Artillery may accompany, French cavalry on your left. Immediate.' [Illustration: BALACLAVA. SCENE OF LIGHT CAVALRY CHARGE, 25th OCTOBER, 1854] The fair construction of the above orders would appear to be that the cavalry were to follow the retreating enemy, and that they were to be supported by artillery and two divisions of infantry. What followed is thus related by Lord Lucan himself. 'After carefully reading this order, I hesitated, and urged the uselessness of such an attack and the dangers attending it. The aide-de-camp, in a most authoritative tone, stated that they were Lord Raglan's orders that the cavalry should attack immediately. I asked, where and what to do, neither enemy nor guns being in sight? He replied in a most disrespectful but significant manner, pointing to the further end of the valley: "There, my Lord, is your enemy; there are your guns." So distinct, in my opinion, was your written instruction, and so positive and urgent were the orders delivered by the aide-de-camp, that I felt it was imperative on me to obey, and I informed Lord Cardigan that he was to advance, and to the objections he made, and in which I entirely agreed, I replied that the order was from your Lordship.' Such are the main outlines of the circumstances which led to the celebrated Light Cavalry charge. Formed as shown in the diagram, they moved rapidly and steadily down the plain. They did not attack the enemy behind the Turkish entrenchments, nor did they attempt to intercept the captured howitzers which were being withdrawn, but rode straight into the main body of the Russian army, far away at the other end of the valley. Artillery opened upon them on either flank and in front, but still they rode on, and at length passed right through the enemy's guns; but assailed by artillery, infantry, and cavalry they were at length almost broken up, and only scattered fragments of each regiment ever came back. The Chasseurs d'Afrique, who were on the flank of the Light Brigade, gallantly charged the enemy on the Fedhukine heights, and thus made an important diversion, in which they suffered severely. The loss of the cavalry during the day amounted to 40 officers and 353 men killed, wounded, and missing; and 381 horses killed. Formation of Light Brigade under the Earl of Cardigan. 17th. Lancers 13th. Light Dragoons +-----------+ +------------+ | | | | +-----------+ +------------+ 11th. Hussars 4th. Light Dragoons +-----------+ +------------+ | | | | +-----------+ +------------+ 8th. Hussars +-----------+ | | +-----------+ Having been sent a second time to Balaclava with orders and my horse becoming lame, I was returning leisurely just as the charge took place, but, owing to the ridge of intervening hills intercepting the view, was not aware of it. Meeting H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge a few minutes afterwards at the head of the Guards, he spoke of the sad loss the army had just sustained; and, seeing that I was ignorant of the circumstances, went forward a little and pointed down the outer valley, where small groups could be seen in the distance of men and horses of the Light Cavalry lying about, and in some cases being attended to by the Russians. The Duke added: 'The officer who brought the order lies dead in that ditch.' There, a few yards off, was the body of Captain Nolan, with a large wound in his chest. In the course of the afternoon part of Sir George Cathcart's division advanced a short distance, and re-took one of the outlying forts, in which were found two of the lost howitzers upset in the half-formed entrenchment. Lord Raglan, in his despatch of the Battle of Balaclava, alluding to the circumstances which led to the Light Cavalry charge, limited his remarks to the statement that 'from some misconception of the instruction to advance, the Lieutenant-General considered that he was bound to attack at all hazards.' The Earl of Lucan, however, took exception to this description of his action in the matter, and, persisting in his objections, was ultimately recalled. The consequences immediately resulting from the battle of the 25th were not of a decisive character. The enemy had no doubt achieved a partial success in getting possession of the outer line of defence, but had not obtained their main object--the capture of Balaclava. The position however, was precarious, and two regiments of Highlanders were added to Sir Colin's force, and a brigade of French infantry were encamped on the heights in rear. Still Lord Raglan was anxious, and in his despatch of November 3 says that he should be more satisfied if he could have occupied the position in considerably greater strength. Greater anxieties were, however, awaiting him. On the afternoon following the battle of Balaclava the Russians came out in considerable strength from Sebastopol (about 6,000 men and 16 guns) and attacked the right of our position on the heights of Inkerman, but were vigorously met by the artillery and infantry of the Guards and Second Division, and were driven back into the city with a loss of about 600 men. This attempt of the enemy proved to be the shadow of a coming event. During the next few days no incident of special importance occurred, but the crisis was approaching, and the Russians, having received large reinforcements, on November 5 made another determined attack in great force on the right of the English position, which, had it succeeded, would not only have raised the siege, but would probably have entailed the abandonment of the Crimea by the allies. Indeed, although unsuccessful in its main purpose, still the results of the great battle on that day were by no means insignificant. The allies were compelled to postpone any idea of assault, and they thus afforded the enemy time to complete their defences, which enabled the city to hold out for ten months longer. In connection with this subject there is another point which deserves consideration. Although probably fortuitous, still it is a fact that both on landing in the Crimea, and on taking up ground in front of Sebastopol, the English army occupied on each occasion the exposed flank, so that at the three successive battles the brunt of the actions, and consequently the chief losses, fell upon them. Not only that, but whilst their numbers--owing to deaths, wounds, and sickness--were constantly and rapidly diminishing, they had, in addition to their work in the trenches, to guard a very extended position. General Canrobert, perhaps unduly cautious, did not feel able at that time to give us any more assistance in the defence of Balaclava.[9] Lord Raglan himself so informed me at the time. As regards the ground at Inkerman on which the great conflict took place, it did not in itself offer any very inviting facilities to an enemy's attack. It formed the right-hand corner, as it were, of our position on the elevated plateau south of the city; and the ascent to it from Sebastopol and the Chernaya was precipitous, its area being restricted by the Careening Bay ravine on one side, and by steep slopes on the other--so that the enemy's columns as they arrived were rather huddled together, and got in each other's way. Todleben wrote: 'Although the nature of the ground rendered this position a strong one in itself, it was to be considered that the number of English troops which occupied it was very weak.'[10] The general plan was as follows:[11] [Illustration: SKETCH TO ILLUSTRATE THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN] Two corps of the Russian army under General Dannenberg, computed at 40,000 infantry and 135 guns, were detailed for the attack. One under Dannenberg and Pauloff was to cross the marsh at the mouth of the Chernaya, climb the heights, and force the English right; whilst the other, under Soimonoff, was to leave Sebastopol, near the Malakoff, and advance up the _left side_ of the Careening Bay ravine. These arrangements would appear to be simple enough, but as it turned out they were in a great measure frustrated by a singular mistake. It appears that General Soimonoff, looking from Sebastopol, imagined that he was to advance up the _left side_ of the ravine as he saw it from that point of view, whereas the intention was precisely the reverse. The intention of General Dannenberg seems clear from the following short extract from his instructions to Soimonoff, issued the day before. He says: 'Votre flanc gauche sera parfaitement couvert par le ravin du Carénage, et la coopération des troupes qui traversent la Chernaya.' Again he says: 'Un ravin profond et très long, connu sous le nom de ravin du Carénage, nous sépare, le général Soimonoff et moi, au commencement de l'attaque.' As it was, however, before daybreak on the 5th Soimonoff led his corps across the ravine, and marched up on the other side, so that when Pauloff arrived immediately after he found the heights already occupied and the battle begun. This initial blunder (although we were of course ignorant of it at the time) hampered the Russians throughout the day; and the death of Soimonoff early in the action probably rather added to their confusion. A Russian account quite confirms this view. It says: 'The disadvantage of this false direction was that from the confined nature of the ground Soimonoff's troops were very much in the way of Pauloff's columns, and neither the one nor the other could find space to deploy.' ... 'While the Russians were moving about in columns, the English were drawn up in a line two deep, and their long-ranging guns enabled them to inflict mortal wounds on the Russians at a time when the latter were unable to reach them at all with their firearms.' As regards the arrangements of the English previous to the battle, 500 men of the Second Division and three guns were detailed daily to watch the ground at Inkerman, and one or two slight earthworks were thrown up; a picket of the Light Division being also posted in the Careening Bay ravine, which, however, was captured on the morning of the 5th. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 8: The late Sir George Maude, Crown Equerry.] [Footnote 9: See Lord Raglan to the Duke of Newcastle, November 3, Kinglake's _Inkerman_, p. 45.] [Footnote 10: Kinglake's _Inkerman_, p. 56.] [Footnote 11: See Kinglake's _Inkerman_, pp. 110 and 498; Dannenberg's orders to Soimonoff.] CHAPTER VI BATTLE OF INKERMAN Before giving a slight sketch of the events of this momentous day, it is necessary to bear in mind that the original numbers of the English army had become much reduced since their landing, by the casualties of war and by sickness; that they had also to guard the trenches day and night, and to be ready to defend the extended position in front of Balaclava. In short, their numbers were not by any means adequate to the various and widely detached duties they were called upon to perform. The consequence was that on the day of Inkerman they had only 8,000 infantry and 36 guns available for the defence of the position. It was dark and wet and a thick fog lay on the ground as day dawned on Sunday, November 5. My servant came into my tent and woke me about daylight, saying that heavy firing had just commenced not far away. In a few minutes I was off, but found that Lord Raglan and General Strangways had already left. On approaching the scene, and riding through the camp of the Second Division, it was apparent that the enemy were close at hand. Round shot were bounding along, tents were being knocked over, horses killed at their pickets, whilst blankets and great coats were lying about among the brushwood, thrown down, apparently, as our men had hastily fallen in and hurried to the front. The centre of our position on the ridge was held by the Second Division under Pennefather, with the Guards in advance on the right under the Duke of Cambridge and Bentinck, and one brigade of the Light Division under Buller on the left--six batteries of artillery being in action in the intervals. On joining Lord Raglan about 7 A.M. it was evident from the very heavy fire both of infantry and artillery that the Russian columns were close upon us, and were indeed forcing our position at various points. In fact, owing to the rain and thick mist, the troops of both the opposing forces were in immediate proximity several times during the day almost before they were aware of it. On the extreme right, and in advance, a small sandbag work had been established and armed with two 18-pounders many days previously, not with a view to local defence, but to silence some Russian guns on the other side of the Chernaya which annoyed our camp, and having achieved the object our guns had been withdrawn. It was in the neighbourhood of this earthwork that very severe fighting took place, and it was captured and re-taken several times, the Guards especially sustaining the brunt of the conflict and suffering great losses. The Russian account says: 'The battle raged forward, backward, beneath, above, among bushes and underwood; above all, the sandbag battery on the wing had been the object of many an attack, until at length General Bentinck led up his Guards, the _élite_ of the English army. These chosen troops pressed irresistibly forward to the redoubt, and tore it from the Russians....' In the meantime Sir George Cathcart, with part of the Fourth Division, arrived to the support of our hardly pressed troops. Conceiving the extreme right to be the point most open to danger, he was marching in that direction when he received urgent messages requesting assistance in the centre and on the left. He accordingly detached the greater part of his brigade and a battery towards these points, but proceeded himself, with a small number of men, to reinforce the Guards. The enemy, in fact, were forcing our line at several places at once. Hardly had the battery just named got into action and fired a few rounds of case than it was run into and three of its guns momentarily captured, the officer commanding (Major Townsend) being killed. Three guns of Turner's battery were also taken and some of the gunners bayonetted at their posts; but in both instances the guns were re-taken immediately afterwards by the 77th and 88th Regiments.[14] Sir George Cathcart, under the impression that he could assist the Guards by a flank movement, moved for some distance down the slopes, near the sandbag battery, but suddenly found himself surrounded by a superior force, and fell, shot through the heart; General Torrens, who was with him, being also severely wounded.[12] At about 8 o'clock A.M., Lord Raglan with his staff was moving along the ridge, and halted about the centre of the line. Perceiving the advantage he should gain by the fire of heavy guns from such commanding ground, he sent an order for the two 18-pounders, which were near at hand at the mill, to be brought up. It so happened that the officers in charge of them, anticipating his wishes, had already packed the necessary ammunition in waggons, and were, therefore, ready when his message came. Colonel Gambier, R.A., in command, was wounded, and had to retire as they moved up; but under Colonel Collingwood Dickson[13] and Captain D'Aguilar these guns were speedily brought into action on the ridge, and rendered excellent service throughout the day. Prince Menschikoff, in his despatch after the battle, makes special allusion to the fire of the British heavy guns. There were no less than seventeen casualties with these two guns, and they fired about 84 rounds a gun. Just before the arrival of the 18-pounders, Lord Raglan, accompanied by his staff, was on the ridge surveying the position, having General Strangways on his right. At that moment a shell, supposed to have been fired at long range from a Russian vessel in the harbour, passed between them and burst amongst the staff, killing the horses of Colonels Gordon and Paulet Somerset. These two officers, however, were unhurt.[14] A few seconds afterwards General Strangways turned round to me, saying, quite calmly, 'Help me off my horse,' and he was then seen to be falling. General Estcourt and myself jumped off and caught him as he fell; and we then found that his left leg had been taken off below the knee by the shell as it passed between him and Lord Raglan. We laid him on the ground and I tied my handkerchief round his shattered limb. The staff moved on a short distance, and I was left with him alone. The enemy at the time were close upon us. After looking about in vain for a doctor, or a stretcher to carry him away, I at length saw two men bearing a wounded comrade, and, when they had deposited him in a tent, induced them to return with me. A medical officer also arrived. We gave the General some wine and water from a flask, which temporarily revived him. He did not seem to suffer pain, gave me many messages to his wife and daughter, and begged me to take him to the siege train camp, which was done. Almost his last words were, 'Take me to the gunners, let me die amongst the gunners.' As we were carrying him off we passed the body of another officer on a stretcher, and it proved to be that of Sir George Cathcart. On arrival at the hospital tent, General Strangways became faint and insensible; it was evident that no operation could be performed, and soon afterwards he passed away, with wounded gunners lying round him, Lord Raglan coming to see him just before he died. He was much beloved and respected by all his officers and men, and his death at such a critical time was a great misfortune. When General Strangways fell on the ridge, his horse got away in the confusion, but was afterwards recovered, and singularly enough, was untouched, not even the stirrup leather being cut. On going up to rejoin Lord Raglan, after the death of Strangways, I met Sir Edmund Lyons, Captain Drummond, and other naval officers on ponies, and conducted them, at their request, to the front. Subsequent to the events just sketched out, from which it will be apparent that our position was very critical, the battle still continued with unabated energy for several hours. The arrival of some French battalions and batteries under Generals Bosquet and Bourbaki, however, gave valuable support to our sorely pressed troops, and Lord Raglan, in his despatch of November 8, drew special attention 'to the brilliant conduct of the allied troops.' 'French and English,' he said, 'vied with each other in displaying their gallantry and manifesting their zealous devotion to duty, notwithstanding that they had to contend against an infinitely superior force, and were exposed for many hours to a very galling fire....' General Canrobert also joined Lord Raglan on the field, and was again slightly wounded. I remember his inquiring of me how many guns we had in action, and I replied: 'thirty-six, in addition to the two 18-pounders.' The Russian account, though not altogether correct, is worth perusal. It says: 'The battle had now attained its climax. Most of the English generals were _hors de combat_. The Britons, sadly reduced in numbers and exhausted by the struggle, defended themselves but faintly. More and more the fortunes of the day inclined to the Russians. It was about 11 o'clock when, on a sudden, the shrill tones of horns were heard above the rolling and rattling of the fire. The third act, the turning point of the battle, commenced. The French arrived. In the same proportion as the assurance of their timely aid revived the sinking spirits of the English, it discouraged the Russians, who felt themselves at once on the point of being deprived of the fruit of five hours' hard fighting.' About noon I was directed by Lord Raglan to go to General Codrington, whose brigade was on the other side of the Careening Bay ravine, to inquire how he was getting on, and whether he required assistance. Codrington's brigade, be it observed, was on the very ground up which it had been intended that Soimonoff should advance. I found his troops lying down, and temporarily out of action. General Codrington informed me that he had been occasionally attacked by Russian troops coming suddenly out of the ravine, but that he had driven them back, and that they were not in great force. As the fog was lifting he invited me to go with him some distance to the front, to try and gain a better general view of the Russian position. We did so, and looking across the ravine to Inkerman were able, for the first time, to see the great masses of the enemy. Whilst carefully observing their movements, the Russian batteries were seen to be retreating in _échelon_. Codrington looked at his watch--it was ten minutes to one. He then desired me to return forthwith to Lord Raglan and let him know what we had seen. On delivering the message to the Commander-in-Chief, and saying that the battle seemed coming to an end, his reply was: 'Yes, I believe so,' showing that he had already become aware of the commencement of the retreat. Lord Raglan's despatch, speaking of the latter part of the battle, said: 'Subsequently to this, the battle continued with unabated vigour and with no positive result, the enemy bringing upon our line, not only the fire of all their field batteries, but those in front of the works of the place, and the ship guns, till the afternoon, when the symptoms of giving way first became apparent; and shortly after, although the fire did not cease, the retreat became general, and heavy masses were observed retiring over the bridge of the Chernaya, and ascending the opposite heights, abandoning on the field of battle 5,000 or 6,000 dead and wounded, multitudes of the latter having already been carried off by them.' The Russian account says: 'Thus ended the battle, one of the most sanguinary on record, at 2 o'clock P.M., after lasting eight hours.' It attributed their defeat partly to the bravery and steadiness of the English and French troops, partly to the superiority of their arms, and finally to the wrong direction of Soimonoff. When it is considered that the English had only 8,000 infantry and 38 guns available for the defence of the position, and with this small force had to bear the brunt in all the earlier hours of the battle, it is not necessary to dwell on the courage and discipline of the officers and men; the facts speak for themselves. And the quotation I have given from Lord Raglan's despatch is sufficient proof of the timely support and great gallantry of our brave allies. The English losses were very serious: no less than eight generals and 2,614 officers and men were killed, wounded, or missing.[15] The names of the generals are as follows: {Sir George Cathcart Killed {Fox Strangways {Goldie {Sir George Brown {Adams, died of his wounds Wounded {Torrens, died of his wounds {Bentinck {Buller The losses of the Russians are computed to have been between 11,000 and 12,000. We also captured one gun-carriage and five ammunition carts, left on the heights. Our allies, the French, lost about 930 officers and men, killed and wounded. Late at night on the 5th I was sent for by Lord Raglan, who wished for information as to the supply of ammunition at Inkerman, in the event of a second attack. H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge was with him. I was able to give a satisfactory statement, and to inform him that Captain Gage, R.A., who had been sent during the battle down to Balaclava to bring up a large supply, both for infantry and artillery, had just returned, reporting that the mill, which was our magazine at the front, was amply stocked. It appears that Prince Menschikoff and two Russian Grand Dukes were present on the field of Inkerman during the day; and that reminds me of a curious incident which occurred in relation to one of them long years afterwards. A gunner of the Royal Artillery served throughout the war, and was wounded, receiving the Victoria Cross for his gallant conduct. Subsequently he served during the Indian mutiny, and was again wounded. After he was pensioned I was partially instrumental in obtaining for him an appointment in the Yeomen of the Guard. Being on one occasion on duty in one of the corridors of Buckingham Palace (at a State Ball, if I remember rightly), a foreign officer, who proved to be a Russian Grand Duke, came up, spoke to him, and examined his decorations. He asked him about his Victoria Cross, and then, seeing he had the Crimean medal and clasp for Inkerman, said: 'Were you at that battle?' 'Yes, sir,' was the reply. 'So was I,' said the Grand Duke. The old Yeoman, in telling me the story, said he thought he might be so bold, so he replied to the Grand Duke, 'Well, sir, if you was at Inkerman, I hope we may never meet again on so unpleasant an occasion.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 12: Lord Raglan's despatch, November 8, 1854.] [Footnote 13: Now Generals Sir C. Dickson and Sir C. D'Aguilar.] [Footnote 14: It is interesting to note that nearly forty years before this day Lord Raglan and Strangways, then both young men of twenty-six years of age, had been present at Waterloo, when both were severely wounded, Lord Raglan losing his right arm. The staff present were as follows: Sir John Burgoyne, Generals Estcourt, Strangways, and Airey; Colonels Steele, Paulet Somerset and the Hon. A. Gordon; Captains N. Kingscote, Lord Burghersh, Hon. L. Curzon, Hon. E. Gage, Wetherall, Stopford, Hon. S. Calthorpe, E. Gordon, and myself.] [Footnote 15: Eighty artillery horses were killed.] CHAPTER VII THE WINTER OF 1854 Whatever hopes or expectations might have been previously entertained as to the speedy fall of Sebastopol, the battle of Inkerman, at all events, utterly and rudely dispelled them. The facts were now plain enough--nearly 100,000 Russians were on the spot, with an almost unlimited supply of guns and ammunition to defend their city, whilst the allies had not much more than half the number of men; and their siege material was nearly worn out and its ammunition expended. The fortresses in the Mediterranean might in some degree help us to replenish our batteries, but there was no hope of efficient operations being renewed until the allied armies had been largely reinforced, both with men and material. Months must thus elapse, during which time the enemy would have leisure to strengthen their armaments and complete their defences. Thus the first attempt on Sebastopol had failed. But even these were by no means the worst features of the case. The allies had open trenches to maintain, and at the same moment a widely extended frontier to guard from attack. It is as well to pause for a moment and to consider the circumstances of the English army at the time. In the first place the force sent to the East had been raised with difficulty, was quite inadequate to the occasion, and was insufficiently provided with commissariat and transport. Mr. Sidney Herbert, Minister for War, said: 'The army in the East has been created by discounting the future. Every regiment at home or within reach, and not forming part of the army, has been robbed to complete it.' Again, it was entirely devoid of reserves. The House of Commons Committee of 1855 reported 'that the men sent to reinforce the army were recruits who had not yet become fit for foreign service. When the Duke of Newcastle acquainted Lord Raglan that he had 2,000 recruits to send him, he replied that those last sent were so young and unformed that they fell victims to disease, and were swept away like flies--he preferred to wait....' We must, however, go further. It will be remembered that the expedition proceeded to the Crimea at a late season, and after much sickness at Varna, in obedience to the orders of the Home Government--who apparently did not foresee the probability of a winter campaign with open trenches before a half-beleaguered city, and the inevitable hardships and losses which must ensue. For some time during the winter of 1854 the English army was diminishing from invaliding and casualties at the rate of 100 men a day. In short the winter was upon them, and standing on the bare plateau, with greatly diminished numbers, several miles from their base, and without proper food, shelter, or clothing, they must now be prepared to maintain their dangerous position. A consideration of these circumstances will enable us to form some idea of the difficult position of Lord Raglan at that time. He had, moreover, other anxieties pressing upon him--anxieties of divided councils, and of indecision in his French colleague--who, however brave as a soldier, allowed himself to be swayed and overborne by incessant and rash proposals from Paris, and even by subordinates on the spot. These latter facts were not generally known at the time, and the people of England were misled; but in proof of them I will shortly enter into some details, quoting official documents published afterwards. There is almost always an element of weakness in allied operations, but during the earlier part of the Crimean War they became more than usually apparent and mischievous. On the death of General Strangways, Colonel Dacres[16] succeeded to the command of the artillery, and one morning soon after, he waited on Lord Raglan, who, in his usual good-natured way, asked him how he was getting on. 'My Lord,' said Dacres, 'when a man has been twenty-one years a subaltern, he never can get on.' However, his turn came at last. At the beginning of 1855 he was only a Lieutenant-Colonel, but before the year was at an end he had been promoted to Colonel, Brigadier-General, Major-General, and Lieutenant-General, and had received the Order of the Bath, the Legion of Honour, the Medjidi, and an Italian order. The English army had hardly begun to realise the difficulties and sufferings it was destined to endure throughout the winter when an additional misfortune was caused by a terrific gale on November 14, during which no less than fifteen transports containing clothing, food, ammunition, forage, and other stores were sunk in the Black Sea. A large number of tents on the plateau were also blown down, and great misery ensued. Notwithstanding all our troubles, there were occasional incidents of an odd and amusing kind, which now and then helped to enliven us. Among others was one relating to a dead man, who came to life and appeared at Woolwich. Soon after our arrival before Sebastopol it was found that many men of the different regiments were unaccounted for, some having died on the march, others been carried on board ship sick, and some taken prisoners. Courts of Inquiry were held, and as regards the artillery the results sent home. Some time afterwards a letter was received from the Horse Guards that a Gunner Brown, who was reported as dead, had arrived at Woolwich, and an explanation was requested. The officer commanding the battery, in reply to the query, stated to the effect 'that Brown was an old comrade of his, that he had visited him when he was dying, and attended his funeral; therefore,' he said, 'I know he is dead, and am surprised to hear of his return to Woolwich, but am not responsible for his subsequent movements.' On December 26 I had the gratification of receiving a note from Lord Raglan of which the following is a copy: 'December 26, 1854. My dear Adye,--I have great satisfaction in announcing your promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, and that of Captains Fortescue, Gordon, and Gage to the rank of Major. Captains Paynter,[17] Wodehouse, Maude, Swinton, D'Aguilar, Brandling, Turner, Anderson, Morris, Hamley, Hoste, Yates, and Pennycuick have also got a step. A pretty Christmas box for you all. Pray accept my congratulations, and offer them to Captains Fortescue, Gordon, and Gage. Yours faithfully, Raglan.' The rations served out by the Commissariat during the winter of 1854 were not very varied or specially inviting, and consisted chiefly of lumps of salt beef or pork (with occasional fresh meat), ship's biscuits and rum, but no bread or milk. Luxuries of any kind were difficult to obtain at Balaclava, and were expensive. A ham cost two guineas, beer three shillings a bottle, and so on. Our chief difficulty, however, was fuel. There were several English travellers, called T.G.'s (travelling gentlemen), who paid the Crimea a visit during the winter. On one occasion I was asked if I would entertain one of these travellers at dinner, as the Headquarters' Farm was full and the accommodation limited, and of course consented. My friend turned out to be an old gentleman of position and large fortune, but of delicate health, and was accompanied by a valet. What induced him to come out at such a time is inexplicable. As my tent was rather larger than the others, the three or four officers of the Artillery Staff usually dined together in it. The table was a plank, and the seats chiefly empty boxes on end. As soon as our friend arrived, dinner was served, cooked, of course, in a hole in the open air, and consisted of a lump of salt pork, more or less boiled. It was soon apparent that the old gentleman was making a wretched effort, and I tried to encourage him with a glass of rum and some biscuit; but he said he had a poor appetite, which was evident. Presently he turned round to me and said, 'You won't be offended, will you?' I replied, 'Not in the least. What is it?' 'Well,' he said, 'I don't mind for myself, but I know my valet can't eat salt pork; if I were to give him a sovereign, do you think he could go to some place of refreshment near, and buy some food?' I assured him that there was nothing better to be had nearer than Constantinople, which was several hundred miles away. After that he collapsed, and left for England the next morning. The history of the siege for the next few months is a record of hardships and privations nobly borne. The officers and men of the naval brigade, the artillery and infantry, who had to take their turn of duty in the trenches for twenty-four hours at a time, were the chief sufferers; having to lie in muddy ditches and batteries, without shelter, with scanty clothing, and very indifferent food. There were officers and men, however, in all branches of the service who, in spite of hardships, went through the whole siege and never missed a tour of duty. In January 1855 the English sick list amounted to 13,000 men. The country was often deep in snow, and the road to Balaclava became almost impassable. Four fifths of the artillery horses died. Pending the arrival of wooden huts from England several officers dug holes in the ground, and by means of planks and tarpaulins obtained rather better shelter than was afforded by a tent. Among others, Colonel Wood, R.A.,[18] constructed a rough hut of the kind. He had brought out a French cook, whom he accommodated in the hut, living himself in a covered cart. On being asked his object in this arrangement, his reply was that if he could save the life of the cook, the latter in return would do the same for him by giving him good food, otherwise both would probably perish. His precaution proved successful. Warm clothing, in large quantities, was sent out from England, and as the weather began to hold up in February the condition of the troops gradually improved. In addition to Government supplies, many persons in England, deeply affected by the sufferings of the army, sent out bales of mitts, comforters, flannels, under-garments, and even plum puddings. Occasionally the distribution was somewhat embarrassing. For instance, on one occasion, in opening some parcels for the artillery, we found a warm pair of drawers ticketed, 'For the brave Jones in the trenches.' Who was the brave Jones? We also sometimes received curious letters and inquiries about artillerymen, of which the following is an example:--'To the Right Honourable Colonel, Commanding the 12th Battalion Royal Artillery, field of Battle, Crimea. Your Honour--Your Petitioner is extremely anxious to know if James Winch under your command is still alive, if otherwise, by sword or epidemic.' Subsequently to the great battle of November 5 it became evident that the English army, which was so rapidly diminishing in numbers, could not adequately guard the positions at Balaclava and on the heights, in addition to the hard work in the trenches. Consequently, the ridges and slopes of Inkerman were gradually occupied by a portion of the French army. The Russians, ever on the alert, came out in February, and established outworks near the harbour, beyond the Careening Bay ravine--known subsequently as the 'ouvrages blancs'--and it became necessary to dislodge them. The duty was undertaken by the French, and on the night of February 23, after a severe fight, in which they suffered considerable loss, the position was captured, but was not held, so that a few days afterwards it was again occupied and strengthened by the Russians; and it is important to bear in mind that no further attempt was made to dislodge them until after General Canrobert had resigned his command at the end of May. In fact, the Russians, who had received large reinforcements, became more bold and aggressive daily, and during March commenced and armed a formidable outwork on the Mamelon, considerably in advance of the Malakoff. Their night sorties against the trenches of the allies were both vigorous and frequent, with severe losses on all sides. It is computed that the Russian army in April amounted to nearly 150,000 men. The English batteries during the long severe winter only maintained a desultory fire on the city, waiting for fresh armaments; and as ammunition ran short we had frequently to obtain supplies from the navy for current use. I was sent on many occasions to Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons in connection with these details. On one occasion, on being shown into his cabin on board the flagship, he said: 'Colonel Adye, whenever I see your face it always reminds me of a 68-pounder shot.' I thought at first he meant that it was too round, or was wanting in expression, and began to explain that I was not altogether responsible; but he said it was not that, but whenever I came to see him I always wanted a fresh supply of 68-pounder shot. My reply was that he had exactly foreseen my request, and promised if he would meet our wishes they should be safely delivered the next day into Sebastopol. The argument convinced him, and he complied at once. _Flag of Truce._--The following extract from my journal refers to rather an interesting event. '23rd of March. Accompanied Lord Burghersh, A.D.C., with a flag of truce, by order of Lord Raglan. We first went to the advanced French trenches on the left, near the sea, hoisted a white flag, and sounded a bugle. In a few minutes firing ceased on both sides. We stepped over the parapet, advanced about 100 yards, and were met by the enemy's riflemen out of their pits. A Russian officer on horseback, with two orderlies, galloped out to meet us, dismounted, and the conversation was then carried on in French. We handed him some letters, clothes, and money for French and English officers who had been taken prisoners, also a letter for Madame Osten-Sacken from Lord Raglan. His letter enclosed one from the mother of the midshipman (Giffard) who was killed in the fight at Odessa. It appears that Madame Osten-Sacken had cut off a lock of the poor boy's hair, and had sent it to his mother, who sent a letter of thanks. We offered the Russian officer a cigar, which he declined, and we also asked him a few questions, but his manner was stiff, and he shortly remounted and rode off. We returned to the trenches; the white flag was pulled down, and firing re-commenced. The French soldiers were always cheerful and good-natured in their monotonous duties. Lord Burghersh, as we passed along through their trenches, heard two of them chatting. One, looking over the parapet, said to his comrade: "Alphonse, êtes-vous prêt?" "Oui, mon ami, toujours prêt." "Eh bien! Allons faire la guerre;" and then they both jumped up and fired away through the loop-holes at the Russians.' During the month of March strenuous efforts were made by the allies to prepare for a second bombardment, and, fresh armaments having arrived, it was decided to re-open with nearly 500 guns on April 9. It was, however, at this period that considerable hesitation and conflicting opinions became more or less evident at French Head Quarters. It was understood that the Emperor of the French would shortly arrive and take the command, and De Bazancourt, in his history of the campaign, states that General Canrobert received secret instructions which tied his hands. Their general scope was that the siege should be turned into a blockade, and a campaign undertaken in the interior of the Crimea.[19] The French army had about this time received large reinforcements, and was divided into two corps, one under Bosquet on the extreme right, the other under General Pélissier (who arrived in March) on the left; the English holding the centre of the position. The French strength was estimated at about 80,000 men. Omar Pasha also arrived in April with 20,000 Turkish troops. Great events were therefore anticipated. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 16: The late Field-Marshal Sir Richard Dacres, G.C.B.] [Footnote 17: These were all artillery officers.] [Footnote 18: The late General Sir David Wood, G.C.B., R.H.A.] [Footnote 19: The history of the Crimean campaign by the Baron de Bazancourt is often incorrect, and sometimes unjust as regards the British army, and is therefore not altogether to be relied on. But in his account of the French views and proposals he has more complete knowledge, and, in fact, usually quotes official documents, and I have therefore made some quotations from his work, especially as to this critical juncture.] CHAPTER VIII BOMBARDMENT OF APRIL On April 9 the second bombardment, for which such incessant preparations had been made during the winter, at length commenced, and was vigorously maintained for the following ten days; and although the Russians carried out numerous sorties, and were also unceasing each night in repairing their shattered batteries, still it became evident that the allies had achieved a virtual mastery and had laid open paths for a general assault. It was a momentous crisis. As regards the condition of Sebastopol at that time, Todleben, writing of the Bastion du Mât, said[20] 'that after having undergone a constant and violent bombardment, the work was in a desperate plight. Its artillery had been dismounted, its embrasures and its merlons almost entirely demolished, and a part of its salient had fallen in,' ... 'that they were constantly expecting to see the enemy take advantage of the critical state to which the bastion was reduced, and advance to the assault of the work.' He adds, that the French might have advanced to the assault of the bastion with an absolute certainty of success ... and that would have carried with it the fall of Sebastopol.' ... The allied armies were indeed in full expectation of being at length led to the assault, and the result was almost a foregone conclusion, but no order was issued and no decisive action taken. The real history of the case was not known at the time, but the accounts published by De Bazancourt in 1856, and confirmed long afterwards by Kinglake's account, have cleared up the mystery. De Bazancourt[21] said: 'La pensée d'une opération à l'extérieur planait toujours, on le voit, sur les décisions, et empêchait de tenter contre la place une action décisive. Les instructions secrètes du général Canrobert lui liaient les mains, à moins de force majeure.' Again, he quotes a despatch of Canrobert of April 24 as follows: 'Les officiers généraux des armes spéciales des deux armées, les chefs de nos deux corps d'armée, ont été unanimes pour céder dans cette circonstance aux cris de nos soldats français et anglais, demandant l'assaut. Lord Raglan partage fermement leur avis. J'ai pensé que mon devoir était de m'y joindre....' It seems remarkable, considering the unanimity which prevailed amongst the allied generals, and that the French Commander-in-Chief himself said he felt it his duty to join them, that no assault took place. Kinglake,[22] however, by means of French official documents brought to light after the fall of the Empire, proves that General Canrobert was in reality held back by instructions from Paris and by the influence of General Niel, and, in view of the expected arrival of the Emperor, would not join in a general assault. Lord Raglan had apparently been informed of the expected arrival of the Emperor Napoleon, which he considered ill-advised, but both he and the English Government were kept for some time in the dark as to the special instructions which fettered the action of General Canrobert. Various interviews took place towards the end of April between the two Commanders-in-Chief, and in my journal I find a remark as follows: 'Met Lord Raglan out riding; he invited me to dinner, but added: "Canrobert is coming to a Council of War at half-past six, so we shall be late." The Council did not break up till ten P.M.' Days thus passed away, and the allies were gradually losing the opportunity for which they had so long waited. In fact, the second bombardment of Sebastopol failed, from causes, however, very different from those which prevailed in the first. In October, 1854, our failure was due to want of power; in April, 1855, it was from want of will. Events, however, were hurrying on, and the crisis soon came. Towards the end of April the Emperor Napoleon[23] relinquished his intention of coming to the Crimea, but sent out his proposed plan of an external campaign, to which, however, Lord Raglan strongly objected.[24] Whilst matters thus drifted, and whilst the batteries of the allies were again becoming weak and their ammunition exhausted, a new actor appeared on the scene in the person of General Pélissier, who was commanding the French _corps d'armée_ on the left. Amongst other matters, he pointed out to Canrobert in clear and forcible language[25] that the Russians were establishing counter approaches in his front, and that he, and those under him, were fully convinced that the enemy's new position must be taken by a _coup de main_. He concluded: 'S'il m'était donner de décider, je n'hésiterais pas.' General Canrobert wavered, but at length accepted the responsibility, and the order for the attack was given for May 1. In my journal is a record as follows: 'Returned from Balaclava about 10 o'clock P.M. on the 1st of May and had an interview with Lord Raglan. Lord Stratford was there, when a message came that a severe battle was going on in front of the French trenches near the sea. We went off to a post of observation. The scene was striking. The sky was lit up with constant flashes--shells whizzing through the air; and amidst the incessant rattle of musketry could be heard the cheers of the troops as they stormed the works. It lasted four hours. Canrobert was with us, walking up and down, flourishing his stick and greatly excited. The result was that the French captured an outwork, and took eight mortars, and also five officers prisoners.' In addition to the many difficulties of Lord Raglan's position at this time, he was also much worried by receiving a notification that Lord Panmure was about to abolish the Master-General and Board of Ordnance, and to absorb their duties in the newly constructed War Department. Speaking to me one day, he deplored the change, and said that the Ordnance was one of the most efficient and economical departments of the State, and that a much greater man than himself, the late Duke of Wellington, was of the same opinion.[26] In the meantime, Lord Raglan, backed by the opinions of Admirals Bruat and Sir Edmund Lyons, strongly advocated a naval and military force being sent to Kertch at the entrance to the Sea of Azov, with a view of cutting the Russian communications and stopping their supplies; and the expedition, consisting of about 12,000 troops (one-fourth being English) started at the beginning of May. Hardly had it got out to sea than General Canrobert received an order by telegraph from Paris to concentrate all his troops for an external attack, and in consequence recalled the Kertch expedition, to the dismay, not only of Lord Raglan, but of the admirals and generals, and indeed of the officers and men of the allied fleets and armies.[27] Matters were evidently coming to a deadlock. On May 14 Lord Raglan, Canrobert, and Omar Pasha had a long and final consultation as to the proposal of the Emperor Napoleon, which was in effect to separate the allied forces into three armies acting independently--one to blockade Sebastopol, the second to storm the Mackenzie Heights, and the third to march to the centre of the Crimea. The scheme was rejected on the broad ground that it would render each separate force liable to attack and defeat in detail.[28] This decision brought affairs to a crisis, and on May 16 General Canrobert telegraphed to the Emperor resigning his command, partly on the plea of ill health, but chiefly because his recall of the Kertch expedition and the rejection of the Emperor's scheme had placed him in a false position.[29] General Canrobert's resignation was accepted, and by his own wish he resumed command of his old division. On May 19 General Pélissier was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the French army, and the situation was at once completely altered. Writing to Marshal Vaillant, Minister for War at Paris, he said: 'I have already seen Lord Raglan, and we are in complete accord; please ask the Emperor to give me liberty of action indispensable under the actual conditions of the war, and especially in view of the preservation of the intimate alliance of the two countries.' Efforts, however, were still made from Paris to regulate the strategy of the campaign, but they were virtually disregarded, and General Pélissier, acting with Lord Raglan, in the course of a few days carried out a series of important movements which put an end not only to the delays and disappointments that had so long trammelled the actions of the allies, but entirely altered the conditions of the campaign. The strength of the allies towards the end of May was approximately as follows: French 100,000 English 25,000 Sardinians 15,000 Turks 45,000 _May 18._--Accompanied Lord Raglan and La Marmora round the English trenches. The first movement by Pélissier was a renewed attack on the Russian counter approaches in front of the French left, on the night of May 23; and as, owing to the desperate nature of the fighting, the object was not fully accomplished he refused an armistice to bury the dead, and followed it up the following evening with complete success, and his troops then entrenched themselves in the captured cemetery. I accompanied Lord Raglan and Omar Pasha on the second night to the French post of observation. The losses on both sides were very severe, being computed at 2,303 on the part of the French, and at 3,081 of the Russians.[30] On May 25 General Canrobert was ordered to take up the line of the Chernaya, which he accomplished with ease and almost without loss. In this operation he was assisted by the Sardinians under La Marmora, who had arrived some days previously. I remember riding in the morning down to the Chernaya with Lord Raglan and his staff on the occasion. General Canrobert galloped up to meet him, in the highest spirits, and speaking in French said: 'My Lord, when I was a great man and Commander-in-Chief you used to come and visit me, and now when I am only commanding a division you again come to see me.' Lord Raglan, in reply, expressed his pleasure that Canrobert had gained so extended a position, and with such trifling loss. He afterwards joined General La Marmora, and made a reconnoissance towards Baidar, being altogether ten hours in the saddle. This movement in advance was of the greatest benefit to the allies, who, instead of being cooped up in a corner, had now ample space in a fertile valley, with plenty of grass, fuel, and fresh water at their disposal. On May 24 the expedition to Kertch re-embarked, and sailed the following day. It consisted of 7,000 French, 3,000 English, and 5,000 Turks, with 5 batteries of artillery, and was attended with complete success. Kertch and Yenikale were captured without loss, the Russians retreating, after destroying large depots of supplies, &c. A considerable number of guns were taken, the Sea of Azov was opened to our fleets, and the enemy's communications interrupted. Sir Edmund Lyons reported that in four days the squadron had destroyed 241 vessels employed in transporting provisions to the Crimea, besides four war steamers and six million rations of flour and corn.[31] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 20: Kinglake, vii. 192.] [Footnote 21: Bazancourt, ii. 239-242.] [Footnote 22: Kinglake, vii. 121.] [Footnote 23: Kinglake, vii. 245, and De Bazancourt, ii. 266.] [Footnote 24: De Bazancourt, ii. 266-274.] [Footnote 25: _Ibid._ ii. 252.] [Footnote 26: See also Clode's _Military Forces of the Crown_, ii. 237.] [Footnote 27: Kinglake, vii. 260-273.] [Footnote 28: Kinglake, vii. 287; also De Bazancourt, ii. 273-276.] [Footnote 29: _Ibid._ 278.] [Footnote 30: Kinglake, viii. 25.] [Footnote 31: Lord Raglan's despatch, June 2, 1855.] CHAPTER IX CAPTURE OF THE MAMELON AND QUARRIES--INTERVIEW WITH GENERAL PÉLISSIER The next combined action of the allied forces took place against the Mamelon, the _ouvrages blancs_, and the quarries in front of the Redan. As the capture of these important outworks involved not only a partial re-armament of the siege batteries and a renewal of their munitions, but also a careful consideration of engineer arrangements, some short delay necessarily followed before decisive action could be taken. Towards the end of May a meeting was arranged to take place at the French head quarters between the senior artillery and engineer officers of the two armies, with a view to discuss the various details. As General Dacres was temporarily absent, owing to illness, and had gone for a few days to Constantinople, Lord Raglan directed me to accompany General Harry Jones, the Commanding Engineer. The meeting took place in a hut, at 6 A.M. To my surprise General Pélissier came in and presided; and, instead of the conference being limited to officers of the special arms, the following were present: French Generals Martimprey, Niel, Bosquet, Trochu, Frossard, Beuret, and Thiry, and one or two more; General Jones and myself being the only English officers at the meeting. Major Claremont and Prince Polignac were also in the room, to act as interpreters if required. General Pélissier, in opening the proceedings, said it was decided that in a few days the French were to attack the Mamelon and other adjacent positions, whilst the English would seize the quarries in front of the Redan; and he invited those present to offer any remarks on details. A plan of Sebastopol was lying on the table for reference. General Niel began the discussion, stating that on an important occasion like the present it was necessary to take a general survey of the allied position and of the trenches, and he would begin with the left attack. Pélissier stopped him at once, and declined to enter into any such general considerations, saying that all he wanted was assistance as to details. He then took a ruler, laid it across the left attack, and said: 'L'attaque gauche n'existe plus.' General Niel under these circumstances abstained from taking any further part in the discussion. General Bosquet having made a few remarks as to the troops to be detailed for the assault of the Mamelon, in which the Zouaves were to occupy a conspicuous place, Pélissier objected to the arrangement, contending that the Zouaves were not the best troops--'Pourquoi toujours les Zouaves?' he added. He went on to say that these, however, were small questions of detail to be settled afterwards. He was evidently determined to assert his position as Commander-in-Chief, and told us that there were persons in France of the highest position (evidently alluding to the Emperor) who read history and studied campaigns, and then sent him out their ideas as to what should be done. He told us that he had written respectfully to the Minister for War that, so long as he commanded the French army in the field, he declined to carry out any plans except such as were arranged and concerted between Lord Raglan and himself. A few other officers offered some observations, and then Pélissier turned to General Harry Jones. Apparently he had some difficulty in pronouncing his name, and approximately addressed him as General Hairy-Joze.[32] The General--who, I found afterwards, was considerably ruffled by Pélissier's arbitrary language--speaking in somewhat moderate French, said that when the French were ready to take the Mamelon the British troops were prepared to storm and capture the quarries in front of the Redan, and then sat down. Pélissier at once expressed his pleasure at hearing the statement of General Hairy-Joze. The English, he added, were evidently waiting for their allies, and with that 'solidité' which so distinguished them would no doubt succeed in what they undertook. The day and hour of the attack were known only to Lord Raglan and himself, but they should not have long to wait. Pélissier ended by stating that the discussion had been very interesting (no one having practically spoken except himself), and then he wished us all good morning. Lord Raglan was much interested and amused when he heard of the interview, saying that had he known General Pélissier would be present he would have gone himself to listen to his lecture. It was known at the time that considerable differences existed between Pélissier and Niel. Years afterwards, in Kinglake's 'History of the Crimea,'[33] he quotes extracts of letters written at this time by General Niel to the Emperor Napoleon, and which evidently refer to the conference I have just described. In one General Niel says: 'At a meeting which took place yesterday he, General Pélissier, ordered me to be silent with a harshness not to be characterised.... We were in the presence of English officers.' Again, he writes to the Minister for War: 'Knowing nothing of what is going on, I abstain from all reflections. I asked leave to offer some observations on the state of the siege, and was told that it was not the time....' It must be borne in mind that the active measures which had been carried out by the allied generals during the latter part of May were by no means approved of in Paris, so much so that on June 5 Napoleon telegraphed to Pélissier as follows:[34] 'Je vous donne l'ordre positif, de ne point vous acharner au siège, avant d'avoir investi la place.' General Pélissier, however, entirely ignoring the veto, simply replied that he was in perfect accord with Lord Raglan, and was making final dispositions for the assault of the white redoubts, the Mamelon, and the quarries; and adds, that he should commence on the 7th and push on with the utmost vigour. And so he did. A few days later, in writing to Paris, he speaks of himself as being at the paralysing extremity of an electric wire.[35] Lord Panmure, the Minister for War, however, about this time informed Lord Raglan that the English and French Governments had arranged that no orders should be sent out as to operations, without mutual consent,[36] and it seems curious that so obvious and common-sense a plan had not been in force throughout. On the afternoon of June 6 the third great bombardment of Sebastopol commenced. My brother, Captain Mortimer Adye, R.A., was in command of an advanced battery in the trenches, and, the weather being hot, was fighting his guns in his shirt sleeves, when a shell from the enemy burst in the battery, exploding some loose gunpowder which was lying there, and burned him and two sergeants seriously; in fact, nearly blew them away. His face, neck, and arms were scorched, blackened, and blistered, and his flannel shirt smouldering. Some infantry soldiers, seeing his condition, threw some water over him, and he was then conveyed to camp; but some weeks elapsed before he was able to resume his duties. The fire of the allied batteries soon obtained a mastery, and the Mamelon especially was in ruins. Todleben, speaking of the bombardment, said that more terrific than all else was the fire of the English.[37] It was arranged that the assault of the Russian advanced works should take place shortly before sunset, and during the afternoon of the 7th the French columns, in the highest spirits, marched under cover and unobserved down the ravines in readiness. The signal was given about half-past six, and the French first attacked and occupied the _ouvrages blancs_, near the Careening Bay ravine, taking several hundred prisoners. They then assaulted the Mamelon, took it with great rapidity and comparative ease, and hoisted their flag on the work; but, led away by success, they impetuously, and contrary to the intention, followed the enemy even up to the glacis of the Malakoff. The Russians, however, came out in great force, and not only drove back the French columns, but followed them into the Mamelon and recaptured it, the French retreating down the slopes in disorder and with great loss. It was a critical moment, but Pélissier was equal to the occasion. Having large reserves in the adjoining ravine, he at once sent them forward and for a second time occupied the great outwork; and, darkness coming on, its entrenchments were turned during the night and the position firmly held. At the same time, whilst these serious battles were taking place, the English troops, consisting of part of the Light and Second Divisions, stormed the quarries in front of the Redan in the most brilliant manner; and although they were furiously attacked several times during the night by sorties from the Russian adjacent works, and suffered great loss, they resisted all efforts to dislodge them, and the next morning found them firmly established in comparatively close proximity to the Redan. The great energy and activity of the allies during the fortnight since Pélissier had been in command of the French army and in full accord with Lord Raglan had thus been attended with important results, not only on the Chernaya and at Kertch, but also in depriving the enemy of the outworks in front of the city which they had established during the previous winter. Within a day or two of the successful actions of June 7, another meeting took place of the senior artillery and engineer officers of the two armies, at which I was present with General Dacres. The subject considered had reference to the arrangements in the trenches necessary for the further prosecution of the siege. Opinions rather differed, some considering that in view of the recent success, and its moral effect on the Russians, a general assault should speedily follow. Colonel Frossard, a distinguished engineer of the French army, however, urged that as we were still at a distance of some hundred yards from the Malakoff and Redan we should continue to advance cautiously by means of sap and trench as heretofore. He pointed out that an assault from our present position would involve the carrying of scaling ladders and woolbags to fill the ditches, for a considerable distance in the open under heavy fire, and that under all the circumstances we might be liable to defeat in assaulting prematurely. General Dacres entirely concurred in the views of Colonel Frossard, and the event proved that their misgivings were justified. Some days passed away, during which time the batteries in the trenches were augmented and again prepared for a fresh effort, and it was finally decided that a general assault should be made on the Malakoff and Redan on June 18, to be preceded by a vigorous bombardment at daylight for two or three hours, so as to smash and silence the enemy's batteries and open a road for the attacking columns. It is important, however, to bear in mind that General Pélissier declined to make a simultaneous movement against the Bastion du Mât. A heavy fire was opened at daylight on June 17 from the English and French trenches, and continued throughout the day. In the evening Lord Raglan sent for me, and directed orders to be issued at once to all the batteries, that the renewed bombardment at daylight the next morning was not to be carried out. I ventured to remark that every preparation had been made, and that it would not only be a great disappointment to the navy and artillery, but it seemed to me that a concentrated fire for two or three hours on the points to be assaulted would produce a great effect. Lord Raglan replied that he entirely agreed with me, but, he added, it was useless to argue the question, as he had just received a message from General Pélissier altering previous arrangements, and saying that the French columns would attack at daylight.[38] The necessary orders were, of course, given. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 32: Soon afterwards, when he was knighted, he called him 'Sairey-Joze'! (Sir Harry Jones).] [Footnote 33: 'Extracts from French Official Documents,' Kinglake, viii. 32 and 88.] [Footnote 34: Kinglake, viii. 89-90.] [Footnote 35: _Ibid._ viii. 129.] [Footnote 36: _Ibid._ 236.] [Footnote 37: Kinglake, viii. 94.] [Footnote 38: See Lord Raglan's despatch, June 19, 1855. Also Kinglake, viii. 310.] CHAPTER X BATTLE OF JUNE 18 AND DEATH OF LORD RAGLAN The night of the 17th was passed in concentrating the allied forces destined for the great assault. Lord Raglan and his staff arrived in the English trenches shortly before daylight. Two important circumstances occurred at the very outset, both of bad omen for the allies. One, that the Russians by some means had become aware of, and were consequently prepared for, the attack; the other, that one of the French generals, under a mistaken idea that the signal had been given, led his troops to the assault prematurely, and before all was ready. It was, in fact, still dark, when the ground in front of the Malakoff became suddenly the scene of a terrific conflict, of which for some time it was not possible to form a judgment, or to forecast the result. As the day dawned it soon became apparent that the French were in difficulties, and were not within the Malakoff. Lord Raglan had always reserved to himself freedom of action as to the proper moment for ordering the advance of the English. As he wrote to Lord Panmure afterwards, he felt that there ought to be some hope of the French success before committing his troops.[39] However, when he observed the serious condition of affairs, and that his allies were in dire conflict and suffering great losses, but were still persisting in their attack on the dominating position of the Malakoff, he felt that it was impossible for the English troops to remain inactive, and therefore gave the requisite signal. Our troops, composed of parts of the Light, Second and Fourth Divisions, accompanied by a storming party of seamen carrying scaling ladders and of gunners with means for spiking guns, jumped from their cover and made straight for the Redan; but the whole ground was torn and swept with grape and musketry from the enemy's works, both in front and on the flanks, and our men, gallantly as they were led and bravely as they advanced, were quite unable to enter the work. Lord Raglan, when the advance commenced, desired his staff to sit down in the trench; but he and General Jones, R.E., stood up together, anxiously watching the event. In the midst of the carnage, General Jones was struck on the forehead with a glancing grape-shot, and for a moment as he fell back it was feared the wound was mortal. He was taken away for medical aid, but in a minute or two suddenly returned with the blood streaming down his face, being anxious to speak to the Commander-in-Chief on some point which he deemed important; and it was with difficulty that he could be induced to have his wound attended to. It was about this time that Captain William Peel, R.N., who had led the seamen with the scaling ladders, passed us on his return, wounded, together with a great many other officers and men. The battle continued for some time, but at length ended in the failure of the allies at every point, and Lord Raglan then directed the batteries to re-open fire, in order to cover the retreat and to hold in check the Russian forces. Soon after the termination of the various attacks, General Hugh Rose,[40] the British Commissioner at French head quarters, came to Lord Raglan with a message from General Pélissier, to ascertain his views on the situation. Lord Raglan said that in his opinion Pélissier had made two great mistakes--one, in attacking prematurely before a bombardment and the other that he had not simultaneously assaulted the Bastion du Mât. 'However,' he added, 'I will go myself and see him,' and he then left the trenches with General Harry Jones, who in the meantime had returned, having tied a handkerchief over his forehead, making light of his wound. The losses during the day were serious. Of the English--General Sir John Campbell was killed, with many other officers of rank, and our total casualties were 1,443. The French suffered far more, their losses amounting to no less than 3,500. In fact, during the month that General Pélissier had been in command of the French army it is estimated that their casualties in killed, wounded, and missing amounted to upwards of 12,000 officers and men. The failure of the great assault on Sebastopol on June 18 was undoubtedly the severest blow which the allies had received since their landing in the Crimea; and indeed it became difficult to forecast the future, as the activity, courage, and great resources of the Russians in men and material apparently rendered the capture of the city a somewhat remote and uncertain speculation. The British army were, however, destined in a few days to suffer another great misfortune, by the death of their beloved Commander-in-Chief on June 28. There is no doubt that the failure of the attack on Sebastopol, and the great losses on that eventful morning, had a serious effect upon Lord Raglan, following, as they did, on the accumulated anxieties of the previous months; so that his strong constitution at length gave way. Within a few hours of his death he happened to send for me on some matter of business, and then complained of illness and of great thirst; but he made light of it, and I had no idea that his condition was serious, or that it was destined to be my last interview with one with whom I had been so closely associated. It will be well to consider briefly some of the great events which had occurred during the period of his command, as illustrative of his conduct and character during the campaign. In the first place, it must always be remembered that we entered into a war against a great Power after a peace in Europe of nearly forty years, when we had with difficulty collected about 30,000 men for the purpose; and when even these were inadequately provided with commissariat and transport, and there were no reserves existent to replace casualties as they arose. Again, the order to proceed to the Crimea came from home, without any specific knowledge of the resources and preparations of the Russians; it was given at a late season, and when the troops were physically weak; and as the Government did not anticipate a winter campaign, no provision had been made to meet it. In view of these circumstances Marshal Saint-Arnaud, as I have shown, hesitated at the last moment. It is true that he was then very ill--in fact, a dying man--but this must have added greatly to Lord Raglan's responsibilities at a critical time. When the siege of Sebastopol commenced, the failure of the first bombardment was due in a measure to the weakness of the French siege train, and to the unfortunate explosion of some of their magazines. In the three great battles of Alma, Balaclava, and Inkerman, the English lost about 5,000 men, and as the winter came on, and found the allies with open trenches, it was evident not only that great sickness and suffering must ensue, but that our numbers and means were quite inadequate. In short, the English and French Governments entered into the war apparently under the impression that with a force of 60,000 men they could crush an empire, and that Sebastopol would fall by a _coup-de-main_. As regards the events which followed, I have quoted official documents which prove that General Canrobert, brave and good soldier as he was, still allowed himself to be constantly controlled and over-influenced by secret orders from Paris, which practically set at naught the plans of the allied generals and at last brought matters to a dead lock; and it is important to bear in mind also that, steadfast as Lord Raglan was in his opinions, yet so loyal was he to his colleague, and so magnanimous, that no word in his public despatches gave a hint of the enormous difficulties caused by the circumstance I have described. He submitted to great personal injustice, rather than say or do anything to weaken the _entente cordiale_ between the two Powers, or to attach blame to others. Again, when the allies landed in the Crimea their numbers were approximately equal, but, as the English had no reserves to replenish their rapidly diminishing ranks, the equality soon disappeared, and early in 1855 the French forces were at least three times greater than ours; and this disparity, whilst it gave increased authority to their views, must have tended to complicate Lord Raglan's position in council. There is another point to be noticed--namely, that all the commanders of the allied armies and fleets, French, Sardinian, and Turkish, entertained the highest opinion of the ability, high courage, and character of Lord Raglan. I had good means of knowing, and believe there was no difference of opinion on the subject. General Canrobert always expressed these views, and indeed was anxious that Lord Raglan should be appointed to command all the allied forces. Pélissier, from the day he assumed command of the French army, was in complete accord with him, and so stated over and over again. Lord Lyons, I remember well, after the war told me that it was the proudest boast of his life that he should have been closely associated with Lord Raglan, during all the exceptional difficulties and dangers of his position. I have recapitulated these points because they were by no means known to the people of England at the time; in fact, it was not until years afterwards, on the fall of the Empire, and by the publication of the French despatches, that many of the circumstances were brought to light. Finally, Lord Raglan, during all these months of incessant and harassing anxiety, had to bear a trial even greater than those I have attempted to describe. The English Press at home, and their correspondents in the Crimea, day after day continued to criticise his conduct, and to misrepresent his character in violent and unmeasured terms; describing him as indifferent, incompetent, and unfit for command; and attributing to his supposed incapacity and want of foresight the sufferings of the troops and the delays of the campaign, whilst during the whole time the facts were all the other way. Having been closely associated with Lord Raglan, and knowing a good deal of the circumstances, I feel it a matter of common justice to defend the memory of a great and distinguished man, the close of whose life was embittered by the feeling that the Government at home would not defend him, and that the people, grossly misled as they were, had withdrawn from him their confidence. One day, not long before his death, in conversation with him I expressed a hope that he would soon return to England, and have the opportunity of defending himself against the unjust attacks of which he was the object, when he replied--smiling, perhaps, rather bitterly--'Return home? I shall never return home. Why, I should be stoned to death before I could get to Stanhope Street.' But there is a still more important aspect of the case than the personal one. It is a great injury to the public service that a Commander-in-Chief in the field, surrounded, as he must be, by constant difficulties and anxieties, should be thus misjudged by violent and erroneous statements, and be attacked behind his back at a time when from absence, want of leisure, and from the nature of his position he is unable to reply. I must add that in almost every campaign in which I have borne a part, the same tendency to hasty criticism has been more or less observable, and always at moments when the people at home, being naturally anxious, are all the more susceptible and easily misled. The death of Lord Raglan tended, no doubt, to diminish the influence of England in the councils of the war at a critical period of the campaign, and the _entente cordiale_ between the generals of the allied armies which his influence and high character had done so much to maintain, gradually weakened. It was in every sense a calamity. The appointment, however, of General Simpson as his successor at all events prevented any divergence of opinion as regarded the immediate operations against Sebastopol. General Pélissier and himself were in entire accord that the Malakoff was the dominant feature of the situation; and although other parts of the enceinte, such as the Great and Little Redans and the Bastion du Mât, could not be left out of account, still in the final assault the attacks on these points would not necessarily lead to the fall of the place, and would, therefore, be subsidiary diversions, as it were, to the capture of the central position. In one of his first despatches General Simpson said that 'we were repairing and improving our works, to be in readiness to co-operate with the French, when their approaches towards the Malakoff shall be completed.' The opinion given at the beginning of the siege by Sir John Burgoyne, that 'the great tower was the key of the whole position,' had at length become the axiom of all.[41] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 39: See Lord Raglan's despatch, June 19, 1855. Also Kinglake, viii. 161.] [Footnote 40: Afterwards Field Marshal Lord Strathnairn.] [Footnote 41: General Pélissier, in his despatch of September 11 on the fall of Sebastopol, specially says that the Malakoff was the key of the defences, and that the other attacks were subordinate.] CHAPTER XI. BATTLE OF CHERNAYA AND THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL. During the month of July and the early part of August the allies were occupied in pushing on their trenches, in obtaining fresh armaments and munitions, and adding to their batteries. About this time I was present at several interesting councils connected with these preparations, and partly with the consideration of suggestions from home. In my journal is a record as follows:-- First Conference, August 3, 1855. Present: Generals Pélissier, Simpson, Niel, Thiry, Barnard, Airey, Sir H. Jones;[42] Colonels Dupuis, Steele, and Adye. Subject: 'Whether, in case the town should not fall before the winter, it may not be necessary to raise the siege?' General Pélissier refused to entertain the idea, and the meeting broke up unsatisfactorily. The conference took place at the English head quarters, and during the discussion one of the French generals having made some remarks as to the great losses daily in the trenches, General Pélissier turned to him and said, 'Did you ever hear of a war without losses? We are not here to make war _à la_ Monsieur Cobden!' After the meeting, in passing through General Simpson's room, Pélissier took up a book, and asked me what was the inscription on its cover. It was a Bible, and I told him the words were 'Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge.' He laughed, and said it was a good society, but whether he was a subscriber I do not know. Second Conference, August 5. Present: Artillery and engineer officers of both armies only. Subject considered: 'A telegraphic despatch from England, Can the town be destroyed? Can it be taken? What will you do next?' Answer: No amount of fire, both vertical and horizontal, would destroy the town--that is to say, the forts, docks, basins, and all that give importance to Sebastopol. Answer to second question: This question is one for the Commanders-in-Chief to decide. The meeting stated the general condition of the trenches for their information. The third question was also for the Generals-in-Chief. Third Conference, August 7. 'Two hundred mortars being expected from France and England, can the town be destroyed by this means and an assault obviated?' Answer: No. Fourth Conference, August 14. The French state that their batteries on the Mamelon and Careening Bay are ready to open. Proposed, therefore, that we open on the 17th all round, and then push forward our approaches. In the meantime, and before the final preparations for the assault of Sebastopol were quite complete, the Russians determined to make one more effort to raise the siege by an attack on the position of the allies on the Chernaya. It was a desperate movement on their part. In the first place, the Fedhukine heights were held by 18,000 French troops with 48 guns, and the Sardinians on the hills to their right near Tchergoum were 9,000 strong with 36 guns, and in rear were 10,000 Turks in reserve. The heights themselves, which were well adapted for defence, had been strengthened by entrenchments, and the river Chernaya, as well as a narrow canal, acted as wet ditches along the front, and rendered an assault very difficult. It so happened also that a few days before the battle the allied generals had received information through spies of the intentions of the enemy, and were therefore fully prepared. On August 12 I was sent to Balaclava to call upon General La Marmora, who wished that some English guns should be placed at his disposal, and by his invitation rode with him to the heights occupied by the Sardinian army, and received his directions as to the position to be taken up by the battery in the event of an assault. At daylight on August 16 the Russians advanced with great courage to the attack. General Pélissier, in his General Order to the French army on the following day, estimated the forces of the Russians as being 60,000 strong, with a numerous artillery and considerable masses of cavalry. Notwithstanding all the obstacles, the enemy succeeded in temporarily capturing the _tête-du-pont_, and in advancing for a considerable distance up the heights; but, after five hours' fighting, were ultimately driven back and defeated all along the line, losing more than 6,000 men, some of whom were drowned, and leaving 2,200 wounded and prisoners behind. General Pélissier specially alluded to the good service rendered by the English heavy battery, which took part in the action in co-operation with the Sardinians. C troop Horse Artillery was also present towards the close of the battle. On the following day the allies commenced another bombardment, and in three days alone threw 10,000 shells from mortars into the doomed city, independently of the fire from the heavy guns. The batteries of the Malakoff and Redan were reduced to ruins and were almost silent. The end was approaching. The English artillery at this time, having been largely reinforced, were about 7,000 strong, and, in addition to 200 pieces of ordnance in the trenches, they had 92 guns horsed and ready for the field. Under cover of this great bombardment, work in the trenches was actively carried on, and the French approached close to the counter scarps of the Malakoff. Their losses, however, were reckoned at 100 daily. In view of the crisis which was at hand, the Russians, towards the end of August, constructed a bridge of rafts across the harbour; an evident symptom of a possible withdrawal of the garrison and surrender of the city. At the beginning of September a final meeting of the French and English officers of artillery and engineers took place, and a careful memorandum was then drawn up for the consideration of the Commanders-in-Chief. After recapitulating the general condition of the trenches, and pointing out that the French were within twenty-five yards of the place, they recommended that the whole of the batteries should re-open at once and maintain a vigorous fire for three days, and that the assault should then be given without delay; the Malakoff to be first attacked and captured, and then the Great and Little Redans, and the works near the Bastion du Mât, so as to divide the Russian forces as much as possible.[43] The end had come at last. On September 5 the bombardment re-commenced, and the Russians were speedily driven to seek refuge in their numerous underground shelters, in the midst of crumbling ruins and dismantled batteries. On the morning of the 8th the troops of the allies marched quietly down to their allotted positions; and at noon, all being ready, General Mac Mahon led his division straight to the Malakoff, and in a few minutes entered it and hoisted the tricolor. This was the preconcerted signal, and then the other columns also rushed to the assault. On the extreme right, the French in great force attacked the Little Redan and works near the harbour, but, after a prolonged struggle and heavy losses, failed to maintain their ground. The English troops, composed of parts of the Light and Second Divisions and accompanied by a ladder and spiking party, advanced on the salient of the Great Redan, entered the work, and held it for some time. The interior of the work, however, was swept by the fire of artillery and infantry in rear, and they were ultimately forced back with great loss. At the same time, far away on the left, the Bastions Centrale and Du Mât were stormed by French columns, but also without success--in fact, the three subordinate assaults on the city all failed. Mac Mahon, however, having once gained possession of the redoubt surrounding the old Malakoff tower, held it in spite of the furious efforts of the Russians for hours to drive him out. As one cause of the failure of the subsidiary attacks, it is as well to point out that they were all open works, swept by batteries and interior entrenchments; whilst, on the other hand, the ground round the Malakoff had been converted by the Russians into a closed redoubt which, whilst it may, at the outset, have added to the difficulties of its capture, still, when once taken, gave the French under Mac Mahon the advantage of comparative shelter. The losses on all sides were very severe, and were as follows: French 7,567 English 2,271 Russians 12,913 ------ 22,751 Thus ended, after a siege of eleven months, the series of battles in front of Sebastopol. The Russians, aware that their position on the south side was no longer tenable, during the night set fire to the city, exploded their magazines, sunk their fleet, and, having withdrawn the garrison by means of the floating bridge across the harbour, then destroyed it, leaving their arsenal, docks, and large remaining supplies of guns and stores in the hands of the allies. As Pélissier said in his order of the day, 'Le boulevard de la Puissance Russe dans la Mer Noir n'existe plus.' In the afternoon of the 9th Fort Paul blew up with a great explosion, and then all was still. What a comfort it was, after months of incessant anxiety, that the uproar had for a time ceased, and that there was nothing to do! During the next few days we buried the dead, wandered about the desolate city, took stock of the armaments and reserves, and were occasionally shelled by the enemy at long range from the north side of the harbour. One large hospital which I visited presented a dreadful spectacle. There were hundreds of dead bodies of Russians lying in the beds; of men who had been wounded before the retreat, and then left at the last to die unheeded and alone. In a few of the beds were found wounded men still living! With the fall of Sebastopol the Crimean war had virtually reached its termination, although several months elapsed before this was recognised. The Emperor of the French still hankered after a campaign in the interior; but the season was late, and the corner occupied by the allied armies formed a bad base for operations in the field. Marshal Pélissier, obstinate and determined as ever, would have none of it, and wrote to Paris: 'Thank God! it is not difficulties which frighten me.... But here the situation is not the same. I see the obstacles, but I do not perceive the success, nor even the hope of it. I should be perplexed to form a plan of campaign, still more to carry it out.' In short, the fall of Sebastopol had destroyed the power of Russia in the Black Sea; and therefore the occupation of the Crimea, whilst it would entail great losses and considerable risk, would be of no special value. The two allied Commanders-in-Chief, Simpson and Pélissier, were men of very different character and also of general appearance. The one was a tall, thin Scotchman; the other a short, stout, thick-set Norman. The first time they met after the capture of the city, Pélissier rushed up to the English general and embraced him with great fervour, having almost to climb up to reach his cheek. The English staff were amused at this demonstration, and said to Simpson, 'Why General, Pélissier kissed you!' And his reply, with a strong national dialect, was: 'Well, it was a great occasion, and I could na' resist him.' As there was nothing specially to be done--at all events, until the English and French Governments had made up what they were pleased to call their minds as to future operations--I was fortunate enough in November to obtain a few weeks' leave, and went off to Malta for a holiday. On arriving at Constantinople I embarked in a small store steamer, in which there was only one passenger besides myself--a private soldier on his way to England. So, we talked of the war, and on my asking who had ordered him home, he replied: 'The Minister for War, sir.' On my asking why, he said, 'I'm in charge of his brother, sir.' This seemed rather incomprehensible, so I added, 'Where is his brother?' 'Sure, he's in the hold, sir.' This bewildered me still more; but it appeared that the soldier had been present at the funeral of Colonel the Honourable Lauderdale Maule, who died of cholera at Varna just before we left in the autumn of 1854, and had been sent to exhume the body and bring it to England at the request of his brother, Lord Panmure. When I returned to the Crimea at the end of the year, although active operations were necessarily suspended for the winter, we were busily occupied in blowing up the docks, forts, and barracks, and in carrying off the Russian guns out of the arsenal (about 2,000 in number) and thus completing the destruction of Sebastopol. Preparations were also being made for a renewal of hostilities in the spring in some other part of the Russian Empire. But in reality a change was coming over the scene, and, instead of action, reaction had set in. In the first place, France was tired of the war. Her finances were exhausted and her troops anxious to return home. On the other hand, Russia also was crippled, both as to men and means. England, so tardy at the outset and so unprepared, was indeed the only Power which apparently had the will or vigour left to continue the contest. Our troops during the second winter were well clothed, housed, and fed, and as healthy as at home; and their numbers were daily increasing. At the beginning of 1856 we had upwards of 50,000 men and 96 field guns in the Crimea, with considerable reserves both at Malta and in England. The administrative departments, also, were becoming models of efficiency; and the transport branch, which hardly existed at the outset, had no less than 28,000 animals collected and ready for the field. In the meantime the Turkish contingent had occupied Kertch and Enikale, at the entrance to the Sea of Azov; and in January 1856 I was sent by Sir William Codrington (who had succeeded Sir James Simpson as Commander-in-Chief) on a mission to General Vivian in command of the troops there. A French officer accompanied me, and we were conveyed in H.M.S. 'Stromboli,' our instructions being, in the first place, to make a rapid survey along the coast of the Crimea in order to ascertain if the Bay of Kaffa, or its neighbourhood, were fortified and held in strength by the Russians; and, if not, whether it offered facilities for landing. On arrival at Kertch, we were directed to confer with General Vivian as to the defences and to inquire whether he desired reinforcements or assistance of any kind, naval or military, and then to return forthwith to Sebastopol. The fact was, that information had been received that Kertch was shortly to be attacked by the Russians in force, and the Commander-in-Chief was desirous of ascertaining General Vivian's views on the position. I remember when handing him the letter from Sir William Codrington, he confirmed the rumour of the expected attack, and as to holding out said, 'I can tell you at once; I shall be able to hold out for about five-and-twenty minutes.' He did not, of course, intend his words to be taken literally, but explained that in his opinion the place was not tenable against a powerful assault. Extensive earthworks had been constructed and armed on some of the heights; but they were commanded by others, and there was an entire deficiency of water in the outlying forts. However, after remaining a few days at Kertch, information was received of the probabilities of peace, and in February the representatives of the allied powers having met at Paris, towards the end of March an armistice was proclaimed, and the war came to an end. So ended the great Crimea campaign, of which my narrative necessarily gives but a short and imperfect sketch. To the present generation it is now a mere matter of history, and few remain of all those who took part in a contest which, at the time, so deeply affected the people of this country, and, indeed, of the whole of Europe. The long siege, with its battles, vicissitudes, and sufferings, forms, however, a remarkable page in the annals of war. Of my own corps, 13 officers were killed[44] and 29 wounded. Altogether, no less than 10,508 officers and men of the Royal Artillery served during the campaign, of whom 1,520 died, either killed in action or from wounds and sickness. Many weeks elapsed before the allied armies had altogether quitted the Crimea; and in the meantime we wandered about and formed acquaintances with the Russians, who were always civil and good-natured. At the end of the harbour of Sebastopol were extensive marshes, filled with frogs, which kept up an incessant croaking. The French soldiers were in the habit of catching and eating them in large quantities, but the English despised such food. It was said that the frogs, after a time, learnt to distinguish between the two nations, and that when our men appeared in their _red_ coats the frogs chirped away merrily, but when they saw soldiers in _red_ trousers approaching, down they went, and remained perfectly mute till the danger had passed away. _Se non è vero, è ben trovato._ I did not leave the Crimea until June, and then embarked with a battery of Horse Artillery for home. The weather was beautiful, and, after passing through the Bosphorus and Dardanelles, we were steaming along past the Greek Islands when my servant one morning came into the cabin and said I had better get up. As it was only just daylight I did not take the hint. Presently, however, he looked in again, repeating his suggestion. On my asking why he disturbed me at such an early hour, he replied: 'I beg your pardon, sir, but the ship is on fire!' This altered the situation; I lost no time in jumping into my clothes, went on deck, where I perceived smoke coming up through the hatch-ways. Going on to the bridge I inquired of the captain, who informed me that the fire was in the powder magazine! It seems that having all the ammunition boxes and stores of a battery of Horse Artillery on board, the ordinary magazine was insufficient, and a temporary arrangement had been made on the lower deck. It is supposed that by some accident a box of lucifer matches had ignited, and set fire to the whole concern. Captain Dyneley, R.H.A., with a few men at once went below, and passing down buckets of water the fire was gradually extinguished, the boxes hauled up and laid on deck, several of them considerably burnt. It was a critical half-hour, but nothing could be more quiet and steady than the conduct of all on board. In the midst of our trouble the 'Charlemagne,' a French line-of-battle ship, came up close to us, crammed with troops, and offered help. We, however, explained that we had plenty of men on board, and in a short time we were able to say that all danger was at an end, and separated with three cheers from both vessels. That was my last adventure connected with the Crimean war. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 42: General Dacres was at Constantinople sick.] [Footnote 43: General Simpson's despatch of September 9, 1855, specially alludes to this report, which, he says, was agreed to and acted on.] [Footnote 44: Names of artillery officers killed: Brig.-General Strangways, Major Townsend; Captains Oldfield, Fitzroy, Childers, Dew, A. Gordon, and Snow; Lieutenants Cockerell, Walsham, Luce, Mitchell, and Asst.-Commissary Hayter.] CHAPTER XII THE INDIAN MUTINY In the early part of 1857 I was stationed at Cork Harbour in command of a few men on Spike Island, a period of tranquillity after all the anxieties of the great Crimean war. The tranquillity, however, was not destined to last very long. One day towards the end of May I crossed the harbour to call on a gentleman in the neighbourhood who had just returned from Cork, and on my asking if there was any news, he said that a remarkable telegram had been received from India that a native regiment at Meerut had killed its English officers and was marching on Delhi. That was the first news of the great Mutiny. It also stated that the natives in parts of India were passing chew-patties from village to village. What was a chew-patty? Nobody could tell us. It turned out to be a sort of pancake; but why the natives should specially pass round pancakes, and presumably eat them, as a signal of rebellion no one could explain. Week after week the news became more serious, and troops of all arms were sent off in large numbers round the Cape. Towards the end of July, being in London, I received information that the Duke of Cambridge had appointed me Assistant Adjutant-General of the batteries of Royal Artillery, then on their voyage; and about the middle of August I left _viâ_ Egypt. There was, of course, no Suez canal in those days, and the railway from Alexandria only went as far as Cairo. Generals Dupuis and Windham, and many other officers, were of the party; and from Cairo we had to cross the desert (about ninety miles) in uncomfortable carriages like bathing machines. There was no steamer at Suez, and we were detained a week at that dismal village of the desert, receiving occasional news that matters were becoming worse and worse in India. The only hotel was crowded with English officers, with little to eat and not a drop of water except what was brought in skins on camels from the Nile, nearly 100 miles away. At last, however, the 'Bentinck' arrived, carried us slowly down the Red Sea, with the thermometer at 96 degrees; in a week we were at Aden, thermometer still rising, and ten days afterwards at Galle. At Madras we heard of the fall of Delhi, and on October 5 our long voyage in the 'Bentinck' came to an end, and we steamed up the Hoogly to Calcutta. Several years afterwards, when inspecting the defences of the river with Sir William Mansfield, the Commander-in-Chief, we came across the wreck of the 'Bentinck' lying in a field at some distance from shore, and found that a short time previously she had been caught by a tidal wave called 'a great bore,' and was thrown up high and dry in the field. In the course of my career I have occasionally met a great bore, but never to be so completely stranded as was the case with the old steamer. Matters were in a somewhat critical condition on our arrival at Calcutta, for although the fall of Delhi had given a severe blow to the mutineers, still we had no force of much strength to take the field; and the garrison of Lucknow under Outram and Havelock, with many women and children, were entirely surrounded, mere scraps of intelligence only arriving from them occasionally. I had several interviews with Sir Colin Campbell, who was very anxious to collect a sufficient force for the relief of Lucknow. During October troops of all arms arrived in quick succession after a three months' voyage round the Cape, but the great difficulty was transport. The railway extended to Raneegunge, 120 miles up country, but beyond that point our means only enabled us to push forward about 100 men a day, either in bullock carts or by march. Another difficulty was the provision of horses for the artillery. In fact, the whole of Central India from Delhi to Lucknow was practically in the possession of the mutineers, who fortunately had no generals to lead them, and were content for the most part to hover about and pillage as they could. Slowly, however, as our forces in a long thin line marched upwards towards Allahabad and Cawnpore, the tide began to turn, and on October 27 the Commander-in-Chief left Calcutta for the North. The general conditions of the Mutiny campaign formed, indeed, a striking contrast to those of the Crimean war. In the latter case, the allied armies--English, French, Sardinian, and Turkish--amounting to nearly 200,000 men, had been virtually shut up in a corner, and compelled to fight a series of battles on the same ground, in order to gain possession of the Russian stronghold. In the present instance the circumstances were all the other way. A vast continent was in a great measure over-run, and its munitions and military stores were temporarily in the hands of a great mutinous army, more or less in sympathy with the inhabitants; whilst the English troops in small scattered detachments, often hundreds of miles apart, were fighting a succession of battles, with their communications precarious, and for the moment without the power of concentration. To a stranger landing in India for the first time, knowing nothing of the language or the customs of the people, more especially in the middle of a revolution, there were many minor personal perplexities, especially about servants. Their very titles were embarrassing. Bearers, kitmagars, dhobies, durzees, bheesties, chuprassies, punkah-wallahs, hookahbadars, syces, and others. What were their duties? That was the point. Because in India, as we soon found, one man will only do his own mite of work, and scorns the idea of making himself generally useful. Any attempt to enlarge the sphere of their duties would lead, so we were told, to loss of caste. There were, of course, exceptional cases, such as that of the native servant who, on being asked by a new-comer as to his caste, replied, 'Same caste as master, drink brandy sahib.' Owing to the great influx of officers from home, all in a hurry to be off, servants were especially difficult to find. I was fortunate enough to get an old fellow whose name was Buktum Hassan to take care of me. He could not speak a word of English, and slept away his time on a mat outside my door. I believe he was a bearer, and a Hindoo, but he would not come near me at dinner time. Subsequently I procured another servant, who condescended to wait on me at dinner, but I was cautioned not on any account to eat ham in his presence. Curry and rice he did not object to. Two Sepoys, also, were appropriated for my service as orderlies. They were tall, dark, spare men, and all day waited patiently in the corridor in uniform, strictly buttoned up, with belts and boots. The first evening they said something, which being interpreted was that they wished to go home: they then proceeded to take off all their clothes, except a loin cloth, made them up into a bundle, and leaving them in a corner of my room, marched happily away. The greater portion of the batteries from England having arrived, General Dupuis and his staff followed the Commander-in-Chief up country on November 12. The journey to Benares occupied five days, and from Raneegunge we were conveyed in dawk gharries about eighty miles a day, passing on the road every few hours detachments of troops of all arms, hurrying forward, some in bullock carts, some on the march. Portions of the road, especially near the river Soane, were unsafe from the vicinity of straggling parties of mutineers, and we had to be protected occasionally by an escort. Remaining a few hours in a bungalow outside Benares, we found time to pay a hurried visit to this celebrated city. As an instance of the precarious nature of our long line of communications, it may be mentioned that although its inhabitants were in a restless, disaffected condition, the garrison only consisted of a weak company of infantry and two field guns. On the morning after our arrival I was informed that 'the elephant was at the door,' in readiness to take us into the city. It had no howdah, so we climbed up and sat on a large stuffed mattress. The environs consisted of tombs, temples, ruins, mosques, and gardens. The streets were crammed with people, and with little Brahminy bulls wandering about; in some parts the elephant was too wide for the narrow, tortuous passages, so that we had to dismount and walk. In one Hindoo temple which we visited, a fanatic, or possibly a lunatic, was seated in a niche. He was quite naked and covered with dust, but, oddly enough, had a fuschia flower lying on the top of his shaven head. He sat perfectly mute and still, and took no apparent notice of anybody, so that it was impossible to ascertain what object he expected to accomplish by so sedentary and monotonous an existence. We were rather a large party at the hotel bungalow, some being officers newly arrived and others who had served for years in the country, and who were very good natured in giving us information. Colonel David Wood, of the Horse Artillery, was one of the newcomers, and had a habit occasionally of assuming ignorance on minor points which perhaps was not always genuine. During dinner he turned gravely to one of the old Indian officers and said, 'Can you tell me, what is a dhobie?' They all laughed, and it was explained that a dhobie was a man who washed your clothes. Wood, still quite grave, said: 'Oh, that accounts for the difficulty. I told mine to clean my horse, and he refused. I will discharge him tomorrow.' The old Indian officer, however, assured him that a dhobie was absolutely necessary. Wood replied that he never required washing on active service. 'You must surely have your shirts washed,' was the rejoinder. 'Not at all,' said Wood. 'I always wear a flannel shirt in the field, and as soon as it gets dirty or worn out I throw it away and put on another.' CHAPTER XIII THE BATTLES AT CAWNPORE On November 19 we reached Allahabad, an interesting old fortress at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna; but important events were taking place, and we hurried on and reached Cawnpore on the 21st. On our arrival we found that Sir Colin Campbell, with nearly all the troops available, had left a few days previously for Lucknow, and that serious fighting had taken place there on the 16th and 17th; but the communications were subsequently interrupted by the mutineers in Oude, and for some days no further information could be obtained as to the progress of affairs. It was a critical period of the campaign. As already explained, the garrison of Lucknow, with many women and children, fifty miles distant, had been entirely shut up and surrounded by multitudes of mutineers for weeks past, and was running short of provisions, so that its relief had become a very urgent necessity. On the other hand, the great bulk of our troops, anxious as they were to reach the scene, owing to want of means of rapid conveyance, were still moving up in driblets along the 600 miles of road from Calcutta to Cawnpore. So that when the Commander-in-Chief had crossed the Ganges on his adventurous march to Lucknow, he was only able to take with him about 6,000 infantry and a moderate force of cavalry and artillery. But that was not all. Cawnpore, his only base, was in a precarious, defenceless condition, and when Sir Colin had left and placed Windham in command of it, there were only 450 infantry remaining for its protection. The defences of Cawnpore were insignificant. A small incomplete earthwork had been made on the bank of the river with a view to protect the bridge of boats, and lying all round it were the ruins of burnt bungalows and a general scene of confusion and desolation; and beyond again, at a few hundred yards, stood the large city, composed, as usual, of a wilderness of narrow tortuous streets, and devoid of any external defences. So that it was not a favourable position to hold, even had a considerable force been available. The difficulties and dangers of the situation were indeed obvious. No sooner had the Commander-in-Chief crossed the Ganges and marched in one direction, than the Gwalior contingent--a well trained force which, joined by other mutineers, amounted to about 25,000 men--with a powerful artillery of 40 guns, field and heavy, was reported as advancing in several columns from Calpee forty-six miles distant on the other side. The instructions given to General Windham were as follows. The force at his command for the time was estimated at about 500 men; and the detachments of troops as they arrived up country were to be sent on to Sir Colin Campbell at Lucknow. Windham was directed to strengthen the entrenchment, and also to watch carefully the movements of the Gwalior contingent; and should it indicate an intention of advancing, he was to make as great a show as possible by encamping his small detachments conspicuously outside the city, leaving a guard in the earthwork. If he should be seriously threatened, he was to communicate with the Commander-in-Chief as to detaining some of the troops arriving, to assist in the defence. From a military point of view, it is evident that, whilst Sir Colin's position was somewhat critical, that of Windham was far more so. The general, however, lost no time in carrying out his orders. The entrenchment was extended and strengthened with a few guns, and its glacis cleared. The troops were encamped outside; but whether this rather transparent artifice would have much moral effect on the enemy may be doubted, especially as they had ample means of obtaining correct information from their friends in Cawnpore. On the other hand, it was very difficult to procure accurate accounts of the movements of the Gwalior force. In the absence of cavalry, native spies were the only resource; but some of these were caught and mutilated by the enemy; besides which, under the circumstances of the general disaffection, their fidelity could not in all cases be relied on. The duty of obtaining intelligence was entrusted to Captain Bruce, commonly called 'the intelligent Bruce,' an excellent officer who was also a magistrate. As all the prisons had been destroyed, the only punishments available for criminal natives were hanging and flogging, and in this horrible occupation he was engaged every day. He held his court in the open air in the yard of a ruined bungalow, surrounded by the _débris_ of smashed furniture. Amongst others, he captured a native of rank, a friend of Nana Sahib's, and on threatening him with death, the native reluctantly gave information which led to the discovery of about £10,000 in money and a quantity of jewellery, &c., which had been looted and hidden away. I paid one or two visits to the bungalow, which had been the scene of the massacre, a few months previously, of the English women and children by Nana Sahib. The well into which their bodies were thrown had been filled up and closed; but on the walls of the house were still remaining some half-obliterated writing and stains of blood, and in the bushes of the garden, fragments of children's clothing. Events were now hurrying on to a climax. General Windham, a few days after the departure of Sir Colin, sent a message informing him of the rapid approach of the Gwalior contingent, and obtained authority to detain some of the new arrivals, so that by November 26, when the first battle occurred, he had about 1,700 men and 10 guns drawn by bullocks at his disposal. But of these, four companies of infantry and a few artillerymen had to be left on guard in the entrenchments, so that his movable field force was still very limited. In the meantime, however, the road to Lucknow became closed, and for several days after November 19 no information whatever was received. On the night of the 23rd a tiny note, rolled up and concealed in a quill (which was the method commonly adopted), was brought in by a native from Lucknow. It proved to be from a commissariat officer, who asked for more provisions at once, but said he could give no opinion on military matters, except that they were complicated. The native who brought the note received 50 rupees (£5). On the other side the mutineers from Calpee were now rapidly approaching in distinct divisions, and had arrived at several villages within a few miles of Cawnpore, and General Windham felt he could no longer remain inactive. On the 24th he advanced his camp a few miles along the Calpee road up to the Ganges canal, which runs across the country, and when its bridges were guarded it served as a wide wet ditch along his front. The Gwalior contingent, however, began to assume the offensive, and spies reported the advance of their main body from Akbarpore to Suchonlee, and that their leading division was on the Pandoo river, only three miles from the British camp. At daybreak on November 26 our men were under arms, and Windham, with ten men of the 9th Lancers and a few sowars, went forward to reconnoitre, and, finding that the mutineers were on the move, led forward his troops at once to the attack. His force consisted of about 1,200 men, being detachments of the 34th, 82nd, 88th, and Rifle Brigade. He also had eight guns, all drawn by bullocks; four manned by natives from Madras, the others by a few gunners of the Royal and Bengal Artillery and some Sikhs--a sort of improvised battery got up for the occasion. The British troops advanced cheerfully to the attack. When these reached the enemy's position, which was on the other side of the almost dry bed of the Pandoo river, the mutineers opened fire from some heavy guns, and poured in several rounds of grape, as we neared them. Our artillery at once replied. Nothing, however, could restrain the eagerness of our men, who came on with a rush, cheering as they went, crossed the river, and captured the position. The enemy retreated in haste, leaving three guns and some ammunition waggons in our hands. We followed them for some distance, and Windham, having halted for a couple of hours to rest his men, then withdrew, as he had intended, to his original position outside Cawnpore, taking the captured guns with him. The mutineers were evidently in considerable strength, and, notwithstanding their defeat, followed us at a distance as we withdrew. Our loss was rather severe, considering the rapidity with which the attack had been carried out. One young officer, Captain Day of the 88th, was killed, being struck by a round shot and knocked down a well. Our total casualties were:-- Killed 1 officer 13 men Wounded 5 officers 73 " ------------- 6 86 = 92 General Windham on his return at length received the long desired letter from Lucknow. It was a short note from General Mansfield, chief of the Staff, saying that all was well and they were coming back at once to Cawnpore. [Illustration: Plan of Cawnpore to illustrate Battle of 27th. Nov. 1857.] November 27 proved to be a very eventful day. Our small field force, as I have explained, was encamped outside the city, not far from the point where the great trunk road crossed that from Cawnpore to Calpee. General Windham naturally hoped that the successful blow he had delivered on the previous day would at all events so far tend to discourage the mutineers as to delay their movements and give time for the return of the Commander-in-Chief. The position, however, was critical. Whilst desirous of presenting a bold front and of protecting the city, it was evident not only that our force was insufficient, but that the right flank towards the Ganges was open to attack and liable to be turned. At daylight the troops were again under arms, and part of the 34th and 82nd regiments, with four Madras guns, were detached to the flank, to watch the road from Bithoor. Two 24-pounder heavy guns on travelling carriages, each drawn by a string of bullocks and manned by seamen of the 'Shannon,' under Lieutenant Hay, R.N., were brought out from the entrenchment to strengthen the position in front. Lieutenant Hay had a difficult duty to perform. In the first place, his guns were very heavy for field work; and the draught animals, though obedient to native drivers, were so timid that if an English soldier or sailor approached, they at once began to bolt, and became unmanageable. I remember discussing the matter with him in the morning, and suggested that in the event of a fight he should, if possible, bring his guns into action on the high road, as if he were to leave it, and get into heavy ground and were pressed, he might be in difficulties. He quite concurred, and during the battle, which lasted all day, he acted accordingly, and performed excellent service, he himself being twice wounded.[45] About 10 A.M. a cannonade suddenly commenced away on the right, followed shortly afterwards by a similar demonstration in front. The mutineers were evidently determined to make a simultaneous attack on both points, and although for the time they held back their infantry, their artillery fire was very severe and continuous. Windham, conceiving that the flank attack might prove the more dangerous of the two, proceeded there himself in the first instance, but on his return to the front an hour afterwards, found that matters were becoming serious. Not only was the fire incessant, but there were indications that our left as well as our right was threatened--in fact, the enemy were in great strength (in a semicircle) all round us. The battle continued for several hours without signs of abatement, our ammunition was running short, and the bullock drivers began to desert. Under these circumstances General Windham directed his troops to fall back a short distance, until they found a temporary shelter under cover of some mounds and remains of old brick kilns just outside the city. It seemed now that the position might be held. Still anxious about the right flank, late in the afternoon he sent an aide-de-camp to obtain information, and shortly afterwards directed me to ride through the streets and ascertain the state of affairs. Whilst threading the narrow lanes, I suddenly met the aide-de-camp coming back in haste, who informed me that the mutineers were in possession of the lower parts of the town and had just fired a volley at him. At this moment Windham himself joined us. Whilst deliberating on the critical position, two companies of the Rifle Brigade also appeared on the scene, as if they had dropped from the clouds. They had been marching all day up the trunk road, hearing firing in various directions, but unable to find anyone to give them information. Windham said a few words to them, and, placing himself at their head, away they went cheering, and soon cleared the streets of the enemy. It was, however, becoming dusk, and the general, feeling that it was impossible to remain in the exposed position outside the city, especially as his troops were exhausted and the ammunition running short, sent me to General Dupuis, who was for the moment in command at the front, with orders to withdraw the whole force and return to the entrenchment on the Ganges, as otherwise the position might be lost and the bridge of boats destroyed. The retirement through the streets was conducted without haste and in good order, and was not interfered with by the enemy. It was rather remarkable that although so closely hemmed in by the mutineers, they did not at first take the precaution of cutting the telegraph wires, so that messages were sent to Lord Canning at Calcutta of the results of each day's fighting. During the evening General Windham held a consultation with the senior officers with a view to a night attack on the mutineers, but in the absence of reliable information as to their position the idea was relinquished. The chief officers of the staff were temporarily accommodated in a bungalow outside the Fort; and late at night Windham came in and stated that one of the heavy naval 24-pounders had been upset somewhere in the streets during our retreat and had been left behind, and he requested me to go out and if possible recover it, giving me _carte blanche_ to make any arrangements necessary for the purpose. It was rather like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. I went to the entrenchment, obtained the assistance of some seamen under Midshipman Garvey[46] and a guard of 50 infantry, and, with a cart containing a triangle-gyn and the necessary tackle, we prepared to start. Most fortunately at the last moment we found one of the native bullock drivers, who said he knew the position of the lost gun, and on a promise of a few rupees agreed to conduct us to the spot; and so under his friendly guidance we marched off into the darkness. Our friendly native, however, instead of entering the city, led us for a considerable distance through its outskirts, along the banks of the Ganges canal, and some doubts arose as to whether he was not wilfully misleading and taking us into the enemy's camp. However, there was nothing for it but to go on, and at length, becoming very excited, he turned sharply into the town, and after wandering through some of the narrow lanes, sure enough there was the gun lying upset against a small shop, with its wheel sunk in a narrow, deep, perpendicular drain. There were planks lying about, and indications that the enemy had been trying to extricate it. Small parties of the infantry were immediately placed at the corners of the adjacent streets, so as to isolate us from sudden attack. Their orders were to keep perfectly silent, but should an attempt be made to force their position they were to fire a volley and charge. As time was precious, and as mounting a gyn with its tackle, &c., in the dark would cause delay, it was decided to try and pull the gun out of its awkward position by main force; and, the seamen having fastened a rope to the trail and working with a will, the attempt succeeded, and so, withdrawing the infantry, we marched back to the fort in triumph. The coolie got his rupees and every man a glass of grog, and thus all ended well. On returning very late to the bungalow, the staff were all lying about asleep on the floor in the various rooms. The only one who woke was Colonel Charles Woodford, of the Rifles, to whom I mentioned our successful adventure. Poor fellow! he was out at daylight the next morning, engaged in the severe contest which took place, and was killed in capturing some guns from the mutineers in the open plain. The fighting was incessant. On the morning of the 28th it re-commenced on both sides of the city simultaneously, and for the third day in succession. Away on the left in the open plain, near the ruins of the 'old Dragoon lines,' the Rifles, with part of the 82nd and a battery, after a hard contested fight drove back the mutineers in a brilliant manner and captured two 18-pounder guns. On the right, along the Bithoor road, a second battle was going on at the same time, and continued all day. Brigadier Carthew, with parts of the 34th and 82nd regiments and the Madras battery, held a position somewhat in advance, between the city and the Ganges, and was attacked with overwhelming numbers, but maintained the position until sunset. Carthew was supported by a part of the 64th, commanded by Colonel Wilson, who during the day, in endeavouring to capture some of the enemy's guns, was killed, together with three of his officers and many men. Our losses during the three days' fighting were 9 officers killed, and upwards of 300 officers and men killed and wounded. [Illustration: THE GARRISON OF LUCKNOW RETURNING TO CAWNPORE, NOVEMBER 1857] I have thus related as shortly and clearly as possible the general features of the battles round Cawnpore, at the end of November, as they came under my notice; because, in my opinion, much injustice was done at the time to General Windham, who was a brave soldier and an excellent leader, and whose difficulties were by no means understood and appreciated. General Windham, in anticipation of the return of Sir Colin Campbell from Lucknow, had sent him several messages, pointing out the serious nature of the attack on Cawnpore; and on the evening of the 28th the Commander-in-Chief at length arrived, and with the chief part of his force encamped on the other side of the Ganges. What with the women and children, the wounded (amounting in all to 2,000 people), and the usual accumulations of camp equipage and stores which are inseparable from an Indian army in the field, his line of march extended for about twenty miles; and when the strings of elephants, camels, bullock waggons, palanquins, &c., began to cross the bridge of boats the following day, the scene was more like the emptying of Noah's ark than anything else. The mutineers, who had now full possession of the city and its suburbs, brought some heavy guns to bear on the bridge, and struck the boats several times. However, on November 29 and 30 the whole force crossed the Ganges from Oude and encamped outside Cawnpore, near the 'old Dragoon lines.' Although all pressing danger was at an end on the return of Sir Colin's force, still the Commander-in-Chief had to proceed with considerable caution. His great anxiety, before assuming the offensive, was to provide for the safety of the women, children, and wounded. On December 3 they were sent under convoy down the road to Allahabad, and the Commander-in-Chief at length was free to act against the mutineers, who, in the meantime, had harassed the camp by occasional demonstrations and artillery fire. Although the enemy were in full possession of Cawnpore, their main position was on the plain outside, and the Ganges canal between us acted as a wet ditch along their front. Sir Colin Campbell computed their numbers as about 25,000 men with 36 guns. On the morning of December 6 the British camp was struck, and about noon the whole force, consisting of 5,000 infantry, 600 cavalry, and 35 guns, advanced across the open to the attack. The cavalry and horse artillery made a detour to the left, so as to pass over the canal by a bridge a mile and a half distant, and threaten the enemy's flank. The brigades of infantry supported by the artillery, advanced steadily in line across the plain, but were somewhat delayed at the Ganges canal owing to there being but one bridge within reach. This obstacle and the necessary crowding once overcome, they rapidly regained their formation, and, spreading out like a fan, soon drove the enemy back, and ran into their main camp at 1 P.M., Sir Colin, fine old soldier as he was, riding in front with his helmet off, cheering on his panting troops. The mutineers were disorganised, the retreat became a rout, and they fled in all directions, being pursued by Sir Colin and staff with the cavalry and horse artillery up to the fourteenth mile-stone along the Calpee road, every gun and ammunition waggon which had gone in that direction falling into our hands. Heartily tired, we returned and bivouacked that night in the plain outside Cawnpore. I could not help admiring the toughness of old Sir Colin, who rolled himself up in a blanket, lay down to sleep in a hole in a field, and seemed to enjoy it. The following day Brigadier-General Hope Grant, with the cavalry and horse artillery, followed up such of the mutineers as had retreated by the Bithoor road, caught them just as they were about to cross the Ganges, capturing the remainder of their guns without any casualties on our side. That was the end of the Gwalior contingent as a fighting force. The loss of the British troops on the 6th was about 100, and 37 guns[47] in all were taken, besides quantities of munitions and stores. The following is a translation of a Hindostani document issued by the Gwalior contingent, and found on the field of battle outside Cawnpore: 'Cawnpore. By order of the great rajah--the leader.[48] May his shadow never be less. Let all the lords of the manor and the rajahs of this country know that a dromedary rider, for the purpose of finding out all about the roads, and defiles, and ferries, is about to be sent, in consequence of the departure of the Gwalior contingent towards Cawnpore; that no person is to molest or hurt in any way the above-mentioned dromedary rider; and let them, in fact, assist him to the best of their power.... It is written on the 3rd of the month of Suffer, and it corresponds with 1274 of the year of the Flight.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 45: This gallant officer was killed in action two years subsequently, in the New Zealand war, where he had command of the 'Harrier.'] [Footnote 46: This young officer was subsequently killed at Lucknow, in March 1858.] [Footnote 47: Guns captured from the Gwalior contingent-- By General Windham, November 26 3 " " " " 28 2 Battle of December 6 17 By Sir Hope Grant 15 -- Total 37] [Footnote 48: Probably the Nana Sahib.] CHAPTER XIV CAUSES OF THE MUTINY AND POLICY OF LORD CANNING The fall of Delhi in September, the relief of Lucknow in November, and the severe conflicts round Cawnpore, had shattered, as it were, the main force of the Mutiny; and although during 1858 active military measures were carried out in various parts of the country, still in reality the great crisis was past. The absence on the part of the natives of any men of military genius to lead them, the want of mutual confidence amongst their widely dispersed forces, and their tendency to marauding expeditions rather than to combined operations, all led to their final defeat in detail. On the other hand, the vigour of our movements, and the large reserves of men, arms, and munitions brought from England, at length restored our shaken power, and enabled us gradually, but firmly, to re-establish our authority throughout the numerous provinces under our rule. Owing to the wide distribution of the large force of artillery which had arrived from home, it was considered necessary, for administrative purposes, that General Dupuis and his staff should return to the seat of Government at Calcutta; and therefore, after the battles at Cawnpore in November and December, I took no further active part in operations in the field. Residence in India, however, was full of interest at that time, when the causes of the revolution, together with the military changes which ensued, were matters of constant discussion and consideration. The idea that the serving out of greased cartridges to the native soldiery was a dominant factor in the crisis is of course a mere exaggeration of a minor ultimate detail. It may possibly have been the final exciting cause, in the same way that a lucifer match suddenly lighted in a powder magazine may lead to a great explosion; but the causes which conduced to the revolution had been accumulating long before 1857, and were partly political, partly military; and it will be interesting to quote briefly the opinions of various statesmen and high authorities who took part in and studied the history of our conquests, and who traced the results caused by our gradual absorption of the kingdoms, principalities, and provinces into which, until our advent, the vast peninsula of India was divided. Sir John Malcolm, in his 'Political History of India,' in 1826, wrote: 'The great empire which England has established in the East will be the theme of wonder to succeeding ages. That a small island in the Atlantic should have conquered and held the vast continent of India as a subject province, is in itself a fact which can never be stated without exciting astonishment. But that astonishment will be increased when it is added that this great conquest was made, not by the collective force of the nation, but by a company of merchants, who, originally vested with a charter of exclusive commerce and with the privilege and right to protect their property by arms, in a few years actually found themselves called upon to act in the character of sovereigns over extended dominions before they had ceased to be the mercantile directors of petty factories.'[49] Sir John goes on to show that our rapid progress was due in a great measure to two leading causes: one, that coming originally as unpretending traders, we disarmed suspicion, and were, indeed, welcomed by the natives; the other, that the gradual rise of our power was coincident with the decline of the Mogul empire. General Sir Thomas Munro--an officer who entered the Madras service of the East India Company as a cadet in 1780, and who by his genius and statesmanlike qualities rose to be Governor of that Presidency--writing in 1817 to the Governor General on the effects of our policy, said: 'The strength of the British Government enables it to put down every rebellion, to repel foreign invasion, and to give to its subjects a degree of protection which those of no native power enjoy. Its laws and institutions also afford them a security from domestic oppression unknown in those States; but these advantages are dearly bought. They are purchased by the sacrifice of independence of national character, and of whatever renders a people respectable. The natives of the British provinces may without fear pursue their different occupations as traders, meerassidars, or husbandmen, and enjoy the fruits of their labours in tranquillity; but none of them can aspire to anything beyond this mere animal state of thriving in peace, none of them can look forward to any share in the legislation, or civil or military government of their country.'[50] ... 'It is from men who either hold, or are eligible to hold, public office that natives take their character; where no such men exist, there can be no energy in any other class of the community. The effect of this state of things is observable in all the British provinces, whose inhabitants are certainly the most abject race in India. No elevation of character can be expected among men who, in the military line, cannot attain to any rank above that of subadar, where they are as much below an ensign as an ensign is below the Commander-in-Chief, and who in the civil line can hope for nothing beyond some petty judicial or revenue office, in which they may, by corrupt means, make up for their slender salary. The consequence, therefore, of the conquest of India by the British arms would be, in place of raising, to debase the whole people. There is, perhaps, no example of any conquest in which the natives have been so completely excluded from all share of the government of their country as in British India.' Again in 1818, in a letter to Lord Hastings, he says: 'Our Government will always be respected from the influence of our military power, but it will never be popular while it offers no employment to the natives that can stimulate the ambition of the better class of them. Foreign conquerors have treated the natives with violence and often with great cruelty, but none has treated them with so much scorn as we; none has stigmatised the whole people as unworthy of trust, as incapable of honesty, and as fit to be employed only when we cannot do without them. It seems to be not only ungenerous, but impolitic, to debase the character of a people fallen under our dominion.' Again in 1824: 'With what grace can we talk of our paternal government if we exclude them from every important office, and say, as we did till very lately, that in a country containing 150,000,000 of inhabitants no man but a European shall be trusted with so much authority as to order the punishment of a single stroke of a rattan? Such an interdiction is to pass a sentence of degradation on a whole people for which no benefit can ever compensate. There is no instance in the world of so humiliating a sentence having ever been passed upon any nation....' 'The advocates of improvement do not seem to have perceived the great springs on which it depends; they propose to place no confidence in the natives, to give them no authority, and to exclude them from office as much as possible; but they are ardent in their zeal for enlightening them by the general diffusion of knowledge. No conceit more wild and absurd than this was ever engendered in the darkest ages, for what is in every age and every country the great stimulus to the pursuit of knowledge, but the prospect of fame, or wealth, or power?' ... 'In proportion as we exclude them, we lose our hold upon them; and were the exclusion entire we should have their hatred in place of their attachment, their feeling would be communicated to the whole population and to the native troops, and would excite a spirit of discontent too powerful for us to subdue or resist....' 'It would' (he says) 'certainly be more desirable that we should be expelled from the country altogether than that the result of our system of government should be made a debasement of a whole people.' The above are wise and weighty words, and it would be well perhaps, even in these days, if more heed were taken of these outspoken opinions of Sir Thomas Munro. There is, however, another and more recent authority, greater perhaps than any; one who, year after year, and not long before the Mutiny, urged that we should give opportunities to the natives, and enable them to rise to power, civil and military; and who predicted that unless this were done our system must collapse, either in a mutiny or in general despair. That authority is Sir Henry Lawrence, who fell at his post in the Residency of Lucknow, killed by the mutineers in the very crisis which he had, as it were, foretold. Writing in 1855[51] he pointed out that the natives had no outlet for their talents and ambition as of old, and said: 'These outlets for restlessness and ability are gone; others are closing. It behoves us therefore now, more than ever, to give legitimate rewards, and as far as practicable employment, to the energetic few, to that leaven that is in every lump--the leaven that may secure our empire, or may disturb, nay even destroy, it.' Again, he says: 'Legitimate outlets for military energy and ability in all ranks and even among all classes must be given. The minds of subadars and resseldars, sepoys and sowars, can no more with safety be for ever cramped, trammelled, and restricted as at present than can a twenty-foot embankment restrain the Atlantic. It is simply a question of time. The question is only whether justice is to be gracefully conceded or violently seized. Ten or twenty years must settle the point.' Leaving for the moment the political results of our conquests in India, it will be well now to consider its military aspects; to trace the formation and services of our native armies, and to watch the signs of their gradual decline both in efficiency and loyalty; and I will again give short quotations from the writings of recognised authorities as conveying clear outlines of this interesting and important subject. Sir John Malcolm, writing of our early levies, said: 'A jacket of English broadcloth made up in the shape of his own dress, the knowledge of his manual exercise and a few military evolutions, constituted the original Sepoy.' He goes on to tell us that the only English officers were a captain and adjutant per battalion; that the native officers were treated with great kindness and consideration, were often in high command, and that many of the oldest regiments were known by the names of their former native commandants. After dwelling on the efficiency of our original native corps, he points out that their constitution was gradually changed by the increase of European officers, involving alterations of dress, more rigid rules, and with so-called improvements in discipline, until at length in 1796 they were organised like the king's regiments, with the full complement of officers, and with the expectation of greatly increased efficiency--an expectation which was never fulfilled. He wrote in 1826: 'In the native army, as it is at present constituted, no native can rise to the enjoyment of any military command.' Again, he says, the danger lies in 'confiding too exclusively in our European troops and altogether undervaluing and neglecting our native army. From the day of that fatal error we may date the downfall of our Eastern empire.' Sir John Kaye, in his history of the Mutiny, says[52]: 'Our first Sepoy levies were raised in the Southern peninsula, where the English and French powers were contending for the dominant influence in that part of the country. They were few in number, and at the outset commonly held in reserve to support our English fighting men. But little by little they proved that they were worthy to be entrusted with higher duties; and once trusted they went boldly to the front. Under native commandants, for the most part Mohammedans or high caste Rajpoot Hindoos, but disciplined and directed by the English captains, their pride was flattered and their energies stimulated by the victories they gained. All the power and all the responsibility, all the honours and rewards, were not then monopolised by the English captains. Large bodies of troops were sometimes despatched on hazardous enterprises, under the independent command of a native leader; and it was not thought an offence to a European soldier to send him to fight under a black commandant. That black commandant was then a great man in spite of his colour. He rode on horseback at the head of his men, and a mounted staff officer, a native adjutant, carried his commands to the subadars of the respective companies. And a brave man or a skilful leader was honoured for his bravery or his skill as much under the folds of a turban as under a round hat.' Again he writes: 'The founders of the native army had conceived the idea of a force recruited from among the people of the country, and commanded for the most part by men of their own race but of a higher social position.... But it was the inevitable tendency of our increasing power in India to oust the native functionary from his seat, or to lift him from his saddle, that the white man might fix himself there, with all the remarkable tenacity of his race.... So it happened in due course that the native officers who had exercised real authority in their battalions, who had enjoyed opportunities of personal distinction, who had felt an honourable pride in their position, were pushed aside by an incursion of English gentlemen who took all the substantive power into their hands. As the degradation of the native officer was thus accomplished, the whole character of the Sepoy army was changed. It ceased to be a profession in which men of high position accustomed to command might satisfy the aspirations and expend the energies of their lives.... Thenceforth, therefore, we dug out the materials for our army from the lower strata of society.' Captain Macan, an officer who had long experience and knew the Sepoys well, gave evidence before a Parliamentary Committee in 1832, and declared that 'in all the higher qualifications of soldiers, in devotedness to the service, cheerfulness under privation, confidence and attachment to their officers, and unhesitating bravery in the field, the native soldier is allowed by all the best informed officers of the service, and by those who have most experience, to have infinitely deteriorated.' The late Rev. Mr. Gleig, in a remarkable article in the 'Edinburgh Review' in 1853, wrote: 'The original native army consisted chiefly of infantry, who, though drilled after European fashion, worked both in peace and war under chiefs connected with the men by ties of consanguinity and friendship.' He goes on to point out that the English element gradually increased until 1784, when a European subaltern was allotted to command each company, and he says: 'Though the subalterns thus disposed of were carefully selected, and the feelings of the subadars spared as much as possible, the native gentleman could no longer disguise from himself or from his men that his shadow was growing less. He supported himself, however, tolerably well till the tide which had begun to set in against him acquired greater force. In 1790, and again in 1796, the European element became still stronger, and then, and not till then, the spirit of the native sank within him. The effect produced by these changes upon the native officers, and ultimately upon the service at large, has been deplorable.' Mr. Gleig's article--written, be it borne in mind, in 1853, shortly before the Mutiny--concludes as follows: 'We have won an enormous empire with the sword, which is growing continually larger. We have established a system of civil administration there which protects the peasant and disgusts all the classes above him.... With a large body of discontented gentry everywhere, and whole clusters of native princes and chiefs interspersed through our dominions, it is idle to say that the continuance of our sovereignty depends from one day to another on anything except the army. Now the army is admitted by all competent judges to be very far in many respects from what it ought to be.' The extracts which I have quoted of the opinions of various authorities all appear to point in the same direction, and to prove that both in a political and a military sense the various races under our rule in India were gradually becoming degraded and demoralised, and that these results were observed years before the crisis came, and when our power was, for the time, subverted by the general Mutiny of 1857. Our intentions throughout were doubtless good. We introduced sound laws for the people, though not perhaps always in accordance with their customs and prejudices. We also gave them security of life and property, such as they had not enjoyed for centuries; and to some extent we promoted education and commerce and more general prosperity. These benefits are by no means to be ignored. But, on the other hand, in our advance across the great continent we had dethroned kings, upset hereditary princes, and had removed from positions of authority not only men of high rank, great possessions, and ancient lineage, but also men of vast influence, religious and other, and often of great ability and courage. These all found themselves pushed aside and superseded; whilst the various races of people, Hindoo and Mohammedan, not only perceived that their ancient leaders were gone, but that their new governors were aliens in race, religion, language, and customs. All these considerations cannot be carelessly disregarded. The situation is undoubtedly difficult. There is, indeed, one solution, and one only, which must ever be kept steadily in view--namely, that men such as I have indicated must gradually be admitted to positions of responsibility and power, both civil and military; that the people of all ranks, classes, and religions may feel that a career is open to them, and that they are to be allowed to participate in the government of their own country. I do not urge that the time has by any means arrived when the natives should be admitted to the public service by competitive examinations. It is not a system adapted to the circumstances. That, however, is comparatively a minor detail; but there are many other and better modes by which they can and ought to be selected for service under the Government. In the ultimate reorganisation of the native armies after the Mutiny, the number of English officers to each regiment was restricted to six, so that in some degree the influence of native officers was recognised; but the restriction did not amount to much, and the apparently inevitable tendency is to an augmentation of the English element, the present number being eight. It is also to be observed that there is no instance of a native regiment commanded and led entirely by officers of their own race and faith, so that no opening exists for the many brave and loyal chiefs, men of ability and influence, to serve in the army. Whether under such circumstances we can hope to maintain the military virtues of our Indian troops is a grave question on which opinions differ. Judging by the history of the past, by the views of the soldiers and statesmen which I have quoted, and by the culminating experience of the Mutiny, it seems to me that our policy is rather timid and retrograde, and that we can only govern successfully by gradually entrusting power to the natural leaders of the people. There is yet another consideration, which relates specially to India of the present day. Education and enlightenment are progressing all over the country, not only by means of schools and colleges, but also by the establishment of railways, roads, and river communications, so that the people now move about freely and exchange ideas to a degree formerly unknown. Literature and the press, the telegraph and the post office, are also exercising increasing influence; and these various causes are somewhat rapidly undermining many ancient prejudices and superstitions. All these are, doubtless, beneficial influences in themselves, and are likely to produce great results, but they require watching, as they inevitably will tend to increase the legitimate desire of the people for more self-government. We cannot stand still. I have heard it said sometimes that such principles as I advocate would, if carried out, cause to us the loss of the Empire of India; and my reply is, that if such principles are _not_ carried out, we shall not only lose India, but shall deserve to do so. Others talk of the people of India as being composed of inferior races. I am not aware that God has created any races of men who are inferior; but at all events in India, we know that centuries ago they were civilised and distinguished in arts and sciences, in government, and in war--long, indeed, before we had become so. We hear a great deal nowadays of the depreciation of the rupee; but in our government of India, unless we act on the principles which I have endeavoured to illustrate, by quotations from the writings of statesmen of the highest authority and experience of India, we may find in the days to come that we have a far more dangerous result to face, and that is the depreciation in the character of the millions under our rule. Sir Henry Lawrence wrote: 'We cannot expect to hold India for ever. Let us so conduct ourselves in our civil and military relations, as, when the connection ceases, it may do so not with convulsions, but with mutual esteem and affection; and that England may then have in India a noble ally, enlightened, and brought into the scale of nations under her guidance and fostering care.' Finally, before leaving this part of the subject I will quote extracts from the noble proclamation issued by the Queen in 1858, on the termination of the Mutiny, and which should ever be considered as the Magna Charta of the people of India: 'We declare it to be our Royal will and pleasure, that none be in any wise favoured, none molested or disquieted, by reason of their religious faith or observances, but that all shall enjoy the equal and impartial protection of the law.... And it is further our will that, so far as may be, our subjects of whatever race or creed be freely and impartially admitted to offices in our service, the duties of which they may be qualified by their education, ability, and integrity duly to discharge.' It is often said that India has been won by the sword, and must be governed by the sword. The first statement is in a great measure true; but to the second, as laying down a principle of government, I demur. No nation can be permanently or successfully governed by the sword. As the crisis of the Mutiny gradually passed away, and as the people of the various provinces, though still violently agitated, began to realise that the British authority was being firmly re-established, it became evident to the Viceroy that the time had arrived when the summary powers which had been exercised, and the severe punishments which had been inflicted, all over the country, must be modified, and that a policy of conciliation should gradually replace that of stern repression. These views of Lord Canning were, however, by no means in accord with the general sentiments of the European population, and of the Press of Calcutta at the time, and his policy was strongly condemned. This feeling on their part is perhaps not altogether surprising. The terrible scenes which had been enacted in so many parts of the country on the outbreak of the Mutiny--the cruel murders, and the atrocious conduct of the natives, not only to men, but to innocent and defenceless English women and children--all these sad events had naturally roused feelings of intense anger; and the idea of conciliation was repugnant to the minds of the great majority. So much was this the case, that even at the end of 1857 the Europeans of Calcutta and Bengal sent home a petition to the Queen, urging that, owing to the weakness of the Government and in disapproval of the views of the Viceroy, he should be recalled. Lord Canning, however, fully convinced that a policy of vengeance was not only wrong in principle, but impossible, was by no means persuaded or moved from his purpose. Writing to the Queen in September 1858,[53] he said: 'There is a rabid and indiscriminate vindictiveness abroad, even among those who ought to set a better example.' Again, to Lord Granville he wrote: 'As long as I have breath in my body, I will pursue no other policy than that I have been following.... I will not govern in anger.... Whilst we are prepared, as the first duty of all, to strike down resistance without mercy wherever it shows itself, we acknowledge that, resistance over, deliberate justice and calm patient reason are to resume their sway; that we are not going, either in anger or from indolence, to punish wholesale, whether by wholesale hangings and burnings, or by the less violent, but not one bit less offensive, course of refusing trust and countenance and favour to a man because he is of a class or a creed.' The violent opponents of the Viceroy at the time were in the habit of calling him 'Clemency Canning' as a term of reproach. They did not seem to be aware that, under the circumstances, it was the highest honour they could pay him. In my opinion, Lord Canning proved himself to be a wise and courageous Viceroy, and in a period of great difficulty and danger rose superior to the violence of many of those by whom he was surrounded. When the Mutiny was at an end a thanksgiving service was held in the cathedral at Calcutta, and a special collection made for some charitable purpose to commemorate its termination. There was at that time, and probably is now, a peculiar system of collecting subscriptions at the church services there. It was not the custom to carry money in your pocket. I asked the reason, and was told that the climate was too hot. The consequence was that when a collection was made, the persons who carried round the plates also brought packets of small pieces of paper and bundles of pencils, and each person had to write down and sign the amount of their gift. It was a tedious, but possibly an advantageous, process from a charitable point of view. The following day the collectors went round and called for the amount subscribed. On the occasion in question Lord Canning's secretary informed me that when the collector presented his paper at Government House, the sum inscribed was so large that, imagining there was an error, he took it to the Viceroy, who, however, merely remarked that the occasion was a memorable one, and the amount was paid accordingly. It was for 10,000 rupees (1,000_l._). I doubt whether many instances can be given of such a sum having been put into the plate at a church collection. During my residence at Calcutta I became acquainted with an English official who appeared to possess an extraordinary amount of intuitive knowledge. Whatever the subject discussed, he was always at home, and could lay down the law, and did so. It is not, perhaps, agreeable to find yourself always in a position of ignorance and inferiority. Still, on the whole, society, it may be presumed, benefits. I inquired of an old Indian officer what position this exceptional person held. 'Oh!' he replied, 'that's what in India is called a "sub-janta"--a man who knows everything better than anyone else--be careful not to contradict him.' However, I found that you must have been thirty years in the country and speak all the languages before becoming qualified for the position, so that, fortunately, there are very few sub-jantas to be found. I occasionally received invitations from natives of rank at Calcutta to be present at family festivities, and the following is a copy of one of them: 'Wedding Party. Cowar Kallykissen Bahadoor presents his respectful compliments to Colonel Adye and requests the favour of his company to a dinner at 7.30 P.M., and a nautch and fireworks at 8.30 P.M., in honour of his daughter's marriage, on Monday, February 22, at Rajah Badinath Bahadoor's garden house at Cossipore.' On one occasion I paid a visit to the celebrated Chinese Commissioner Yeh, who was a state prisoner at Calcutta, and lived in a large house in the environs. He was dressed in loose white Chinese clothes, with wooden shoes, and was very polite but extremely cautious. We conversed by means of an interpreter. Nothing would induce Yeh to leave his house, although a carriage and horses were kept for him. My efforts to interest him in various subjects entirely failed. I asked if he liked the Indian climate, and he replied that he had not turned his thoughts in that direction. I described the bazaars and shops, and recommended him to go out in his carriage and visit them; but he only said he had heard about them, and would send his secretary to make a report. He told me he was much occupied, and on my asking what he did, he replied that he liked to 'sit down.' He was offered books to be translated to him, but remarked that the contents of all the best ones were already in his stomach, so that he did not require them. He died soon afterwards, presumably of indigestion. In the early part of 1859 another serious and untoward event occurred, in the discontent of the men of the local European forces at many of the large stations all over the country. Hitherto, in each presidency, the artillery and three regiments of infantry consisted of men recruited at home, but who served continuously in India--in fact, a local European army distinct from the Queen's troops. In the years gone by, and during the Mutiny, they had performed great services, and were deservedly held in high esteem. When, however, in 1858 the rule of the old East India Company came to an end, the great majority of these men considered that, as the Queen had assumed direct authority over the local armies, they were entitled either to their discharge, or, at all events, to a bounty on the transfer of their services to the Crown. Their claims were referred to England for consideration, but were ultimately refused by the Home Government; and, as a consequence, serious disaffection, combined in some cases with violence and a refusal to perform their duties, ensued. It may perhaps be conceded that the curt refusal of their claim was not altogether judicious, but in reality the causes of discontent lay deeper and had been accumulating for some time. The Commander-in-Chief, who was ill at Simla, was much impressed with this unfortunate state of affairs, and was in frequent communication with Lord Canning at Calcutta. Writing in May 1859, he said:[54] 'I am irresistibly led to the conclusion that henceforth it will be dangerous to the State to maintain a European local army.... We cannot afford to attend to any other consideration than those of discipline and loyalty, which may be constantly renovated by the periodical return to England of all the regiments in every branch of the service.' The Viceroy was much pressed by some authorities at the time to grant the bounty, notwithstanding the refusal of the Home Government; but to have done so and to have given way to violence would have been a virtual abnegation of authority, and would not in reality have removed the disaffection. In this dilemma, Lord Canning at length gave a free discharge and passage home to all who wished it, and about 10,000 men then left for England. The cost is said to have been a million sterling. Many of these men, after a short holiday at home, re-enlisted in various Queen's regiments and returned to India. The general result, however, was that ere long the local European troops ceased to exist as a separate force, and became merged in the army of the Empire. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 49: _Political History of India_, Major General Sir John Malcolm, K.C.B. (John Murray, 1826.)] [Footnote 50: Gleig's _Life of Sir Thomas Munro, Bart, K.C.B._] [Footnote 51: _Essays_, by Sir Henry Lawrence, 1859.] [Footnote 52: Kaye's _Sepoy War_, 1865, vol. i.] [Footnote 53: _Rulers of India: Earl Canning_, by Sir H.S. Cunningham, K.C.S.I.] [Footnote 54: Shadwell, _Life of Lord Clyde_, ii. 419.] CHAPTER XV RECOLLECTIONS OF THE MADRAS PRESIDENCY In May 1859 I left Calcutta, having been appointed to command the Royal Artillery in the Madras Presidency. Speaking generally, the affairs, both civil and military, of Southern India had remained for many years in a condition of comparative inaction and tranquillity. Indeed, ever since the great campaigns towards the close of the last century, ending with the fall of Seringapatam and the death of Tippoo Sahib, the tide of war had drifted away to the north-west, and the Madras army had thus been deprived of much active experience in the field. Fortunately, even the Mutiny had failed to entangle the southern native troops in its disastrous meshes. As a term, perhaps, of undeserved reproach, Madras was often called the benighted presidency. Shortly before my arrival a new Governor, Sir Charles Trevelyan had been appointed, and being a man of great energy and ability, soon succeeded in temporarily galvanising the administration into unwonted life and activity. His somewhat abnormal qualities were not, however, generally appreciated. One of his first efforts was to improve the sanitary condition of the large native city, which stretches for a mile or two along the flat, sandy, surf-beaten shore. During the latter years of the last century the city had been enclosed on its land front with a series of old bastions and curtains and a continuous stagnant ditch--works which were intended as a defence against the hordes of Mahrattas and Pindarees who were then in the habit of swooping down on our cities and settlements. But these hostile races had long ceased their swoopings and lootings, and the decaying fortifications were not only obsolete, but by their existence prevented a due circulation of light and air, and were highly insanitary. Sir Charles accordingly decided on their entire removal, and the conversion of the vacant space and of the ancient glacis into a People's Park. The idea was received with considerable scorn. Few people in Madras had ever heard of people's parks in those days. I, however, had the satisfaction of being present at the destruction by successive explosions of the old, useless bastions, and in my opinion the Governor conferred a great benefit on the city by his enlightened policy. More serious events, however, soon followed. When the Mutiny came to an end, its financial bearings and the enormous expenditure incurred, not only on account of the large reinforcements from home, but also in the arrangements which had been necessary for the due prosecution of active operations all over the country, pressed heavily on the Government of India; and it became an urgent duty to meet the financial deficit, which amounted to several millions sterling. Amongst other measures it was decided to introduce an income tax. Sir Charles Trevelyan, backed by his council, protested against such a policy. In his opinion, an income tax, in the condition of the native feeling, was likely to revive dangerous discontent; further than this, he argued in successive despatches to Calcutta that, as the Mutiny was over, the proper way of meeting the deficit was by a reduction not only of the English reinforcements, but also by disbanding many of the new native regiments which had been hastily and temporarily raised during the crisis. Finding that his remonstrances were in vain, he at length published the entire correspondence in one of the Madras daily journals. As Governor of a presidency containing fifty millions of people, he considered it his duty that his views should be made public. The result was that in a few days he received a message by telegraph from Sir Charles Wood, the then Secretary of State for India, announcing his recall. Whether the Governor acted with due discretion in the measure he took to ensure publicity for his views, may be questioned; but, in my opinion, he was perfectly right in his main principle that, the crisis being over, the financial equilibrium could best be attained, not by unusual and obnoxious taxation, but by a reduction of the enormous military expenditure, the necessity for which had passed away, and which was eating up the resources of our empire in the East. His recall was a public misfortune. Soon after my arrival in Madras I made the acquaintance of an old colonel, who had served many years in the country and was an excellent officer, but who, owing to absence of mind or partial loss of memory, had great difficulty in correctly remembering people's names. For instance, one morning he came into the club, and told us that he had just met Sir John Trelawney taking a walk in the park. As there was no one of that name in Madras we were rather puzzled, but on inquiry found he alluded to the Governor, Sir Charles Trevelyan. That was harmless enough, but on another occasion he fell into a more serious error. It occurred in the Neilgherries. There was a lady residing there, a Mrs. Coffin, the wife of a general officer. It is the fashion up in the hills for ladies to be carried about by coolies in a sort of sedan chair, called a tonjon. One afternoon, the general's wife was paying a visit to a neighbour, where she met the colonel, and on her rising to take leave the old officer jumped up, and, meaning to be extremely polite, said, 'Mrs. Tonjon, allow me to hand you to your coffin!' Military service in the tropical climate of the Madras Presidency in time of peace, and with the thermometer never below 80 degrees, is not an exhilarating experience. There were no railways to speak of in those days, and no bridges over the rivers, so that during tours of inspection I had constantly to pass many weary days and nights in travelling hundreds of miles, along bad roads, over dusty plains, in what is called a bullock bandy, at the rate of two miles an hour, not including accidents, and probably without meeting a single Englishman. On one occasion, I went from Madras northwards by steamer along the coast to Masulipatam, on my way to the Deccan, and found the tomb of an old Dutch admiral, the inscription on it being as follows: HIER LEYT BEGRA VEN DEN. E. JACOB DEDEL [Illustration] IN SYN LEVEN RAET VAN IN DIEN ENDE OPPER HOOFT TE WATER ENDE TE LANDE OVER DE NEDER LANTSE NEGOTIE DE SER CUST CORMANDEL. OVER LEDEN. DEN. 29. AUGUSTY ANNO. 1624. (Here lies buried E. Jacob Dedel, in his lifetime Councillor of the Indies, and Commander-in-Chief on sea and land, over the Dutch Company of the Coromandel Coast. Died, 29th August, 1624.) During 1862 I was in command of the artillery at Secunderabad, a large station near Hyderabad in the Deccan, the latter city being supposed to contain a somewhat turbulent dangerous population, but who in reality gave no trouble. The monotony of life was occasionally varied by hunting wild animals in the hills and jungles. Although a very bad shot, I took part in the sport on two special occasions. The one was in pursuit of a bear, and the other of a tiger. In the first case we rode by night to some distant hills, and were posted in the dark behind rocks by the shikarree; and, being a novice, I was given the place of honour, the native kindly remaining at my side, and explaining that the cave of the bears was just above and behind me, and that at daylight I should find several coming straight up the hill on their way home. Sure enough, as day dawned, two large black objects appeared leisurely crossing the plain, snuffing about, as they slouched along, and presently they began the ascent. The critical moment had arrived, and, on a signal from the shikarree, I fired, and the bears immediately bolted. The shikarree threw up his hands, and, much disappointed, said that my shot had missed. It was not so, however, for on going to the spot we discovered traces of blood, and were able to track the wounded animal up the hill to his home--a dark, narrow, steep cleft in the rock. Here a consultation was held, and it was decided by the experts that we must follow up the track, and enter the den. A procession was formed accordingly. First came a coolie with a long lighted torch, which he waved about and pushed into the crevices; then I followed, crawling on all fours with a gun on full-cock ready for all emergencies. Two or three companions came on similarly prepared. All at once we heard a scream and a rush, and I was about to fire at anybody or anything, and should probably have killed the coolie, when it turned out to be merely a bat fluttering against the lighted torch. The smell of bears, bats, rats, and other creatures was horrible. Still we struggled on, until the narrow tortuous passage gradually ramified into large fissures, and we then discovered that the bear had passed out of its home by another opening, and so escaped. The adventure ended, and we were glad to crawl back into the open air again. The other expedition was also exciting in its way. In hunting tigers in Bengal it is the custom to be seated in a howdah on the back of an elephant, so as to stamp through the jungle and shoot the animals from a commanding position in comparative safety. In Madras, however, it is considered fairer to advance on foot, on the principle, I presume, of giving both sides a chance. One afternoon we were again conducted by the shikarree to a distant hill, and on an elevated plateau were all posted in a large semicircle, each hidden behind a rock, and in the centre a young kid was tied to a stone. The expectation was that the tiger would come to eat the kid, and then we were all to fire and kill the tiger. As this was my first experience, I inquired, with some interest, whether possibly the animal might not approach from behind, and begin to eat me instead of the kid. The suggestion, however, was scouted, and I was assured that it would much prefer the latter. So we took up our positions, and remained on watch. After a time the young goat, finding the entertainment dull, laid down and tried to go to sleep; but the shikarree advanced and with a knife cut a small slit in its ear, which made it bleat piteously; and this, it was hoped, would afford an additional attraction. Again we waited, and I could not refrain from occasionally looking over my shoulder, to assure myself that the expected wild beast was not surreptitiously altering the programme. It was getting dark when a breathless coolie arriving from a distant hill, brought the news that the tiger was asleep in a cave a long way off; so the kid escaped, and we all went home. I thought the sequel rather flat. Society at Secunderabad was occasionally enlivened by amateur theatricals in the assembly rooms, and, being fond of painting, I was induced on one occasion to produce a drop-scene for the stage. One afternoon I was seated accordingly, in some old clothes, on the top of a step-ladder, with a large brush and a bucketful of sky-blue, attempting to produce some lovely cloud effects, when a private soldier of the 18th Royal Irish strolled in smoking his pipe. After admiring the scenery for some time, and evidently taking me for a professional, he remarked: 'I say, guv'nor, is that a good business out here?' My reply was, 'No, it isn't a very permanent affair, but I like it.' Then he went on, 'I think I've seed you afore' (which was probable). 'Was you ever engaged at the Surrey in London?' I said that I had been at that theatre, but had never been engaged. 'Well, then, I _have_ seed you afore,' he continued; 'you was acting the part of Belphegor.' What play he was alluding to I had no idea, or who Belphegor was, but unfortunately at that moment a brother officer casually looked in and said, 'Well, Colonel, how are you getting on?' The soldier at once took in the situation, stood up, saluted, and saying, 'I'm thinking I'm in the presence of my sup_a_riors,' faced about and left the room. The drop-scene was finished, and was considered a great success. CHAPTER XVI RETURN TO BENGAL--AMALGAMATION OF THE ARTILLERY REGIMENTS Towards the end of 1862 I left the Deccan on a pleasant visit to Sir William Denison, then Governor of Madras, and in February 1863, having served upwards of five years in India, was on the eve of embarkation for England when a telegram came from Sir Hugh Rose, Commander-in-Chief, inviting me to return to Bengal to become Adjutant-General of all the artillery in India. My plans were therefore entirely altered, and I embarked for Calcutta instead of England, and, after a long journey up to Meerut, joined Sir Hugh, and went with him to Simla in the Himalayas. At this time great changes had become necessary in the army in India in consequence of the Mutiny of 1857, and of the subsequent discontent of the local European forces in 1859. In fact, the whole administration, both civil and military, was undergoing revision and reform. The direct assumption of the government of India by the Crown, and the disappearance of the old East India Company, though a beneficial change in itself, still naturally caused some confusion and revived old controversies. Hitherto there had been two armies in the country, serving side by side, with two separate staffs, with somewhat different sentiments, and not devoid of feelings of jealousy. The artillery were specially affected by the contemplated changes. Although in the early days of the East India Company a battery or two from England had occasionally served in India, still they were exceptions, and for many years each presidency had maintained a regiment of its own, partly English, partly native; and as we gradually conquered one province after another, they took part in many campaigns, performing distinguished services, and were deservedly held in high esteem. Therefore, when it became evident that unity of administration must be introduced as regards our military forces, and when, in the autumn of 1862, the three regiments of Indian artillery were incorporated with the Royal--losing, as it were, their separate individuality--it was only natural that the officers and men of all the four corps should have felt some regret at an arrangement which, however necessary it might be, was not in accord with old feelings and sentiments. All organised bodies may be said to be conservative, in so far that they dislike change. The foregoing remarks may be sufficient to indicate the general conditions of the artillery problem when I was invited to become the chief staff officer, and to carry out the amalgamation. There were not only sentimental feelings and differences to be considered, but the systems of training, discipline, and even the _matériel_, were all to some extent different. Still, all these were comparatively minor and transient questions; and I fully recognised in the first place that whilst the batteries of old Royal Artillery would benefit by the wide experience of service in India--from which, previous to the Mutiny, they had been debarred--those of the local regiments would, on the other hand, benefit even more largely by periodical return to England, especially in these days of constant change and progress in the science of artillery. It was with these views that I entered on the somewhat difficult task of producing unity of system and of feeling in the hundred and four batteries which at that time were serving in India. Sir Hugh Rose, the Commander-in-Chief in India, and H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge, the head of the Army at home, were in full accord in these matters; and notwithstanding certain differences of opinion, I also received loyal support from the officers of artillery all over the country, so that in the course of 1863 all real difficulties gradually disappeared. My great desire was, as far as possible, to respect the interests of all, and to promote unity, not only as good in itself, but also as conducing to the efficiency of the regiment and to the advantage of the State. It was not altogether an easy task, but I was amply rewarded by the generous confidence of my brother officers. Reminiscences of the bygone system of the East India Company still, however, prevailed more or less in the councils of the Government of India, and nothing could be more difficult than the position of Sir Hugh Rose at that period of change; and it was a pleasure to me to serve under, and if possible to assist, so distinguished a soldier and one with whom I had been in frequent association during the Crimean war. Lord Elgin was at that time Viceroy, and I had one or two conversations with him regarding the alleged danger from the turbulent population of Hyderabad, and gave my opinion that these fears were exaggerated, and that, especially with a Prime Minister such as Salar Jung, there need be no real apprehension of an outbreak. It is sometimes supposed that red tape is peculiar to official departments at home, but that is an error. There are large consignments of it sent to India, and I will give an instance. One day at Simla an old artillery officer called and requested me to give him a certificate of his being alive, as the audit office refused to give him his pay without it. He seemed to be well and lively, and I therefore complied at once; and as his visit was in August, dated it accordingly. On looking at it, he remarked: 'Ah, you have dated it August. That is of no use. I have already sent them one of that kind, but what they require is a certificate that I was alive in July.' This opened out a new aspect of the case, but, after consideration, I certified that to the best of my belief he was living the previous month. Whether he ever received his pay, I am not sure. CHAPTER XVII FRONTIER CAMPAIGN IN THE AFGHAN MOUNTAINS--ITS ORIGIN--POLITICAL AND MILITARY DIFFICULTIES In the autumn of 1863 our somewhat tedious devotion to military administration in all its complicated details was suddenly interrupted by the outbreak of hostilities on the north-west frontier, which rapidly and unexpectedly developed into a war of considerable magnitude in the Afghan mountains. Its origin was of a rather singular and exceptional character. For many years previously a number of violent fanatical outlaws, chiefly from the lower provinces of Bengal, hundreds of miles away, had fled from our territories, and settled amongst the independent Afghan tribes who live in the countries across the border. These outlaws, occasionally reinforced by disaffected Mohammedans from the plains, lived chiefly in a village called 'Sitana' on the lower slopes of the Mahabun mountain, about forty miles north of the old Mogul fortress of Attock, and on the western side of the Indus--hence their name of Sitana fanatics. Their ordinary occupation consisted of incursions into the plains of Eusofzye, and in robbing and murdering peaceful traders in our territories. In 1858 the late Sir Sydney Cotton led an expedition against them and burnt some of their villages; but as they were harboured, and probably to some extent encouraged, by their Afghan neighbours, and as the country of their adoption was devoid of roads and almost inaccessible, they soon re-established themselves in the large new village of Mulka, high up on the slopes of the mountain, and re-commenced their depredations. It was under these circumstances that a fresh expedition was determined on; and as, from causes which were not foreseen at the outset, it rapidly developed into a considerable campaign, it will be interesting to take a short survey of the conditions, military and political, of our north-west border. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF NORTH-WEST FRONTIER] A glance at the map will show that our frontier in that part of India is composed of great rugged mountain ridges which, radiating southerly from the Hindoo Koosh, terminate somewhat abruptly in the plains, and form, as it were, a great natural boundary of the Empire. These mountains are inhabited by tribes who, though Afghan in language, religion, and race, are for the most part independent of the ruler at Cabul. They are poor but brave, fanatical, and half civilised, and are governed by native 'jirgahs' or councils; and, although turbulent and difficult to deal with, still have a great love of their country and cherish its independence, possessing qualities that we admire in ourselves, and which deserve consideration and respect. Except in the narrow and secluded valleys there is little cultivation, and the whole country is almost devoid of roads, beyond mere goat paths. Military operations are therefore difficult. The Commander-in-Chief, when the expedition was under consideration, pointed out that the season was late, as snow falls in November, and that to march a force through such a country of scant resources would necessitate careful preparations and ample transport, and he advised postponement until the following spring; but his views were disregarded by the Punjab Government, who entered into the campaign in a somewhat heedless, lighthearted fashion, which speedily brought its own punishment. It is further to be remembered that in those days our line of frontier for hundreds of miles was guarded chiefly by the Punjab Irregular Force, consisting of about 10,000 men of all arms recruited from the martial races within our border, many of whom were really Afghans in religion and race. Strange to relate, also, this army was under the orders of the Punjab Government, and altogether independent of the Commander-in-Chief. To guard a long and exposed frontier by native levies raised on the spot, and to the almost total exclusion of English soldiers, was a bold and possibly a dangerous policy; but to increase the risk by a complex division of military authority appears to be a violation of all commonly received maxims of war. The force decided on for the Sitana expedition consisted of about 6,000 men, chiefly of the Punjab force just mentioned, to which, however, was added the 71st Highlanders, the 101st Bengal Fusiliers, and a battery of Royal Artillery, with its field guns carried on elephants. The Government were fortunate in one respect, that the expedition was placed under the command of Sir Neville Chamberlain, an officer of long experience and of the highest ability and courage. Indeed, it was a happy circumstance that in the serious complications and hard fighting which ensued a man of such great qualities should have been at the head of affairs; and although he was struck down and severely wounded before the operations came to an end, still it may be admitted, without disparagement of his successor, that the neck of the confederacy had been broken by his vigorous measures, and that the tribes were sick at heart and weary of the combat. In entering on a campaign against the Sitana fanatics, who doubtless were tolerated and harboured by the inhabitants, it must still be borne in mind that in crossing the border we were entering upon foreign territory; and a question therefore arose as to the light in which our suspicious Afghan neighbours would regard our advance. There was also another important point which must not be overlooked. In determining the exact direction of our march, it was considered, as a matter of strategy, that instead of moving straight up the mountain, towards the enemy's stronghold, we should enter the country by the Umbeylah Pass, a narrow gorge to the west of the Mahabun, and proceed through the Chumla Valley on its north side (see map); and thus by a flank march, as it were, attack the fanatics in rear and cut off their line of retreat. Our intentions in this respect were kept secret. In a military point of view the proposal had advantages, but politically it had quite another aspect--it being evident that we were thus entering the territory of neighbours, many miles distant from the real object of the expedition, who might, and indeed did, at once take violent exception to our proceedings. Official documents published afterwards explain this clearly. Speaking of the intended march through the pass, Colonel Taylor, the commissioner with the expedition, wrote: 'It was, under the circumstances, impossible to examine the proposed route by questioning those of our own territories best acquainted with it, without raising suspicions as to the line we proposed to take in entering the hills.' Again, General Chamberlain's first despatch after the advance of the force, on October 20, said: 'I should here mention that on the afternoon of the 19th,[55] when it would be too late for the Chumla or other tribes to make any preparations on a large scale for impeding the march of the troops through the Umbeylah Pass, a proclamation was forwarded by the commissioner, to the Chumla and Bonair tribes, stating the object with which the force was about to enter the Chumla Valley, and assuring them that it was with no intention of injuring them, or of interfering with their independence; but solely because it was the most convenient route by which to reach the Hindostanee fanatics, and to effect their expulsion from the Mahabun.' But the question was, in what light were the Bonairs and others likely to regard our sudden and unexpected arrival at the door of their house, our purpose having been carefully hid until the time for their objecting or defending themselves had passed away? The late Major James, who was the commissioner when peace was made, alluding to these circumstances, makes a significant remark: 'Even supposing, therefore,' he says, 'that the proclamations actually reached their destination, was it likely that a brave race of ignorant men would pause to consider the purport of a paper they could not read, when the arms of a supposed invader were glistening at their doors?' It so happened, also, that the fanatics, when they heard of the assembly of our troops in the plains and became aware that we were about to call them to account, although not cognisant of our exact plan, nevertheless wrote a very crafty letter to their neighbours, which subsequently fell into our hands, as follows: 'The evil-doing infidels[56] will plunder and devastate the whole of the hilly tract, especially the provinces of Chumla, Bonair, Swat, &c., and annex those countries to their dominions, and then our religion and worldly possessions would entirely be subverted. Consequently, keeping in consideration a regard for Islam, the dictates of faith, and worldly affairs, you ought by no means to neglect the opportunity. The infidels are extremely deceitful and treacherous, and will by whatever means they can come into these hills, and declare to the people of the country that they have no concerns with them, that their quarrel is with the Hindostanees, that they will not molest the people, even as much as touch a hair of their heads, but will return immediately after having extirpated the Hindostanees, and that they will not interfere with their country. They will also tempt the people with wealth. It is therefore proper for you not to give in to their deceit, or else, when they should get an opportunity, they will entirely ruin, torment, and put you to many indignities, appropriate to themselves your entire wealth and possessions, and injure your faith.' From the foregoing remarks it will, I think, be evident that our policy was not only somewhat rash, but was not altogether straightforward. In the first place, we undertook the expedition with an inadequate force, chiefly comprised of native troops, raised on the spot, at a late season of the year, and without sufficient preparations as to supplies and transport; in the next, we attempted to march through a country inhabited by tribes with whom we had no cause of quarrel, and from whom we carefully concealed our intentions. The result of the first day's march (October 20) brought matters to a climax, and instead of being able to cut off the 'Sitana' fanatics, we found ourselves face to face with the Bonair and other tribes, whose territory we had invaded, and who, scoffing at our professed strategy, at once united and determined if possible to drive us out of their country. The whole condition of affairs was thus entirely altered, and General Chamberlain found himself holding the end of a narrow gorge, with steep mountains running up several thousand feet on either side, and attacked incessantly day and night, not only in front, but on either flank. In the meantime another unfortunate circumstance had occurred. It so happened that towards the end of October both the Viceroy and Sir Hugh Rose had left Simla, on short expeditions towards the distant ranges of the Himalayas. Accidentally I had seen Lord Elgin when he started, and he appeared to be in good health; soon afterwards, however, owing, it was supposed, to his having ascended and crossed some high passes, or whatever the cause, he suddenly became dangerously ill with an affection of the heart, and when he arrived at Drumsala in the Kangra Valley, his case was deemed hopeless. Sir Hugh also, for the moment, was almost out of reach, but on hearing of the untoward development of the military operations, he at once proceeded to Lahore, where his staff joined him in November. The successive despatches of General Chamberlain give a clear account of the altered condition of affairs. Writing on October 23, he said: 'The Bonair people having thus taken a hostile part against us is extremely serious, and has altered our whole position and probably our plan of operations.' He then goes on to explain the necessity of guarding his communications through the pass, and asks for reinforcements. Again, on October 25, he writes: 'There appears to be reason to believe that the Bonair people have applied to the Akoond of Swat for aid, and should they succeed in enlisting him in their cause--which is not improbable, as they are his spiritual followers--the object with which this force took the road to the Chumla Valley would be still more difficult of attainment.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 55: October 19, 1863.] [Footnote 56: Meaning the English.] CHAPTER XVIII HARD FIGHTING IN THE MOUNTAINS General Chamberlain now took steps to clear himself of encumbrances, and to prepare for hard fighting. The sick, the baggage, and spare transport animals were sent back to the plains, and the road was improved. A breastwork was thrown across the front of the camp and flanked with guns; the steep slopes on either side were occupied by strong pickets, stockaded and entrenched. Still the position was weak. Far above on the extreme left our troops held a post called the 'Eagle's Nest;' and opposite, on the right, another named the 'Crag Picket,' a commanding pinnacle of rocks scantily clothed with pines and towering up into the sky. Both were vital points to hold, for they entirely overlooked the lower defences. But high as they both were, there were other ridges and dominant points still far above, and our troops were thus exposed to sudden overwhelming attacks, from enemies who could collect unseen at their leisure and choose their time for an assault. The men of the tribes were brave and worthy foes. These bold mountaineers, ignorant of what is termed discipline, or of any regular art of war, armed only with old matchlocks and short swords, nevertheless, by a kind of rude instinct, discovered at once our weak points; and by feints at the centre, combined with furious assaults on the isolated flanks, not only inflicted heavy loss upon us, but succeeded occasionally in endangering the whole position. The Crag Picket alone fell three times into their hands by direct assault in open daylight, at different periods of the campaign, although in each case we drove them out again. The despatches received day after day, though hastily written, gave a vivid reality to the scenes depicted, and extracts from them will perhaps convey the best idea of the fierce nature of the contest and of its vicissitudes. On October 24 large bodies of men, with numerous standards, appeared in the Chumla Valley, and were ascertained to be arrivals from some of the minor hill tribes, and a portion of the fanatics under Mobarik Shah. At daylight the next morning they appeared above our right defences on the Mahabun, but were driven off by Major Keyes,[57] who chased them along the ridges and forced them back precipitately into the valley. The events of the following day (October 26) were serious. Chamberlain, having some reason to apprehend an attack on the Eagle's Nest, reinforced the troops on the mountain, sending up 200 of the 71st Highlanders, the 5th and 6th Punjab regiments, and a mountain battery. The Eagle's Nest itself was held by 230 men under Major Brownlow.[58] The enemy, who had established a breastwork of their own on the heights above and were in great strength, no sooner observed our preparations for battle than they joyfully accepted the challenge. The scene is well described by Colonel Vaughan, who was in command: 'The troops were hardly in position when a very large body of the enemy rushed down the steep slopes, and, with loud cries, attacked at once the picket and the troops. The mountain train guns fired upon them with shrapnel, common case, and round shot, and this fire checked those advancing against the troops in position, but not those advancing against the picket. The latter were attacked with the greatest determination, and two of the enemy's standards were planted close under the parapet. All the efforts of the picket failed to dislodge them for some time, notwithstanding that the direct fire from the picket was aided by a flanking fire from the mountain train guns and from the Enfield rifles of the 71st.... When the enemy had been checked by the guns, they were charged by the 6th Punjab Infantry, but the regiment was unfortunately carried too far in the ardour of pursuit, and lost heavily before it could regain the position.' Major Brownlow, who was standing at bay in the Eagle's Nest, gives a simple and vivid account of the attack upon him. 'About 12 o'clock (noon) the Bonairwals commenced to move down from their position, matchlock men posting themselves advantageously in the wood, and opening a very galling fire upon us, whilst their swordsmen and others advanced boldly to the attack, charging across the plateau in our front, and planting their standard behind a rock, within a few feet of our wall. The steady fire, however, with which they were received rendered their very gallant efforts unavailing, and they were driven back and up the hill, leaving the ground covered with their dead.' Our casualties on this occasion were as follows: Killed Wounded Total English officers 2 2 4 Native officers 1 9 10 Men 28 129 157 -- --- --- 31 140 171 The great losses incurred by the native corps in this as in every action during the campaign, are proofs of the loyalty of the men to our cause. General Chamberlain, in his despatches, bears warm testimony to their devotion; and points out that although there were men in the native regiments of almost every tribe on the frontier, including those which were fighting against us, still there were no desertions, nor was there any instance of backwardness in engaging the enemy. After the 25th there was a lull for a few days, but the storm soon gathered again, and important events followed each other in rapid succession. General Chamberlain, in his despatch of October 31, reports 'that the Akoond has joined and has brought with him upwards of 100 standards from Swat, each standard representing probably from twenty to thirty footmen.' Other distant tribes had also been summoned, and in fact there was a general combination all along the border against us. He goes on to say: 'It is necessary that I should place the state of affairs thus distinctly before His Excellency, in order that he may understand how entirely the situation has altered since the force entered the Umbeylah Pass.' And he goes on to explain that with his present numbers he could only stand on the defensive. During the early part of November vigorous efforts were made to strengthen our outposts and to improve the communication to the plains of Eusofzye; but the confederate tribes jealously watched our movements and incessantly attacked us day and night; and on the morning of the 13th succeeded a second time in capturing the Crag Picket. General Chamberlain in his despatch said: 'I was in the camp when the picket fell into the hands of the enemy, and my attention having been accidentally drawn to the unusual dust and confusion caused by the rush of camp followers down the hill, I felt convinced that some reverse had occurred, and immediately sent forward Her Majesty's Royal Bengal Fusiliers.' Lieutenant-Colonel Salisbury[59] was in command of the regiment, and his orders were to push on and retake the position at any cost. The ascent was long and steep, but the Fusiliers never halted, and in five-and-twenty minutes the key of the position was recovered. An important change was now made in the disposition of the force. As already explained, the prolonged halt in the pass was due to unforeseen causes, and the general had to make the best of it, its great weakness consisting in the isolation of its flanks. As some delay must occur before sufficient reserves could arrive, so as to enable Chamberlain to resume the offensive, he determined to abandon the gorge and also the pickets on the mountain to his left, and to concentrate his whole force on the slopes of the Mahabun. In a military point of view this was a judicious arrangement. Instead of holding a series of straggling posts, perched upon rocks, on two separate mountains, and with his main body far down in a hollow gorge, our troops would thus be concentrated and able to reinforce any point required. The movement was quietly carried out during the night of November 17. The vigilance of the tribes for once failed them, and when daylight broke on the 18th, to their astonishment the Eagle's Nest and all the pickets on that side were silent and empty. Exasperated by the success of our manoeuvre, and imagining probably that it was the precursor of a general retreat, the enemy swarmed up the Mahabun ridges, and before our troops were well settled in their new positions, attacked them fiercely, and for the moment with some success, but were finally driven off. General Chamberlain, writing at the time, said: 'The troops have now been hard-worked both day and night for a month, and having to meet fresh enemies with loss is telling. We much need reinforcements. I find it difficult to meet the enemy's attacks, and provide convoys for supplies and wounded sent to the rear.... This is urgent.' The confederate tribes, consisting of the fanatics, the men of the Mahabun, of Bonair, Swat, Bajour, and of other distant secluded valleys, joined also by a sprinkling of men from our own border villages, were now in such numbers that the hill sides literally swarmed with them; and although they had failed in their efforts to capture the position they had not lost heart, but again made a vigorous effort; and on November 20 advanced on the Crag Picket, coming boldly up, with their standards flying, to within a few feet of our breastworks; and at length, after a desperate hand-to-hand encounter, for the third time took possession, amidst shouts of triumph from the Afghans on the hills all round. Victory, however, did not long remain with them. The 71st Highlanders, who had taken a full share in every action of the campaign, were selected, with a regiment of Goorkas, to retrieve the fortunes of the day, and they were not wanting in this hour of need. Whilst the troops were being assembled for the assault of the captured work, the field and mountain guns were turned on the enemy, who were thus forced to lie close under cover of the rocks. Under a perfect storm of matchlock balls and of stones hurled from the summit, Colonel Hope, the gallant leader of the Highlanders, deliberately formed his men at the foot of the Crag; and sending the Goorkas to turn the flank, he placed himself at the head of his corps, and, with a cool determination which excited the admiration of every soldier of the force, proceeded to march up the rocky height. The mountaineers throughout the war had shown themselves ready to do and to dare a great deal, but they were not quite prepared for the direct assault of a Highland regiment which in open day, with its colonel at its head, was steadily approaching, and would infallibly in a few seconds close upon them, with a volley and a bayonet charge. The storm of shells which had been raining on them for the preceding half hour, shattering the rocks and trees, had somewhat shaken their confidence; and almost as soon as the Highlanders reached the summit the mountaineers evacuated the position, and were chased along the ridges. Sir Neville Chamberlain, ever foremost in danger, having felt it his duty to accompany the troops in so critical an attack, was unfortunately severely wounded, and Colonel Hope was also dangerously wounded in the thigh. Our lost ground was thus recovered, but at the cost of two distinguished men, the first and second in command, who were rendered unable to take any further part in the war. Our losses up to this time had been considerable; no less than 14 English[60] and 4 native officers, with 213 men, had been killed, whilst 15 English, 17 native officers, and 468 men were wounded, making a total of 731 casualties, and so far as the original object of the war was concerned, we had as yet really accomplished nothing. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 57: Now General Sir Charles Keyes, G.C.B.] [Footnote 58: Now General Sir Charles Brownlow, G.C.B.] [Footnote 59: Now General Salisbury, C.B.] [Footnote 60: The following officers were killed: Lieutenant Gillies, R.A., Captains C. Smith and Aldridge, and Ensign C. Murray, 71st Highland Light Infantry; Lieutenants Dougal and Jones, 79th Highlanders (doing duty with 71st); Lieutenant H. Chapman, Ensign A. Sanderson, and Surgeon Pile, 101st Bengal Fusiliers; Lieutenant J. Davidson, 1st Punjab Infantry; Lieutenant Clifford, 3rd Punjab Infantry; Lieutenant W. Moseley, 14th Ferozepore Regiment; Lieutenant Richmond, 20th Native Infantry, and Major G. Harding, Bombay Staff Corps.] CHAPTER XIX POLITICAL COMPLICATIONS--END OF THE WAR The preceding remarks will be sufficient to give a general idea of the difficulties, both military and political, which had ensued on our crossing the border. The situation was undoubtedly grave. Major James, the commissioner, wrote, that it was a truly formidable and dangerous combination, and that immediate action was necessary to save the Government from a war involving us not only with all the tribes on the border, but also in all probability with Afghanistan. The Lieutenant-Governor of the Punjab, Sir Robert Montgomery, had doubtless long and anxiously considered the untoward aspect of affairs; and at length, when the telegrams arrived announcing the severe actions just described, he looked upon the matter as so serious, that he was actually prepared to order an immediate withdrawal of the whole force to the plains; and in this view he was supported by some members of the Viceroy's Council; in fact an order to that effect was sent to the Commander-in-Chief. What Sir Hugh Rose thought of the proposition is plain enough. In the first place he remonstrated against the withdrawal, pointing out the danger of such a policy and the loss of prestige which would result. In the next he ordered large reinforcements to proceed by forced marches to the frontier, so that the great northern road from Lahore to Peshawur was crowded with cavalry, artillery, and infantry, all hurrying upwards. At the beginning of December there were five-and-twenty thousand men north of the Jhelum. Soon after my arrival at Lahore in November, I had written to my old friend Sir William Denison at Madras, giving him a short description of the state of affairs.[61] On November 20 Lord Elgin died, and Sir William, as the senior governor present in India, was summoned by telegraph to Calcutta, and assumed temporarily the functions of Viceroy. His reply to my letter is dated Calcutta, December 7, and is interesting as giving his views on the situation. It is as follows:-- 'My dear Adye,--Thanks for your letter. I got the whole of the papers relating to the business in the North-west on my way up the river, and spent my time in reading them and making notes. It is hardly worth while to say anything about the commencement of the affair beyond this, that if any move was to have been made at all, the plan proposed by Sir H. Rose was clearly that which should have been adopted. With reference, however, to the future, I trust I have been in time to check further evil.... I found an order had been sent to the Commander-in-Chief, telling him that their wish was that the force should be withdrawn, thrusting upon the Commander-in-Chief the responsibility of deciding not only the mode of doing this, and the time, but also that of determining whether such a move would peril our reputation. The first step I took was to press for a modification of the order. I pointed out that it was unfair to the Commander-in-Chief; and that, as we had a sufficient force, it would be decidedly impolitic to withdraw, until we had accomplished the design for which we had made our inroad into the country. After a good deal of talk, I carried with me the majority of the council, and it was decided to bring the Bonairs to terms before withdrawing the troops. To leave without doing this would almost insure another campaign in the spring, and this would be expensive and useless. I trust that our orders may arrive in time to prevent any hasty move to the rear.'[62] [Illustration: GOING TO THE WAR. CROSSING THE INDUS AT ATTOCK, NOVEMBER 1863] Many days, however, before I received Sir William's letter, circumstances had occurred at Lahore which led to my making a long and rapid journey of several hundred miles northwards, and joining the force in the mountains during the remainder of the war. On November 19 Sir Hugh spoke to me of his difficulties and of the suggested retreat, which seemed both impolitic and unnecessary. The letters and telegrams received from the front were, however, necessarily somewhat short and hasty, and did not give full details of the position; and I offered my services as a staff officer, to pay a rapid visit to Chamberlain, hear his views, take a personal survey of the country, and then return. The Commander-in-Chief accepted my offer, and also selected Major Roberts,[63] who knew the people and the language, to accompany me. He was a delightful companion. On the evening of the 20th we left Lahore on the mail cart, placing the driver behind, and ourselves driving each stage alternately. We galloped up the trunk road all night, and all the next day, crossing the Ravee, the Chenab, and the Jhelum, and were nearly done up from want of sleep, when we fortunately drove into the camp of a battery of Horse Artillery and obtained a few hours' rest. Before daylight we were off again, passed through Rawul-Pindee, and in the afternoon crossed the Indus by a bridge of boats close under the old Mogul fortress of Attock; and at sunset on the second day our long drive of nearly 300 miles came to an end at Nowshera, on the Cabul river, where the officers of a battery under Captain Nairne, R.A.,[64] hospitably received us. Until our arrival at Nowshera, we had not heard of the latest fight at the Crag Picket, and that Chamberlain and Hope were severely wounded. In the meantime horses had been laid out for our use across the plains of Eusofzye; and, crossing the Cabul river, we galloped about thirty miles, passing numerous detachments of Seiks and Pathans, with elephants and camels, and on the evening of November 23 reached the camp of Major Probyn,[65] in command of a native cavalry regiment at the foot of the mountains. The weather was fine but cold, and altogether the long journey was very enjoyable. Sir Neville Chamberlain's force was about ten miles distant on the heights of the Mahabun, whose ridges run up to 8,000 feet. Our instructions were urgent, and we were very anxious to be off. Probyn, however, whose troops were patrolling the frontier, pointed out that the communications were uncertain, and that the road, such as it was, was only opened occasionally by armed convoys taking up food and munitions to the front. However, as delay was unadvisable, after considering the matter, he said: 'You can, if you like, go up with the "catch-em-alive-ohs."' I inquired who these interesting people were, and his reply was that they were Afghans--in fact, the same people we were fighting against; but he added that these were friendly and in our pay, and would take care of us. He had them paraded for our inspection. These 'catch-em-alive-ohs' were a rough, handsome, picturesque lot of fellows, armed with old matchlocks, shields, and short knives, and seemed very good-natured and friendly; so, in default of better, we determined on accepting their escort, and away we went, accompanied by the Reverend Mr. Cowie, afterwards Bishop of New Zealand. The mountain was steep and rugged, and the route a mere goat path, so that our progress was slow. After climbing for some miles, we suddenly observed a large number of people on a high, distant ridge, but whether friends or enemies was not so certain. The body of a native just killed was lying in the path. At that moment a messenger ran up bringing me a small note in pencil, and reading it hastily I made it out to be 'the road is _now_ safe, push on as fast as you can.' This was satisfactory, but on looking more carefully we found the message really was, 'the road is _not_ safe, push on,' &c. This rather altered the conditions; but fortunately the men we had observed on the heights were a party of Goorkas, and the note was from the officer in command, who was looking out for us, so that our journey soon came to an end, and we arrived safely in camp. The next morning I paid a visit to Chamberlain. We had been cadets together many years before at Woolwich, but he left the Academy before obtaining a commission, joining the Bengal army, and we had never met since those early days. His wound, however, was severe and his condition serious, so that I was unable to discuss the position of affairs with him, as had been intended, and in a few days he was carried down to the plains. I found a strong and unanimous feeling amongst the officers against any withdrawal. Although the tribes were in great force in the valley, with their standards flying, it was evident that we only required reinforcements; and that a movement in advance would soon scatter the brave but badly armed, undisciplined hosts of our mountain foes. I lost no time in sending day by day, detailed reports, sketches, and plans of the position to Sir Hugh Rose, urging also the necessity for an early forward movement, and in reply received an order by telegraph, to remain with the force until the termination of the war. The scenery all round us from our elevated camp was very varied, and had many elements of grandeur. Looking back to the south through the dark defiles of the pass, we could see the fertile plain of Eusofzye stretching away to the Indus and Cabul rivers, whilst in front the sheltered Chumla valley and the village of Umbeylah were lying beneath us; and away in the distance to the north, high ranges of mountains, capped by the snowy peaks of the Hindoo Koosh, closed in the horizon. Owing to the success which had been achieved on several occasions by the tribes in capturing our outlying breastworks--due, perhaps, in some cases, to want of vigilance on our part--strict instructions had been given that our pickets were to hold their ground at all hazards; and on one occasion a soldier coming on duty was heard to say to his comrade, 'Well, Jim, what's the orders at this post?' and Jim replied, 'Why, the orders is, you're never to leave it till you're killed, and if you see any other man leaving it, you're to kill him.' Our life was a very open-air kind of existence, a sort of prolonged picnic, and we lived partly in small tents and partly in caves, always sleeping in our clothes; our dinners such as they were, being cooked and laid out on the rocks. The Afghans perched themselves about, and now and then made long shots at us with their matchlocks. One old fellow took up his position every day on an elevated spot, on the other side of the pass, at a distance, and watched the proceedings. Our men frequently fired at him, but apparently without effect; so at last they gave it up, and nicknamed him 'Oh! Willie, we have missed you.' There was another peculiarity amongst the tribes which is, perhaps, unusual in warfare. Some of our native troops, when on isolated pickets at night, used to pass away the dreary hours by singing some of their national airs; and the enemy, apparently not wishing to be left out, would cheerily join in the chorus. [Illustration: AFGHAN FRONTIER CAMPAIGN. STORMING THE CONICAL PEAK, DECEMBER 1863] At the end of November General Garvock[66] arrived, taking command of the expedition; and during the next few days considerable reinforcements marched up from the plains, including amongst others the 7th Fusiliers, the 93rd Highlanders, and Probyn's Horse, 400 strong. Our total force was over 8,000 men, with 16 light guns, some carried on elephants and the rest on mules. The men of the tribes, no doubt, were quite aware of these accessions to our strength; and although Guzzhan Khan, from the distant province of Dher, had joined them with 6,000 followers, they hesitated to attack our position, which was now strongly entrenched and vigilantly guarded. Early in December a small deputation of Bonair chiefs came into camp to confer with Major James, the commissioner, with a view to peace; and after a parley withdrew to consult the other tribes as to the terms we offered; which were the destruction of Mulka, and that the fanatics should no longer be harboured and protected by the Afghans. We could hardly demand less. It was understood that there were considerable dissensions amongst the native chiefs, and on the afternoon of December 14 a solitary messenger returned, stating that our proposals were rejected. It was also known that an attack by the combined tribes was imminent on the morrow. The moment of action had at length arrived. General Garvock, forestalling the intentions of the enemy, assembled a force of 5,000 men, including the 7th and 101st Fusiliers, at daylight near the Crag picket, leaving the remainder to guard the camp, and at 8 A.M. led off his troops along the ridges to the attack. About two miles beyond the Crag stood the small village of Laloo, and a few hundred yards in front of it, one of the great spurs running up from the Chumla valley, terminated in a lofty peak dominating the whole ridge. On this natural stronghold the men of the tribes had established themselves in great force, flying their standards, and prepared to abide the last issues of war. The ordinary difficulties of the ascent had been increased by numerous 'sungas' (breastworks), so that it was a formidable position to take by assault. Our skirmishers, who had easily driven in the outlying mountaineers, then halted about 600 yards in front of and looking up at the conical peak, and, supported by the mountain guns, waited for the arrival of the main body. These mountain batteries rendered great service during the war. Their light ordnance, carriages, and ammunition being all carried on mule back, they are thus independent of roads, can accompany infantry over any ground, and come into action on the most restricted space. As the several regiments came up they sought a momentary shelter in the broken ground, and when all was ready, General Garvock sounded the 'advance.' At that signal 5,000 men rose from their cover, and with loud cheers and volleys of musketry, rushed to the assault; the regiments of Pathans, Seiks, and Goorkas vieing with the English soldiers as to who should first reach the enemy. From behind every rock and shrub at the foot of the peak small parties of mountaineers jumped up, and fled as the advancing columns approached. It took but a few minutes to cross the open ground, and then the steep ascent began, our men having to climb from rock to rock, and their formation necessarily becoming much broken. Foremost among the many could be distinguished the scarlet uniforms of the 101st Fusiliers, who, led by Colonel Salisbury, steadily swarmed up the mountain and captured the defences in succession at the point of the bayonet, the enemy's standards dropping as their outworks fell; whilst here and there the prostrate figures of our men scattered about the rocks, proved that the hill-men were striking hard to the last. Nothing, however, could withstand the impetuosity of the assault, and ere many minutes had elapsed the conical peak from foot to summit was in the possession of British soldiers. I had the misfortune during the assault to fall over a large rock, seriously injuring my right knee and tearing the ligaments, becoming for the moment incapable of climbing; but by the help of a mule, lent from one of the batteries, managed to reach the crest of the mountain. Our panting troops still pushed on, captured the village of Laloo, and the mountaineers were then driven headlong in thousands, down the steep glades, through the pine forests to the Chumla valley, many hundred feet below. This was the first general defeat the enemy had experienced, and they were not left long to recover from its effects. At daylight the next morning our troops were again in movement; one brigade marching down direct on Umbeylah, accompanied by Probyn's cavalry, who, however, had to lead their horses down the precipitous slopes until they reached the valley. In the meantime the other brigade descended from Laloo and deployed at the foot. The tribes, although at first they seemed inclined to make a stand, gradually fell back. The brigade from Laloo followed them up, passed the village of Umbeylah, and approached the hills leading to Bonair. The enemy, who had been lying concealed in the ravines and broken ground, suddenly rushed out, sword in hand, wildly attacked one of our Seik regiments, and for the moment even penetrated its ranks. The Seiks, however, were rallied by their officers, and supported by the 7th Fusiliers, and the enemy in a few minutes were driven back with great loss. In the meantime three field guns, under Captain Griffin, R.A., which had been brought down on elephants, got into action and shelled the crowded heights, the tribes withdrawing out of range. Our losses during the two days were: one officer killed,[67] four wounded, and there were 172 casualties amongst the men. As all tents and baggage had been left on the mountain, we bivouacked for the night outside Umbeylah, which was set on fire. The weather unfortunately was wet and cold, so that lying in the open wrapped up in a blanket was not luxurious; and, to add to my discomfort, all at once I felt what seemed to be a snake crawling about my legs. Having with difficulty obtained a lighted match, I suddenly threw aside the blanket, when a huge black rat darted out, but, as I found the next morning, had eaten large holes in my only pair of trousers, so that I presented altogether a somewhat damp and dilapidated appearance. These, however, were but minor incidents in a very interesting campaign. The effect of our vigorous movements on the 15th and 16th was immediate and decisive. The men of Bajour and Dher, who had come so far and were so eager for war, now fled to their native fastnesses. The Akoond and his followers were no more to be seen; and the chiefs of Bonair, relieved from the presence of overbearing allies, came into camp the next day to discuss terms of peace. Under ordinary circumstances a force of sufficient strength would no doubt have been sent forward to drive away the original offenders, and to destroy their chief village--Mulka. But the Punjab Government were anxious to limit the scope of the expedition, and to withdraw from the mountains. Consequently a somewhat hazardous compromise ensued; Colonel Reynell Taylor, the commissioner, proceeding with one native regiment, about 400 strong, accompanied by an escort of the Bonairs, to burn the distant village. Roberts and myself, being anxious to visit a part of the country hitherto unexplored, joined the party. The first day's march, on December 20, was along the Chumla Valley to Kooria. We saw little of our new friends the Bonairs, but the inhabitants were civil and met our requirements as to food; the next morning we commenced our long and toilsome march up the mountain to Mulka; which proved to be a large, new, well-built village of wood, where we remained for the night. The inhabitants had all fled. The following morning the whole place was set on fire; the hill tribes of the Mahabun, armed and in large numbers, however, watching us at a distance. The native officers of our regiment represented that the tribes were greatly exasperated, and might at any moment fire off their matchlocks and make a rush at us. However, we kept well together, and as soon as the village had been destroyed, steadily marched back to the valley, and rejoined the main force under General Garvock. On Christmas day the British troops left the mountains and once more stood on the plains of Eusofzye, the Bonairs destroying the entrenchments and breaking up the roads as we marched away. Thus ended the frontier war of 1863. Intended at the outset as a mere excursion against fanatical robbers, who had long infested the border, it speedily grew into a considerable war, the Mohammedan tribes, under the impression that their independence was in danger, combining against us. The campaign was interesting in its military aspect, in giving experience of the extreme difficulty and expense of carrying out offensive operations in a country composed of mountain ranges, devoid of communications, and inhabited by races of men whom we may consider half civilised, but who, at all events, possess the virtues of courage, independence, and love of their country, and physically are as active and handsome a people as exists anywhere. From a political point of view the north-west frontier of India is also full of interest. After a century of conquest, with dominions now extending 1,600 miles from Calcutta to Peshawur, we have at length arrived at a region which seems marked out by nature as the boundary of our Empire. The conditions of the north-west frontier no doubt involve difficult considerations, but it seems to me clear that, whilst guarding against incursions, our policy towards our somewhat turbulent neighbours should be one of forbearance and conciliation, combined in some cases with subsidies. As Sir Charles Wood, the Secretary of State for India, wrote in 1864: 'Our true course ought to be, not to interfere in their internal concerns, but to cultivate friendly relations with them, and to endeavour to convince them, by our forbearance and kindly conduct, that their wisest plan is to be on good terms with us, in order that they may derive those advantages from intercourse with us which are sure to follow from the interchange of commodities and mutual benefits.' It is a policy necessarily requiring patience and somewhat slow in its effect, but will in due time bring its reward, and indeed it has already done so of late years. Our trans-Indus districts, which were formerly harried by the neighbouring tribes, are now comparatively safe and prosperous; and many Afghans who have served in our ranks have returned to their native villages with pensions, and with a kindly feeling and remembrance of those under whom they have served. Before leaving this subject, it may be well to point out that there is another and a far larger question beyond that of the immediate frontier which must be kept steadily in view by the British Government, and that is our relations with the ruler of Afghanistan in connection with the advance of Russia in Central Asia. I propose, however, to defer the consideration of those important questions until a later period, when the Afghan war of 1878-9 brought matters to a crisis. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 61: My letter was published _in extenso_ in _Varieties of Viceregal Life_, by Sir W. Denison. 1870.] [Footnote 62: Sir Hugh Rose, in writing to me from Lahore on the same date as Sir William Denison (Dec. 7), said that the Governor General had entirely approved of his not consenting, although hard pressed, to give up the Umbeylah Pass and retreat to the plains.] [Footnote 63: Now General Lord Roberts, G.C.B.] [Footnote 64: Now General Nairne, C.B., Commander-in-Chief, Bombay.] [Footnote 65: Now General Sir Dighton Probyn, V.C.] [Footnote 66: The late Sir John Garvock.] [Footnote 67: The names of the officers were, Lieutenant Alexander killed; Major Wheeler, Captain Chamberlain, Lieutenants Nott and Marsh wounded.] CHAPTER XX VISIT TO PESHAWUR--SIR HUGH ROSE RETURNS TO ENGLAND--SIR WILLIAM MANSFIELD APPOINTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF The good sense and judgment of Sir William Denison, with the cordial co-operation and support of Sir Hugh Rose, had extricated the Government of India from a somewhat dangerous military and political crisis on the north-west border; and although the fierce passions of the tribes had been considerably roused, the excitement gradually cooled down when our troops returned to the plains. One hill chief, however, had the temerity to come into the open, and make a dash at one of our patrolling columns, but was speedily driven back. I forget his exact name, but by the English soldiers he was commonly called Sawdust Khan. In the unsettled condition of the frontier, the Commander-in-Chief found it necessary to remain for some weeks at the large and important station of Peshawur, which stands half encircled by the Afghan mountains and only a few miles distant from the entrance to the celebrated Kyber Pass. Peshawur, the central military position at this part of our territory, has a large old-fashioned mud fort, containing considerable reserves of armaments, munitions, and stores. It is probably strong enough to resist the desultory attacks of Afghan tribes; but in my opinion it would be more convenient, and more prudent from a military point of view, were the chief reserves of the district withdrawn to Attock, on the other side of the Indus. The Afghan hill-men at the time of our visit were in a very lively condition, and constantly robbing the station. The very first night that the large camp of the Commander-in-Chief was pitched on the plain outside, although guards and patrols were plentiful, they succeeded in carrying off some bullocks and two camels, and the theft of horses was not of rare occurrence. The frontier chiefs, however, were friendly to a limited extent, and on one occasion accompanied a party of us for a few miles within the rocky defiles of the Kyber, which at that time had not been visited by any Englishman for years. They made it a condition, however, that we should trust ourselves entirely to their protection, and not take any military escort; and they loyally carried out the compact. Our relations with them at the time, were, in fact, a curious mixture of friendship by day, combined with occasional brigandage on the part of their followers by night. Towards the end of February the camp of Sir Hugh Rose and the staff marched slowly southwards through the Punjab, crossing in succession by bridges of boats, the Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab rivers to Lahore. What with the elephants, camels, horses, bullocks, sheep, and goats which, combined with hundreds of followers, form essential features of military out-of-door life in India, the camp resembled an Oriental fair and menagerie more than anything else; and, owing to the vast impedimenta considered essential, the marches did not exceed twelve miles a day. We took the opportunity one day of visiting the sandy plain of Chilianwallah, on which in 1849 the great battle had been fought between the British army and the Seiks. The 24th Regiment specially suffered great losses on that occasion, and an officer who had been present, informed me that on the evening of the battle the bodies of thirteen officers of that regiment were laid side by side in the mess-tent, including the colonel (Pennycuick) and his son, the adjutant. The obelisk erected on the plain in memory of the conflict bears the following inscription: 'Around this tomb was fought the sanguinary battle of Chilianwallah, 13th January, 1849, between the British forces under Lord Gough, and the Seiks under Rajah Sher-Sing. On both sides did innumerable warriors pass from this life dying in mortal combat. Honoured be the graves of these heroic soldiers! In memory of those who fell in the ranks of the Anglo-Indian Army, this monument has been raised by their surviving comrades, at whose side they perished, comrades who glory in their glory, and lament their fate.' Having served for six years and a half continuously in India, and having obtained leave of absence, I left the camp on its arrival at Lahore, hurried to Calcutta, and embarked for England in April. As, however, many changes were still in progress, in respect both to the _personnel_ and _matériel_ of artillery, and in the Ordnance Department in India, it was deemed expedient that I should cut short my visit home; and in October I accordingly returned to resume my duties and landed in Bombay. As regards the Ordnance Department, the fact was that, owing to the triplicate system of military administration, which had prevailed in the days of the old East India Company, the arrangements in each presidency varied; and the armaments, munitions, and stores were not identical in pattern, whilst many were old and obsolete. The depots were scattered about without much reference to strategical considerations, and were too numerous. The system was not only costly but inefficient; and, in view of the great advances of artillery science, a general reorganisation had become necessary. During my visit to England, I had been in communication with Sir Charles Wood, the then Secretary of State for India, on these matters. On arrival at Bombay I had an interesting conversation with the Governor, Sir Bartle Frere, on military subjects; more especially as to whether the native troops should be thoroughly trusted and armed with the best modern weapons, or be relegated, as it were, to an inferior position, and be looked on as more or less subordinate auxiliaries. I gave my opinion that a policy of mistrust was not only a mistake, but would in reality defeat itself; that the native regiments should be armed and equipped like the English soldiers in every respect; the numbers to be maintained, and their nationalities, resting of course with the Government. It was a satisfaction to find that Sir Bartle Frere entirely concurred in these views. Leaving Bombay, and being anxious to rejoin Sir Hugh Rose quickly, I travelled through Central India, first of all for about three hundred miles on a partly finished railway, with occasional breaks; and then for five hundred miles outside a mail-cart, passing hastily through Indore, Gwalior, Agra, and Delhi to Meerut. Although I found time to make a few hasty sketches, it has always been a matter of regret that military exigencies rendered me unable to pay more than mere flying visits to so many native cities of great historical and architectural interest. Delhi and its neighbourhood especially is rich in picturesque mosques, tombs, palaces, and forts of the former Mogul dynasties. On arrival at Meerut I found that Sir Hugh Rose had seriously injured himself, having broken several ribs by a fall out hunting, so that for the time our movements were at a standstill. However, early in 1865, as soon as he had recovered, the head quarters staff continued their tour, and arrived at Lucknow, where a somewhat amusing incident occurred. During the Mutiny, an officer had gained the Victoria Cross for gallant conduct in the residency, but owing to some delay had not actually received the decoration; and the Commander-in-Chief was therefore glad of the opportunity of presenting it to him on the very spot where he had gained it. A general parade was ordered, the troops to be formed up round the ruins of the residency; and all the civilians and ladies of Lucknow were invited to be present. On the morning, when the hour of parade was at hand, the staff assembled in readiness in a bungalow, and it was understood that the Commander-in-Chief was preparing an appropriate speech for the occasion. Search was then made for the box containing the Victoria Cross, but it was nowhere to be found, and after an anxious hurried inquiry we discovered that by some mistake it had been left behind at Simla in the Himalayas. This was awkward, especially as Sir Hugh would naturally be annoyed at so unfortunate an error. The suggestion was made that some officer of the garrison should be asked to lend his for the occasion; but that also failed, no officer nearer than Cawnpore (fifty miles off) having gained one. There was no time to be lost, and at length Colonel Donald Stewart,[68] the Deputy Adjutant General, volunteered to inform the Commander-in-Chief: an offer which was at once accepted. Stewart on entering the room found Sir Hugh engaged in considering his speech, and then cautiously and gently announced that a slight mistake had occurred, and that the Victoria Cross had been left behind. The Commander-in-Chief, as anticipated, was angry, and complained that he had been treated with neglect. However, after he had cooled down, Donald Stewart said that in his opinion the difficulty could readily be got over; and, taking the cross of the Companionship of the Bath from his breast, suggested that it should be presented to the officer on parade, in lieu temporarily of the other; pointing out that the troops and the assembled company would not be near enough to distinguish the difference. Sir Hugh at once took in the situation, accepted the compromise, and acted accordingly. The decoration was presented, the Commander-in-Chief made an appropriate speech, and the demonstration altogether was a success. My remark to the officer afterwards was that as the Queen had given him the Victoria Cross, and the Commander-in-Chief the Bath, I thought he was entitled to wear both for the future. There was a ball in the evening in honour of the occasion, and in default of a real cross he had to wear a painted leather imitation one. In March 1866 the term of office of Sir Hugh Rose came to a close. His services in India had been of an eventful and distinguished character, not only in the field, in his celebrated march through Central India during the Mutiny, but also in military administration at a period of important changes. The position of a Commander-in-Chief in India, always a difficult one, was peculiarly so during his term of office. The extinction of a great institution such as that of the old East India Company could not be accomplished without considerable difficulty and delay; prejudices had to be overcome, and vested interests to be considered. All these circumstances must be borne in mind in judging the career of Sir Hugh Rose from 1857 to 1865. The appointment of Sir William Mansfield as his successor, an officer of long experience in the country, and of great ability as an administrator, tended to complete the work, and to produce unity of system, so essential an element of military efficiency. As he acted in concert with the Viceroy Sir John Lawrence, old prejudices and difficulties gradually disappeared, to the great advantage of the army and to the security of the Empire. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 68: Now Field-Marshal Sir Donald Stewart, G.C.B.] CHAPTER XXI THE WAR IN BOOTAN During 1865 another border war occurred in India; not as usual on the north-west frontier, but with Bootan, an almost unknown country away in the far East, and north of the great river Brahmapootra. The causes were of the usual character--incessant depredations in our districts of Assam and Cooch-Behar. The territory of Bootan, with a length of about 250 miles, lies amidst the southern slopes of the highest ranges of the Himalayas, the eternal snows forming its frontier towards Thibet. It is, in fact, a country of stupendous mountains, intersected by narrow, precipitous valleys and rapid streams. The rainfall is excessive;[69] and all along its southern border, in the low grounds at the foot of the mountains, are dense forests and marshy jungles, almost impenetrable and choked with vegetation. The whole of the lower district is very unhealthy, and is the home of wild elephants, rhinoceros, and tigers--natural zoological gardens, in short, free of charge. The people of Bootan have little or no organised military force, and such fighting men as exist are only armed with knives, bows and arrows, and a few matchlocks; so that in a military sense they are not at all formidable. The inaccessible nature of the country is its best, and indeed almost its only, defence. The people are Chinese in type, and nominally Buddhists in religion; but, though brave and hardy, are almost entirely uncivilised, and the ruling authorities are weak and treacherous. The government of Bootan appears to be of a duplicate character; one rajah being a kind of spiritual head of the State without power, whilst another has all the power but apparently no head. The result, as might be expected, is frequent anarchy, whilst the subordinate rulers along the frontier district tyrannise over the people and plunder their neighbours at discretion. For a century past, indeed, the people, instigated by their chiefs, had incessantly committed depredations in our territories in the plains: carrying off men and women as slaves, and also elephants, buffaloes, and property of all kinds. Remonstrances had been made time out of mind, and missions sent to try and bring them to reason; but all our efforts were met by incivility, almost amounting to insult, and by evasion. The rulers of the country, no doubt, relied in a great measure on its inaccessibility; and, ignorant more or less of our power, were defiant and treacherous accordingly. In 1864 the Government of India decided on sending a mission, under the Honourable Ashley Eden, to Poonaka, the capital. His instructions were to demand the release of all captives, and to endeavour to arrange for peaceful commercial intercourse in the future. Leaving Darjeeling in January, he crossed the river Teesta, the western boundary of Bootan; but throughout his long and difficult journey to the interior, although he succeeded in reaching Poonaka, and although the poor villagers appeared well-disposed, he was met with evasion and constant delay from those in authority; and, when he arrived at length at the capital, the conduct of the Government was so threatening and grossly insulting that he only got away with difficulty, having under compulsion signed an obnoxious treaty, which, on his return to India in April, was immediately disavowed and repudiated. It was quite evident that, unless we were content to submit to violence and insult, the time had fully arrived for a recourse to arms. An expedition was arranged accordingly, and our troops entered Bootan from the plains in three separate, widely detached columns, of no great strength.[70] The one in the East marched a few miles up a gorge to Dewanghiri, and took it; but subsequently, on being attacked, abandoned the position, and fell back with the loss of two guns. The temporary defeat was, however, speedily avenged by a force under the command of the late General Tombs, of which the 55th Regiment under Colonel Hume[71] formed part, and the place was re-taken and held. The centre column also advanced into the hills and established itself at Buxa; whilst the third assaulted and captured Dalimkote, an old fort on a mountain ridge in the western ranges, and about 5,000 feet above the sea. Dalimkote, a few miles from the plains, was only formidable owing to its almost inaccessible position; and our troops engaged in its capture had to climb the steep sides of the mountain, by tortuous and narrow paths, and through thick jungles. In fact, the whole neighbourhood was a mass of dense forest and luxurious undergrowth. The officers and men of a battery of artillery had managed with difficulty to carry a small mortar up the hill-side with a view to a short bombardment, preceding assault. Hardly had it been brought into action near the entrance gate than by some unfortunate accident a barrel of gunpowder exploded, killing Captain Griffin, R.A.,[72] both his lieutenants, and six gunners, besides wounding several others. The small garrison, however, did not wait for an assault, but bolted, and the fort fell into our hands. Our columns had not penetrated for any great distance into the country, still the occupation of three important passes not only prevented the Booteas from plundering, but also put a stop to their commerce, which, though comparatively trifling in amount, proved a great blow to these isolated mountaineers; so that, after many attempts at evasion, towards the end of 1865 they were prepared to come to terms. Being desirous of visiting a part of the country so little known, and of so much interest at the time, I left Calcutta in January, made a rapid journey of about 400 miles due north to Darjeeling, and from that hill station started on an expedition for a fortnight along the Bootan frontier, returning by a voyage down the river Brahmapootra. The first part of the journey from Calcutta to the Ganges was by rail; and having crossed the river to Caragola, I was then carried by coolies in a palanquin, a sort of elongated bandbox, for 120 miles to the foot of the mountains, not meeting a single Englishman during the journey. The country was perfectly flat, and at night a native walked in front with a lighted torch, in order, so it was stated, to scare away the tigers. The coolies as they carried me along sometimes broke out into a low monotonous chant, occasionally varied by a dismal moaning chorus. I tried to ascertain the burden of their song, and found that it was myself, and that the coolie refrain was somewhat as follows: 'This is a heavy man. Oh! what a fat man,' and so on. Colonel Bourchier, R.A.,[73] joined me in the 'Terai,' a narrow belt of marshy forest lying at the foot of the slopes; and then, on a couple of mules, we ascended the Himalayas to Darjeeling. Not being encumbered with any baggage to speak of, our arrangements for the expedition were simple. Leaving Darjeeling, we rode due East for about twenty miles, and by a gradual descent reached the banks of the Teesta, a rapid river about 100 yards wide, remaining for the night in the hut of a young officer who, with a picket of native troops, was in charge of this corner of the frontier. The scenery was charming, and we met occasional parties of Booteas carrying fruit to the Darjeeling market. [Illustration: SKETCH MAP TO ILLUSTRATE TOUR IN BOOTAN, JANUARY 1866] The passage across the Teesta was by means of a cane bridge; and, considering that the inhabitants are ignorant and uncivilised, was a wonderful specimen of ingenuity and skill. These bridges, of which there are several in different parts of the country, are on the suspension principle, and made entirely of bamboo canes fastened together. There is not a nail or a single piece of rope used in the whole construction. They swing about in an uneasy way in passing over them; and as the canes soon become rotten, the whole structure gradually perishes and falls into the river, and has to be renewed. Indeed, as I understood, they require re-building annually. Our mules were pushed into the rapid torrent and pulled across by a long line, also made of flexible bamboos and devoid of string. Altogether it was a curious experience; and we felt much sympathy for the young officer who had to pass months on guard in this secluded valley, without a fellow-countryman to speak to. After crossing the Teesta, we entered Bootan territory, began a long ascent, and at the top of a mountain found another officer with a picket in a solitary stockaded fort. The scenery all round was magnificent. Dense forests filled the deep valleys, and far away to the north stood the snowy crest of Kinchinjunga, 28,000 feet high, standing out clear in the horizon. Proceeding along over the mountains, we passed an old monastery at Tasigimpoo, and in the evening reached a deserted Bootea stockade, where we remained for the night. The country seemed to be thinly inhabited, but the few people we met were good-natured and friendly. I had been warned not to sleep in the jungle, as we should be devoured by leeches; so, what with possible tigers on the one hand, and hungry leeches on the other, caution was necessary. However, I escaped, except that on one occasion a superfluous leech--not a tiger--attacked my leg during the night. Otherwise all went well, and the following evening, passing through glades of oak, we came in sight of the picturesque old walled fort of Dalimkote, overlooking the plains of Bengal, and surrounded with feathery woods of bamboo. Although the war was supposed to be virtually at an end, I had been informed by Sir John Lawrence before leaving Calcutta that their chief warrior Tongso Penlow was still at large and defiant, and sure enough on arrival at Dalimkote it was found impossible to advance further into the country. Consequently, in order to reach the next column at Buxa we were compelled to return to the plains, and after a ride of fifty miles reached Julpigoree on the Teesta. During the night horses were placed along the road eastwards to Cooch Behar; and, sending on our baggage with a native servant on an elephant, we started early the following morning, galloped for sixty miles over the plains, and, crossing several rivers on rafts, reached Cooch Behar in the afternoon. There was no time to spare, so after a few hours' rest we turned our faces again northwards, and after another long ride reached the centre column at Buxa. The hostility of Tongso Penlow had thus compelled us to make a detour of about 150 miles; but leaving Buxa, pushing on over the mountains, and then down to the deep secluded valley of the Chin-chu, we at length reached our most advanced post at the small village of Tapsee, and were rewarded by a view of the magnificent scenery of a country hitherto unknown and unexplored. Our pioneers had for some months past been engaged in constructing a road towards the interior, cutting through forests, blowing up rocks, and constructing temporary bridges over precipitous gorges and mountain torrents. We were, in short, advancing steadily through a remarkable and very difficult country towards Poonaka; and the perception of this fact no doubt compelled the Bootan Government at length to sue for peace, and caused even the warlike Tongso to cease his opposition. Hurrying back by forced marches, I took leave of Colonel Bourchier at Cooch Behar; and then finally, after a long solitary gallop, reached Dobree, on the Brahmapootra, just in time to get on board a steamer on its return voyage. Although several hundred miles from its mouth, the river at Dobree resembled a great inland sea. Its navigation, owing to numerous sandbanks, is somewhat dangerous, so that we could only move during daylight, passing numerous picturesque native boats and occasional alligators, lying like logs of grey wood along its banks. After a few days we arrived at Kooshtea, near the junction of the Ganges and Brahmapootra, and then reached Calcutta by railway. The expedition was hurriedly carried out; still it was most interesting in its variety, and in giving a glimpse, at all events, of a country so peculiar and hitherto so little known. [Illustration: WAR IN BOOTAN, 1866. OUTPOST IN VALLEY OF THE CHINCHU] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 69: The rainfall in that part of India is said to exceed 600 inches a year.] [Footnote 70: See map of Bootan.] [Footnote 71: Now General Sir Henry Hume, K.C.B.] [Footnote 72: Captain Griffin had been in command of a battery, and had done excellent service during the previous frontier war of Umbeylah. The names of the two lieutenants were E. Walker and E.A. Anderson.] [Footnote 73: Now General Sir George Bourchier, K.C.B.] CHAPTER XXII FAREWELL TO INDIA--RETURN TO REGIMENTAL DUTY AT WOOLWICH--APPOINTED DIRECTOR OF ARTILLERY--WAR OFFICE ORGANIZATION Having completed an almost continuous service of nine years in India, the time had at length arrived for my return to England. After many wanderings in distant lands, it is always a happiness to return home; still, no one, I think, can derive other than benefit from a residence for a time in the great empire which England has established in the East. To a soldier the experience gained is invaluable, not only in regard to the incidents of camp life and of marching, but also from the exceptional character of the campaigns in which our troops are so often engaged. Desirous as the Government may be for peace, still even now other military expeditions may be looming in the future; and under any circumstances the preparations for possible wars require constant care and watchfulness. Indeed, in the wide range of their duties in India, the officers and men of the British forces gain a varied experience such as does not fall to the lot of any other European army. The subjects of interest in our Eastern dominions are, however, by no means confined to arrangements for military expeditions. The various races of people whose customs, laws, and religions are so diverse in themselves, and so different from our own, the remarkable history of the country in the years gone by, and its successive invasions--all these are matters of a specially interesting character; and never more so than at the present time, when the results of our conquest, and the effects of modern civilisation, are beginning to exert so powerful an influence amongst the millions over whom we hold sway. Old customs and ancient superstitions are being rapidly and almost violently disturbed. In short, the establishment of our rule in the country is not only an unprecedented event, but involves a gradual and an almost entire change in the views and habits of the people. We have given them internal peace, sound laws, and safety of life and property, such as they have never enjoyed before; but we cannot stand still. Enlightenment, and the diffusion of what is termed education, are gravely affecting the character of the people; and it is not sufficient to guarantee them a mere peaceful existence; we must look forward to the results as they develop, and as we commenced by a bold policy, to subjugate a vast continent, so we must equally boldly be prepared to trust the people, and gradually to allow all ranks and classes to take part in the political, civil, and military events as they arise. By consistently and courageously following out such a policy, we shall present a noble spectacle to the world of a great, prosperous, and, what is more, an enduring empire established by England in the East. We have, indeed, but one course to pursue. Military service at home in time of peace is naturally of a less interesting character than travels and occasional expeditions in distant lands; and the training of young soldiers at Woolwich, which fell to my lot for some time after my return to England, did not present incidents of a striking character. At one period, I remember, there was a considerable dearth of recruits, especially of drivers for the horse artillery, partially due to the frequent changes in war office regulations as to the height and dimensions of the men enlisted. We were allowed to take short men, provided they were of exceptional width of chest and shoulders. Meeting an old recruiting serjeant one day, I inquired if he had been successful, but he was by no means sanguine; and, on my pressing him for the reason of his comparative failure, he replied: 'Beg your pardon, sir, but the Almighty doesn't make the men the shape you order 'em.' I received occasional curious letters from soldiers, one or two of which are worth quotation. The first was from a gunner who was anxious to be married, as in the days of long service it was necessary to obtain previous permission from the commanding officer. It is as follows: 'Sir, I beg you will pardon the liberty I take, in requesting the favour of your permission on a subject which depends on my future happiness. During my stay in Winchester, I have formed an attachment with a highly respectable young person, to whom I wish to develop my sentiments, by a matrimonial engagement, for which purpose may I beg, sir, the favour of your liberty?' The man, so far as my recollection goes, was duly married, and happy ever afterwards. The second letter accidentally fell into my hands, and is of a romantic character, from a soldier to a girl to whom he was devoted. 'My darling Jane, it is with great Plesur that I sit down to right a fue lines to you, with the intenchun of cheering your drooping sperits, for the tempest that ranges before you, the storm is hie, the tempest's winds blows through the parish, the throushes is warbling their songs of melode, but by far the sweetest song thare singing, his hover the water to Charley' ... and so on. Whilst stationed at Woolwich an incident occurred connected with a young artillery officer, of Irish family, who had been absent for some years on foreign service; and who, on his return to Woolwich, was taken to the large handsome messroom to see some recent improvements. Amongst other things, a new patent stove was pointed out to him; and it was explained that, whilst it gave the same amount of heat as the old fireplace, there was a considerable economy of coal--in fact, there was a saving of half the fuel. The officer at once remarked: 'If one stove saves half the fuel, why don't you buy two of them, and save the whole of it?' This view had never occurred to the Mess Committee. It was not until the early part of 1870 that I again took an active part in military administration, being unexpectedly offered the appointment of Director of Artillery at the War Office, by the Minister for War, Mr. Cardwell, whom until then I had never seen. It happened to be a period when considerable reforms in the army were under consideration; and I was fortunate in being associated for three or four years with a statesman of resolution and great ability, who, in the face of much opposition, parliamentary and other, laid the foundation of several important and beneficial changes, not only in the War Office itself, but also in the terms of soldiers' service and in general improvement of their condition. In order to understand the general bearing and scope of some of the chief reforms inaugurated by the late Lord Cardwell during his term of office as Minister, it will be desirable to give short accounts of the arrangements formerly existing in each case; and as some of his measures, from their nature, only arrived at maturity years after he had ceased to be Secretary of State, I propose to trace their gradual development, and the results achieved, down to the present day. One of the first subjects which engaged the attention of Mr. Cardwell was the difficult one of War Office administration. The authority over the army was formerly more or less of a dual character; the _personnel_ of the infantry and cavalry being under a Commander-in-Chief, whilst a Master General had charge of the ordnance corps, as well as the provision of armaments for the naval and military services. These arrangements would not in themselves at first sight appear to have much to recommend them, the responsibility being rather diffused. Still it must be remembered that they bore successfully the stress of the great wars at the end of the last and in the earlier years of the present century. As the Master General was always a distinguished officer, and was often a member of the Cabinet, and further was assisted by a board, some of whom were men of military experience and in Parliament, the system apparently suited itself more or less to our constitutional form of government. The great Duke of Wellington, who was for some time Master General, stated that the Ordnance Department was careful, economical, and efficient. He spoke of it as one of the most ancient departments of the monarchy, and that it was a pattern for others.[74] When, in 1849, a proposal had been made to abolish the board, he strongly opposed it, and said: 'I warn the Government of the danger of this alteration in a military view.' Sir Henry Hardinge, and other experienced General Officers who had held the same office, were of similar opinions. When at length, after a peace of nearly forty years, we again in 1854 took part in a great European war, the difficulties which at once ensued, the enormous cost involved, and the sufferings of our troops during the winter in the Crimea, led the Government of the day suddenly to inaugurate a new _régime_; and early in 1855 the administration of the army in all its departments was vested in a Minister for War. In short, we made the somewhat hazardous experiment of swopping horses when crossing a stream. As a matter of general principle, it is probable that some such arrangement was desirable, an army being a department of the State which requires concentration of authority. But it is to be observed that the Minister for War is usually a civilian, and changes with each Government, so that neither concentration of knowledge nor unity of purpose necessarily followed on the change; and, further, when the new system came into force the Master General and board, instead of being simply absorbed, were abolished, their duties being divided in a slap-dash fashion amongst various departments. Mr. Clode[75] says that after the first Cabinet of Lord Palmerston as Premier, early in 1855, the Secretary-at-War 'brought home half a sheet of paper, containing a memorandum that the Ordnance Department was to be abolished.' It is hardly a matter of wonder that this sudden concentration of the military departments in a new War Office, under a parliamentary chief, and in the midst of a great war, should have led to some confusion, which continued for several years. Soon after Mr. Cardwell became Minister, he appointed a committee under Lord Northbrook (then Under-Secretary) to investigate the matter; and the results of their inquiries led to a reconstruction, in 1870, of the various departments on an intelligible and sound basis. The War Office was then divided into three main branches: (1) _personnel_, under the Commander-in-Chief; (2) _matériel_, that is, armaments for navy and army, fortifications, barracks, commissariat and clothing, under a Surveyor General of Ordnance, who it was specially stated should be an experienced officer--in fact, it was a virtual revival of the office of Master General; (3) finance, to be represented by an Under-Secretary in Parliament. The arrangement was simple, and soon in working order; but, unfortunately, after Mr. Cardwell had ceased to be War Minister one of its main principles was ignored, and the office of Surveyor General, which obviously required military experience, came to be regarded chiefly as a civil and political appointment, and was usually conferred on a member of Parliament, coming and going, of course, with the Government of the day. The result was a gradual weakening of the whole organisation. As a proof of the numerous changes which may occur, I may point out that between 1883 and 1887 there were no less than five Ministers for War, and four Surveyors General, all civilians, in office in rapid succession. It so happens that in 1887 there were two Royal Commissions, the one under the late Sir James Stephen, and the other under Sir Matthew Ridley; both of whom advised the revival of the Master General. Sir James Stephen's Commission said: 'The office of Master General of the Ordnance should be revived, so far as the management of the stores and manufacturing departments is concerned. He should be a soldier of the highest eminence....' Sir Matthew Ridley said: 'That the intentions of Lord Northbrook's Committee of 1870 have not been carried out, and the idea of securing the highest professional acquirements for the position has been entirely abandoned.... We are of opinion that the Surveyor General of the Ordnance should in future be what he was intended to be, viz. a military officer of high standing and experience, and that he should not be a member of the House of Commons.' Their views, however, were not acted on; and in 1888 the office of Surveyor General was abolished, and its numerous duties sub-divided, some being transferred to the already over-burdened shoulders of the military staff, and the rest handed over to the Financial Secretary; and this condition of affairs exists to this day. In short, the War Office is now divided into two branches: the one military, with great responsibilities; the other civil and financial, with great power.[76] In my judgment, should war occur, such a system would inevitably break down at once. Further evidence, however, exists, which will, I think, be conclusive on this point. In 1890 still another Royal Commission, that of Lord Hartington, examined and reported on this question, so vital to military efficiency; and it is to be observed that of its members three had already held the office of Minister for War--namely, Lord Hartington, the late Mr. W.H. Smith, and Mr. Campbell Bannerman. In their report they practically condemn the system then and now existing. In the first place, they point out that the various heads of the spending departments have no direct access to the Secretary of State and are subordinate one to the other. They consider that the present organisation of the War Office is defective in principle, and they go on to recommend that the heads of departments should be directly associated with the Minister for War[77]--in short, a board of officers, such as now exists at the Admiralty. In considering this great national question I would point out that this country holds quite an exceptional position as regards its military arrangements and preparations for war. Other nations maintain far larger armies, but their troops as a rule have no foreign duties, or distant possessions to protect. Our condition is much the reverse. We are a great naval, military, Indian, and colonial empire; with fleets, troops, fortresses, and reserves of munitions to maintain in every quarter of the world; and it is essential, not only that the two fighting services should act in unity, but that their armaments should be identical in pattern, and that the reserves at home and abroad be available for both. Then, again, on entering on a foreign expedition, we have at once to undertake a most difficult operation in the rapid embarkation of men, horses, guns, munitions, engineer, medical and commissariat stores; so that from every point of view a strong administration is required, and one in which the unrivalled experience of our officers should be fully utilised and trusted. No doubt the requirements of constitutional government must be considered and provided for. Indeed, it is essential that the naval and military services should be adequately represented in Parliament, and this principle was fully recognised in the years gone by. For instance, in 1829, when the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, and when our military expenditure was far less than now, the army was officially represented in the two Houses of Parliament as follows:-- Secretary of State, War, and Colonies General Sir George Murray,G.C.B. Commander-in-Chief General Lord Hill,G.C.B. Master General of Ordnance General Lord Beresford,G.C.B. Secretary at War General Sir Henry Hardinge,K.C.B. Clerk of Ordnance Rt. Hon. Spencer Percival Lieut.-General of Ordnance Lieut.-Gen. Lord Edward Somerset Surveyor General of Ordnance Major-Gen. Sir Henry Fane,K.C.B. Principal Storekeeper Colonel Trench Clerk of Deliveries General Phipps Secretary to Master General Colonel Lord Downes Treasurer of Ordnance William Holmes Paymaster-General Rt. Hon. J. Calcraft Judge Advocate General Rt. Hon. Sir John Beckett We must always bear in mind that the army is no mere inanimate piece of machinery. On the contrary, it is one of the most vital and powerful elements of the State; and its efficiency can only be maintained by placing the administration of its various departments in the hands of competent and experienced general officers, and investing them with adequate power. If I have dwelt at some length on this abstruse subject, it is because, having served both as Director of Artillery and Surveyor General of Ordnance, I have gained some insight into its difficulties, and feel earnestly the necessity of reorganising the department. Although the War Office, as will be seen, is a department of hard work and great responsibility, still even within its gloomy portals there are now and then incidents and stories of an amusing character. Many years ago, when the late Sir Cornewall Lewis was Minister for War, on one occasion he visited the infantry depot at Warley in Essex, and was shown a handsome room.[78] After admiring its proportions he inquired as to its use, when, suddenly observing a wooden vaulting horse at the far end of the building, he said: 'Oh! I see--the riding school.' The late Lord Longford, who had seen much active service both in the Crimea and India, was Under-Secretary for War in 1867. He was an excellent administrator, and occasionally very humorous in his minutes. At the period in question it so happened that there were two officers of high rank and position in the War Office who disagreed in their views on almost every subject, and were constantly in collision--on paper. The correspondence became so voluminous, and the difficulty so perplexing, that at length the whole matter was placed before Lord Longford. I am unable to give his exact words, but his minute to Sir John Pakington, then Minister for War, was to the following effect. 'Secretary of State,--This is a very interesting correspondence. From a careful perusal I have arrived at the conclusion that both these gentlemen are in the _right_. The case is now for your disposal.' On another occasion, another Under-Secretary wrote a minute as follows: 'Secretary of State,--This is a very important subject. You will observe that the paper is folded the wrong way.' When Sir Henry Storks was Surveyor General of the Ordnance, he was waited upon by an excellent old messenger, who, however, in his conversation was apt to omit his h's. One day he came into the room, and said: 'Sir 'Enery, Mr. Owl wishes to see you.' 'Who?' asked Sir Henry. 'I never heard of him.' 'Beg your pardon--it is Mr. Owl, the Director of Contracts.' 'Oh, Mr. Howell; show him in!'[79] Some years ago the Minister for War, so it is said, being desirous of acquainting himself with the work of the different branches, visited the various rooms and inquired as to the details. Meeting a gentleman in the passage, he asked at what hour he usually came to his duty. 'Oh!' said the gentleman in reply, 'I usually stroll in about eleven or twelve o'clock.' 'Stroll in,' said the minister, in surprise; 'then I presume you do not leave until a late hour?' 'Well,' replied the gentleman, 'I generally slip off about three o'clock.' 'Slip off at three?' said the minister, much scandalised. 'Pray, sir, may I ask what department you belong to?' 'Certainly,' said the young man; 'I come every Saturday to wind up the clocks!' I also remember a curious incident which happened to Lord Cardwell, but which is social rather than military. After he had ceased to be minister, it so happened that the wife of one of his former colleagues in the Government gave birth to a child, and Lord Cardwell called to make inquiries. When the butler opened the door, he announced that her Ladyship was going on well. 'A girl?' said Cardwell, inquiringly. 'No, my Lord.' 'Oh, a boy?' remarked Cardwell. 'No, my Lord.' 'Why, surely--' but before he could say more, the butler interposed, 'Beg pardon, my Lord, but it's a little hare' (heir). FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 74: Clode's _Military Forces of the Crown_, ii. 765.] [Footnote 75: Clode's _Military Forces of the Crown_, ii. 251.] [Footnote 76: See evidence of H.R.H. the Commander-in-Chief (_Second Report of Committee of the House of Commons on Army Estimates_, 1888, pp. 27, 35, 36, and 52.)] [Footnote 77: See _Commission on the Administration of the Naval and Military Departments_, February 1890, pp. 57, 67, 70, 73, and 114.] [Footnote 78: The gymnasium.] [Footnote 79: I once knew a gentleman of far higher rank than a War Office messenger who laboured under the same defect. We were at one time interested in an association which, though useful, constantly met with opposition. Coming across him one day after a meeting which he had attended, I inquired how matters were going on, and he replied, 'I was determined there should be no 'itch, so I brought them up to the scratch.'] CHAPTER XXIII SHORT SERVICE AND RESERVE Among the numerous measures carried out by the late Lord Cardwell during the period of his administration of the War Department, none has exercised a wider or more beneficial influence than the introduction of short service and reserve for the non-commissioned officers and men of the army. Indeed, when we consider the results achieved, it seems rather surprising that such a change had not been made long ago, not only in the interests of the men, but also in the reserve of strength which it gives to the country in the event of war. In considering the subject in its various bearings, both military and financial, it will be desirable to refer shortly to the methods by which we had endeavoured to maintain our forces in former days. During the great wars in which this country was engaged at the end of the last and in the earlier years of the present century, although the arrangements for recruiting occasionally varied, the main principle adopted was one of long service with high bounties on enlistment, and small pensions on retirement. Yet, so difficult was it found to keep the ranks complete, that debtors and even criminals were pardoned on condition of serving abroad.[80] The cost was enormous. For instance, in 1808 the levy and bounty money alone exceeded 40_l._ for each man, before he had been trained or had done a day's service. This was not only wasteful, but led to drunkenness and desertion[81]; and, notwithstanding its cost, the plan failed in providing sufficient recruits, and the army at critical moments was lamentably behind the numbers required. For instance, early in the Peninsular war it was about 43,000[82] short of the desired establishment, and during the Crimean war the deficiency was over 46,000.[83] The real fact was that the system of recruiting up to 1870 was, and always had been, unpopular. The service was a very hard one. Regiments were kept abroad for upwards of twenty years, often in tropical, unhealthy climates; and of the thousands who enlisted yearly but few ever returned, and even those were often prematurely aged and broken down. It is no wonder that the poor people of the country looked upon enlistment of their sons with dread, and as almost equivalent to a sentence of banishment and of death. So great was the difficulty, that between 1861 and 1869--although the men were then better paid, fed, and clothed than in former years--the average number of recruits obtained was only 12,546 per annum.[84] In 1867 General Peel, the Minister for War, said that 'the question now is whether the British army should be allowed to collapse.' In that year another Royal Commission was appointed to consider the subject, and in their report said: 'The military history of this country, even up to the date of the last great war in which we were engaged, shows that it has been our practice during periods of peace to reduce our military establishments to the lowest possible point.... No preparations for a state of war were thought of; and the consequence has been that, when war occurred, everything had to be done in a hurry at the most lavish expense.... Men were enrolled and sent half-trained into the field, material manufactured, transport provided, and accommodation for the sick and wounded devised and organised.' They went on to say that 'wars will be sudden in their commencement and short in their duration, and woe to that country which is unprepared to defend itself.' The above remarks will probably be sufficient to demonstrate the difficulty which the country had experienced over and over again, not only in maintaining its forces in the field during a campaign, but even in providing sufficient numbers for our garrisons at home and abroad in time of peace. But whatever may have been the merits or shortcomings of the arrangements up to 1870, one point, at all events, was perfectly clear--that the army had no reserve. One or two feeble efforts in that direction had been made, but had failed. When a great war came upon us, the only resource was to try and stimulate recruiting by lowering the physical standard and by raising the bounties, so that often the campaign was over before the desired numbers had been obtained.[85] The time, indeed, had fully come for a change of system. In March 1869, Mr. Cardwell, speaking in the House of Commons, indicated his intention of abolishing the plan of long enlistments, and the following year introduced the bill affirming the principle of short service and reserve. What he said was 'that in time of peace the army would feed the reserve, and in time of war the reserve would feed the army.' Having confidence in the scheme, he boldly abolished the old costly system of bounty on enlistment. The principle, when first established, was tentative and optional, and naturally required time before a correct opinion could be formed of its progress; indeed, it is only within the last few years that the reserve has developed to its normal figure. The change was much criticised at the time, and it was confidently asserted that men would not care to engage for a short period; and that even were they to do so, the reserves would not be forthcoming if called out. No sooner, however, had the system been adopted than its success year by year became apparent. Not only did the numbers enlisting largely increase, but the proportion of those selecting long service rapidly declined. Then again, although the formation of a reserve was necessarily gradual, we have had two proofs of its reliable nature; the men composing it having been called out, first in 1878 under apprehension of war, and again partially in 1882 during the Egyptian campaign; and in both cases the percentage of absentees was very small. I have already mentioned that during the last years of the long service system the average annual number of recruits was only 12,546, whereas in 1892 no less than 41,659 men joined the army, and the reserve had in January 1894 reached the large figure of 80,349. Before leaving the subject of reserves, it will be as well to mention that Lord Cardwell, in 1870, also gave effect to the Militia Act of 1867, by which a certain number of men of that force, on receiving a small annual bounty, engage to join the regular army in case of war. This reserve now amounts to 30,103, in addition to the numbers just quoted. These facts are undeniable proofs, not only of the popularity of the present arrangement, but also that the army can at once be largely augmented in case of necessity by men thoroughly trained and in the prime of life. There are, however, other satisfactory elements in the present system. The old feeling that the man who enlisted was virtually lost to his family is becoming a tradition of the past. In former times, as I have said, but few returned, and even they were often prematurely aged by long residence in unhealthy climates; whereas nowadays the men who come back to civil life are, on an average, little over twenty-six years old, and their numbers amount to more than 17,000 per annum, whilst their few years passed in the army have been beneficial in giving them habits of discipline and obedience. From a financial point of view--which, it is needless to say, is an important feature--the results are equally satisfactory. In the first place, the enormous sums formerly spent in bounties and levy money are now in a great measure saved. Then, again, the pension list is decreasing. Had the old plan continued, with the army at its present strength, the annual cost of pensions would have been nearly 3,000,000_l._ per annum. It will now gradually decrease to less than one-third of that amount. By an actuarial[86] calculation it is estimated that, taking all charges into consideration, the economy of the present system over the old one will be a saving in the normal of 21·71 per cent. for Great Britain and of 47·2 for India. The above statements are made, not as mere matters of opinion, but as facts founded on official records and parliamentary reports; and afford proofs that whilst military service is more popular, and our strength and elasticity for war considerably greater than formerly, at the same time the annual cost is much less. It may, perhaps, be said that the army estimates are increasing; and my reply is that as the Empire is expanding, it requires not only more men, but more numerous and costly armaments for defence, than in the past. Even the results just quoted do not conclude the story. Several other incidental advantages arise from the abandonment of long service, which may be shortly alluded to. Many persons, for instance, appear to be under the impression that a large proportion of the men now serving are less efficient in point of age than formerly, but the evidence points the other way. The following are the ages of the non-commissioned officers and men serving in January 1871 and 1894 respectively.[87] _Proportion per 1,000 men_ +------+----------+-----------------+---------+-------+ | Year | Under 20 | Between 20 & 30 | Over 30 | Total | +------+----------+-----------------+---------+-------+ | 1871 | 190 | 490 | 320 | 1,000 | | 1894 | 170 | 742 | 88 | 1,000 | +------+----------+-----------------+---------+-------+ The above figures are somewhat remarkable, as showing that the number of men of the most serviceable ages (that is, between 20 and 30) has largely increased since the introduction of short service; and I believe that experienced officers will concur with me that the army of 1894 is, in respect of age, superior to that of former days. Then, again, in the consideration of the foreign duties which devolve on our forces, it is often urged that long service, at all events, is best adapted to meet Indian requirements, on the two grounds that young soldiers cannot stand tropical climates and that frequent reliefs are costly. Neither of these views will bear the test of examination. The report of the sanitary condition of the army in India said that 'upon the whole, early entry into India appears to be an advantage, not only at first, but in after life.'[88] At a subsequent period, Sir Ranald Martin stated that 'all statistical observations go to disprove anything like acclimatisation in the East Indies.' On the contrary, he declares that 'disease and death increase with length of service and age.' Dr. Brydon also said: 'The death-rate of 1871 shows that the death-rate for the men above thirty has been consistently double that of men below that age.' Lord Airey's Commission of 1880[89] quoted figures proving that the proportion of deaths, and of invalids sent home, increases in a rapid ratio with age. For instance, the number of deaths and invalids per 1,000 men on the average of ten years is-- Deaths Invalids Under 25 years old 16·06 25·84 Over 35 and under 40 33·71 76·11 The above figures indicate that men should be sent to India young, and not be kept there beyond a few years. If men, whose service in India is prolonged, die twice as fast after thirty as they do when under that age, it is evident that, as they must be replaced by drafts from home, even from a financial point of view such a system is not to be commended. So far from a short period not being adapted for India, it is the only one which ought to be allowed, on grounds alike of humanity, efficiency, and economy. There still remain a few other points, regarding the men serving in the present day, which are worthy of notice. The effects of the Education Act of 1870 have been very marked on the Army. For instance, the proportion of men in the ranks of what is termed 'superior education' was in 1861 74 per thousand, whereas in 1889 it had risen to 854.[90] Again, as regards crime, in 1868[91] the proportion of courts-martial per thousand was 144, whereas in 1892 it was only 54. Desertions also are steadily decreasing. In 1858[92] upwards of 20,000 men disappeared. In 1874 the net loss from desertion per thousand was 20. In 1893 it was 12.[93] Finally, there remains one more subject regarding the men in the army on which I would say a few words, and that is the marriage question. So long as a system of long service prevailed, a married establishment of only 7 per cent. was recognised by the Government. The virtual result was, that the great majority of men serving year after year were not allowed to marry; and this state of affairs was neither natural nor desirable, tending also to render military service unpopular. Under the present system, as the great majority of the men only remain for a few years in the ranks, they are for the most part single, and on return to civil life can marry at will. The foregoing remarks will, I hope, be of some interest in indicating the beneficial effect of the changes introduced as regards service in the army by the late Lord Cardwell, when Minister for War in 1870. The men who now enter the ranks are probably of much the same class as formerly, but they serve under improved conditions; and whilst I believe that they retain all the enterprise and courage of those who preceded them, they are undoubtedly far better educated, and therefore to some extent require more discrimination in their treatment than formerly prevailed. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 80: Clode's _Military Forces of the Crown_, vol. ii., pp. 25-60.] [Footnote 81: _Commissions on Recruiting_, 1861, p. xiii., and 1867, p. x.] [Footnote 82: _Militia Report of 1877_, app. xvii., p. 546.] [Footnote 83: _Commission on Recruiting_, 1867, p. 221.] [Footnote 84: _Army Return for 1880._] [Footnote 85: See _Commission on Recruiting_, 1861, p. iii.] [Footnote 86: _Actuarial War Office Report_, January 1889.] [Footnote 87: _Annual Army Returns_, 1880 and 1894.] [Footnote 88: _Sanitary Condition of the Army in India_, 1863, p. xxxi.] [Footnote 89: _Lord Airey's Committee of 1880_, p. 19.] [Footnote 90: _Army Annual Returns_, 1881 and 1893.] [Footnote 91: _Army Annual Returns_, 1880 and 1894.] [Footnote 92: _Recruiting Commission of 1861_, p. iii.] [Footnote 93: _Annual Army Return of 1894._] CHAPTER XXIV LOCALISATION AND COUNTY REGIMENTS.--INTERVIEW WITH THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON III. Another important measure introduced during the administration of the late Lord Cardwell was that of localisation. In the old days, when the infantry regiments were scattered all over the world, and for the most part consisted of single battalions, it had been the custom, on their proceeding abroad, to leave behind a small depot, which was constantly moved about in the United Kingdom and obtained recruits as best it could, without regard to local ties or associations; so that, although many of the older regiments bore county titles, which had been given them so long ago as 1782 by King George the Third, in reality men of the various counties and nationalities served together indiscriminately. Field Marshal Conway, who was Commander-in-Chief at the time in question, specially stated that the object of the King was 'to create a mutual attachment between the county and the regiment, which may at all times be useful towards recruiting.' The scheme, however, for all practical purposes had no force or reality until 1871. Lord Cardwell first of all established fixed depots in the counties, each representing two battalions; and thus not only engendered local ties, but also brought the regular army into permanent association with the militia and volunteers. In his speech in the House of Commons in February 1871 he emphasised the desirability of combining our military institutions. He said: 'There is the standing army, with its historical association and glorious memories, and having a larger amount of foreign service than any other army in the world; there is the militia, whose theory is conscription, but whose practice is voluntary enlistment; and then there are the volunteers, who have most of the attributes of military life, and all the independence of the most perfect civil freedom. To combine these different institutions in one complete whole is, as I believe, the desire of the House of Commons and of the English nation.' He quoted Mr. Pitt, who in 1803 spoke as follows: 'I am of opinion that to a regular army alone, however superior, however excellent, we ought not solely to trust; but that in a moment so eventful we ought to super-add to the regular army some permanent system of national defence.... The army must be the rallying point; the army must furnish example, must furnish instruction, must give us the principles on which that national system of defence must be formed; and by which the voluntary forces of this country, though in a military view inferior to a regular army, would, fighting on their own soil, for everything dear to individuals and important to a State, be invincible.' These quotations will, I think, give a general idea of the views which were uppermost in the mind of the Minister for War when he gave vitality to the principle of localisation. The change, like many others, was criticised and somewhat retarded, and was not brought into full maturity until several years afterwards. In 1877 a committee on the militia, of which Colonel Stanley[94] was chairman, however, gave the subject a fresh impetus. In their report they spoke strongly of the advantage of unity between the line and the militia, and said: 'We have no hesitation in replying that they should be constituent parts of one body.... We consider that this is best to be effected by their being treated as one regiment, such regiment bearing a territorial designation; the line battalions being the first and second, the militia the third and fourth, of such territorial regiment, the depot being common to all.' There was still hesitation and delay, but on Mr. Childers becoming Minister for War in 1880 the recommendations of Colonel Stanley's committee were adopted, and are now in full force; and the beneficial results are becoming more apparent year by year. For instance, General Sir Edward Bulwer, in his report on recruiting in 1887,[95] stated 'that the number of men in infantry regiments, who were born in the district to which the regiment belongs, increases every year.' He also mentions, that upwards of 14,000 militiamen transferred their service to the regular army in the preceding twelve months. The most recent Committee on Army Service, that of Lord Wantage of 1892, speaks plainly on the subject. It says 'the evidence as to the value of the territorial connection is overwhelming;' and added, that the double battalion system is the most economical and best machinery for furnishing foreign drafts and reliefs.[96] I might go on to allude to other measures connected with the army and its administration which were introduced by Lord Cardwell--to the vigour and influence which he imparted to the Intelligence Department, to the doubling the Field Artillery at home, to the rank of field officer given to captains of batteries, and so on--but it is perhaps hardly necessary. Lord Cardwell did not live to witness the results of some of his measures; but there was hardly a branch of the army which did not feel the benefit of his wise and far-seeing administration.[97] In May 1872 I had an interesting interview with the late Emperor Napoleon III. at Chislehurst, only a few months before his death. During his career, he had always shown great interest in artillery questions, and had published works on the subject.[98] In May he expressed a wish to see me, being desirous of discussing a plan for checking the recoil of guns, by means of water compressed within the bore. The nature of his proposal is contained in the following letter. [Illustration: Copy of Sketch by Napoleon III.] Camden Place, Chislehurst: Mai 1872. 'Mon cher Général,--Il y aurait une expérience d'artillerie, assez intéressant à faire, et qui, si elle réussissait, pourrait diminuer le recul des grosses bouches à feu. Il s'agirait comme dans le dessin cijoint de prendre un ancien canon, de forer au point A un trou d'un certain diamètre, de forer à un point B une lumière pour mettre le feu. La partie O près de la culasse serait remplie d'eau. On mettrait auparavant à K une rondelle à gutta-perka pour séparer la poudre de l'eau, et en chargeant le canon comme à l'ordinaire. 'En mettant le feu, à la charge, l'eau jaillirait en dehors par l'orifice A, et la force employée pour rejeter l'eau en dehors du canon diminuerait d'autant le recul. Je ne prétends pas que ce système soit très pratique, mais il serait néanmoins assez intéressant de l'essayer. Je vous confie cette idée pour que vous en fassiez l'usage que vous croirez convenable. Je vous renouvelle, Général, l'assurance de mes sentiments d'amitié. 'NAPOLÉON. 'La question serait de savoir quelle est la quantité d'eau qu'il faudrait introduire dans le canon, et quel diamètre il faudrait donner à l'orifice.' During the interview, which lasted about half-an-hour, we were quite alone; and he made some pen-and-ink sketches, which he gave me, to illustrate his views. The proposal was ingenious, although it would probably be difficult to apply it in the field. The Emperor also referred shortly to one or two incidents of the great war of 1870, especially as to the employment of mitrailleurs; and I ventured to point out that, although of use against savage races, they had not, in my opinion, much future in a campaign against a modern army; as, although efficacious for short distances, they were of limited range and power, having neither shattering nor incendiary force, as compared to artillery, whilst they would add considerably to the impedimenta of troops in the field. I was particularly struck by the quiet unimpassioned way in which he alluded to the past; and he certainly appeared to bear his great reverses with fortitude and calm resignation. When the interview ended, I left with him at his request, a small pamphlet on rifled ordnance; and on returning it he sent me the following note: Camden Place, Chislehurst: le 8 Mai, 1872. 'Je vous renvoie, Général, avec mes remercîments, la brochure que vous avez bien voulu me prêter, et je vous prie de recevoir l'assurance de mes sentiments distingués. NAPOLÉON.' Monsieur le Général Adye, Woolwich. Subsequently, Her Majesty the Empress Eugénie was kind enough to present me with the Emperor's work, 'Organisation Militaire,' dated 'Wilhelmshoehe, 1871,' with her name inscribed upon it. It so happened that a few months before seeing the Emperor Napoleon I had had an opportunity of discussing the subject of mitrailleurs with General von Blumenthal, who had been chief of the staff to the Crown Prince of Germany during the war; and his views agreed with those I have just expressed. He said that the German soldiers at the outset were considerably impressed with the numerous batteries of mitrailleurs with which the French began the campaign of 1870; but they soon found out that their range was limited, and that by concentrating the distant fire of field guns upon them the mitrailleurs could not hold their ground, but were driven off the field. Prince Frederick Charles said 'that for near ranges he would rather have ten good riflemen; for far ranges a field gun.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 94: Now Earl of Derby.] [Footnote 95: _Report of Inspector-General of Recruiting_, 1887.] [Footnote 96: _Report of Lord Wantage's Committee_, pp. 11 and 18.] [Footnote 97: An important reform carried out by Lord Cardwell was that of the abolition of purchase; but I do not propose to enter into the question, as it had been virtually decided before I entered the War Office.] [Footnote 98: One of his works is entitled _A New System of Field Artillery_, by Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, 1854.] CHAPTER XXV VISIT TO THE CRIMEA WITH CHARLES GORDON. REPORT ON THE CEMETERIES In the autumn of 1872 I was sent by the Government to the Crimea, to report on the condition of the British cemeteries and monuments, and also as to their restoration and care for the future. Colonel Charles Gordon (of Khartoum), an old friend of mine, was associated with me in the work. He was at that time a member of the International Commission for improving the navigation at the mouth of the Danube. Travelling rapidly through Europe, I met him at Galatz at the end of August; and we embarked on board H.M.S. 'Antelope,' which had been sent from Constantinople to convey us across the Black Sea. Gordon's views about the work of the Danube Commission were, as usual, rather peculiar. He explained to me that, as the river had been adequately dredged and buoyed, and as the lighthouse at its mouth was completed, there was really nothing more to do; and that the Commission was practically useless. As I understood, he had written to the Foreign Office to that effect, adding also that his salary was too large. In the ordinary concerns of life he was actuated by one principle which is rare--namely, a contempt for the accumulation of money. In fact, he gave it away almost as fast as he received it. His experience in Eastern countries, also, had given him a distrust of pashas and men in high places; and all his sympathies were for the poor and friendless. Soon after our visit to the Crimea he was appointed Governor-General of the Soudan, and it is said that at an interview with Ismail Pasha before starting for Khartoum he objected to the large amount of his salary, as being more than necessary; and when he left, the Khedive remarked: 'What an extraordinary Englishman! He doesn't want money!' On leaving Galatz, we went first of all to Odessa, to call on General Kotzebue, the Governor-General of Southern Russia, who, however, was unfortunately absent; but we had an opportunity of meeting, and of receiving assistance from him later on. Indeed, during the whole of our visit to the Crimea, every attention was paid to us by the authorities; and two Russian officers were specially detailed to accompany and assist us in our investigations. We arrived at Sebastopol on August 29, and found the city in ruins, and almost exactly in the same condition as when the allied armies had left it seventeen years before. The churches, barracks, theatres, and store-houses were all roofless; and the Malakoff, Redan, and other defences mere crumbling earthworks. All was so quiet and still, and such a contrast to the stirring times of the years gone by, in the hardships and vicissitudes of which Gordon and myself had shared. We seemed to know every inch of the ground, and for many days wandered about, taking notes of the various cemeteries, great and small, scattered over the country. Although comparatively few officers and men remain of all those who took part in the great Crimean war of forty years ago, its reminiscences will still, no doubt, be of interest to many in the present day; and I will therefore quote some extracts from the report made by Gordon and myself on our return home:[99] 'From the day of our arrival until September 9, we were engaged many hours each day in making a careful inspection of every cemetery and memorial of the British Army in the vicinity of Sebastopol.' 'It will be remembered that after the battle of the Alma the Allies marched on Sebastopol, and in consequence of their long detention before that city the great body of the British Army did not move again during the war, but remained encamped on the plateau on the south side; consequently, with the exception of a few monuments at the Alma and at Kertch, the whole of the cemeteries, one hundred and thirty in number, are to be found on the ground which extends from Sebastopol to Balaclava, and from Kamiesch to the Tchernaya.' 'The cemeteries vary much both in their position and size. Some are in the rocky ravines leading down to the trenches, whilst others are on the hills and downs which surround Balaclava. Some lie in the sheltered valleys about Kadikoi and Karani; but by far the greater number extend along the bare plateau in front of the city, upon which the army so long remained encamped; and pre-eminent among them is that on Cathcart's Hill, distinguished alike by its commanding central position and by the numerous monuments it contains, many of them to officers of high rank and distinction.'[100] 'The cemeteries also differ considerably in the number of graves and monuments which they relatively contain. Some are large, with hundreds of graves, and many inscribed tablets and crosses; others in isolated spots with only a few. A considerable number contain no monuments whatever. The majority are those to officers; but there are also many to soldiers, and a few to women, nurses, or the wives of soldiers.' 'A small proportion of the monuments have been erected since the termination of the war. Some are of marble, but as a rule they are of the soft stone found upon the spot. They were for the most part hurriedly erected toward the end of the campaign, often by unskilful hands, without sufficient foundations, and with slightly cut inscriptions. Originally there were also a considerable number of wooden crosses. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that, exposed to the vicissitudes of climate, especially to the rigour of Crimean winters, a large number of them have perished, and almost all of those remaining show signs of weather and decay.' 'The walls which enclose the cemeteries were in the first instance roughly built, without mortar or foundations, and of the loose uncut stones in the neighbourhood. Time and weather have led to their rapid decay, and the shepherds have occasionally hastened the destruction by making entrances for their flocks.' 'We endeavoured to visit every cemetery and memorial of which we could find a record; the total number in the neighbourhood of Sebastopol and Balaclava amounting to 130.[101] The farm-house which was so long the head-quarters of the British Army is well cared for, and in good preservation; and in the room in which Lord Raglan died a marble slab has been inserted in the wall, with the following inscription: "In this room died Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, G.C.B., Commander-in-Chief of the British Army in the Crimea, June 28, 1855."' 'The circumstances of the French Army were very similar to our own, and they had numerous cemeteries widely dispersed from Kamiesch to Baidar. Feeling the inconvenience and difficulty as regards their care and preservation which have so long perplexed ourselves, they determined to disinter the remains of their officers and men, and to remove them to one central spot near the former French head-quarters. This arrangement was carried out in 1863, each cemetery being denuded of its dead, and then abandoned. About 28,000 bodies are said to have been removed; those of the officers having been as far as possible identified.' ... 'Although a course similar to that followed by the French has been from time to time advocated, with regard to the remains of our officers and men, it does not appear to Colonel Gordon and myself that any general disinterment or removal is necessary or even desirable. Independently of the difficulty, it might almost be called impossibility, after the lapse of so many years, of collecting the remains or of in any way identifying them, we believe that it would be repugnant to the feelings of the Army and of the British public generally that any such plan should be attempted. Our officers and men were buried by their comrades on the ground where they fell; the whole scene is sacred and historical; and the remains of the dead should not be disturbed. As regards the cemeteries generally, our view is that those which contain no monuments should be covered with mounds of earth and turf, and that the ruined walls should be removed.' ... 'We are of opinion that the larger cemeteries, which contain numerous mementoes and tombstones, should be preserved, a substantial wall being built round them, and that all monuments, tablets, and crosses should be repaired and the inscriptions renewed. The three memorial obelisks at Inkerman, Balaclava, and the Redan, should be protected by a good wall, with a substantial railing....' These extracts will probably suffice as a general view of the condition of the British cemeteries in the Crimea at the time of our visit, and of the proposals for their restoration, which were subsequently adopted and carried out by the Government. The cost was estimated at 5,000_l._ Leaving Sebastopol in the 'Antelope,' we called at Yalta, and had an interview with General Kotzebue, who was much interested in our work, and anxious that the British memorials should be respected, at the same time pointing out the difficulty of adequately guarding so large a number. The late Empress of Russia was at the time residing at the Palace of Livadia at Yalta, and sent us a kind message, regretting her inability owing to illness to receive us, and wishing us _bon voyage_. Having paid a short visit to Kertch and Yenikale, at the entrance of the Sea of Azoff, we then returned to Constantinople, and were immediately, for some inscrutable reason, placed in quarantine for a week, although we were all perfectly well. As soon as we were free, the British Ambassador, Sir Henry Elliot, kindly received us for a few days at his palace at Therapia, on the Bosphorus; and at his request, I paid a visit, accompanied by an interpreter, to the Grand Vizier, Midhat Pasha, who was anxious to discuss the Turkish armaments and defences. I had previously inspected the arsenal and manufacturing departments; and frankly told him that they were in considerable confusion, and that a great deal of money had apparently been wasted in the purchase of second-rate half-obsolete material, partly on the Continent and partly in America; and that, in view of the rapid advances in the science of artillery, and in small arms, I advised prudence and economy. He listened attentively, and his reply was 'Pekki,' which I found meant approbation (literally, 'Very good'); and went on to say, that the lavish expenditure had been incurred by his predecessors, but that he would be careful. He then alluded to the defence of Constantinople against naval attack; and I pointed out that, considering the comparative narrowness of the Bosphorus, it offered great facilities for the employment of ground torpedoes. Midhat Pasha was apparently ignorant on the subject, so I explained as lucidly as possible that a torpedo was a case of gunpowder, which, placed at the bottom of the channel, could be exploded by electricity as the enemy's vessel passed over it; and that such defence was simple, efficient, and cheap. This gave him much satisfaction, and he replied, 'Pekki, Pekki,' with great fervour. I heard afterwards that he had been pleased with the interview, and especially with my economical views. He had, however, no opportunity of acting on them, having been dismissed from office almost immediately afterwards. Having taken leave of Gordon, who returned to his improvements on the Danube, I then proceeded to Smyrna, where a few British tombs and memorials of the war existed; and on my arrival called on the British Consul, who lived in a charming house overlooking the bay. On expressing my admiration of his residence, the Consul's wife explained that there was a difficulty in keeping it in order, on account of incessant earthquakes; although lately they had been more free from them. Hardly had I returned to the hotel than I heard a rumbling noise. Then the whole house commenced rocking violently to and fro, and it became evident that the overdue earthquake had arrived. Fortunately not much damage was done. During my stay at Smyrna I paid a visit to Ephesus, meeting Mr. Wood, who had been sent out by the authorities of the British Museum, and was excavating the recently discovered ruins of the temple of Diana. My duties, however, required me to return home; and travelling through France, I took an opportunity, when at Paris, of sketching ruins of a very different character--those of the Tuileries, on which were inscribed in large letters, 'Liberté--Egalité--Fraternité.' On arriving in England I was invited by Mr. Lowe, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to call in Downing Street to discuss the purport of my report. The conversation began by his inquiring, somewhat abruptly, whether I considered it one of the duties of the British Government to keep in repair the cemeteries and monuments of the Army in all parts of the world. My reply was that I had never considered so wide and interesting a question, but had limited myself simply to those in the Crimea. He at once said, that the report was sensible enough, involved no great expenditure, and should be carried out; and so we amicably left the main problem unsolved. [Illustration: RUINS OF THE TUILERIES, NOVEMBER 1872 _Liberté--Egalité--Fraternité_] Subsequently I sent a few copies of the report and some photographs to those who had assisted us at Sebastopol; and one of the Russian officers sent me a reply, which, although not altogether perfect in its English, is very friendly in its tone: 'My General,--I have the honour to accept your lovely letter, with the photographie of mitrailleuse, and I your transport my deep thanksgiving. I observe of your letter, that you forget not Sebastopol and cemetery, who to ask by repair. Your report of British Cemetery I have forward of General Kotzebue, and if you possess one copy, take my,' &c. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 99: _Report on the Crimean Cemeteries_, December 1872.] [Footnote 100: We found no less than 122 graves of English officers on Cathcart's Hill, including those of Generals Sir George Cathcart, Fox-Strangways, Goldie, and Sir John Campbell.] [Footnote 101: To those persons who had relations or friends buried during the Crimean war, it may be interesting to know that, in the report of 1872 details are given of all the names found on the various tombstones.] CHAPTER XXVI RIFLED ORDNANCE AND NAVAL AND MILITARY RESERVES--APPOINTED GOVERNOR, ROYAL MILITARY ACADEMY--THE BRITISH ARMY IN 1875 One of the most important and interesting subjects connected with the Navy and Army of late years, and with the changes in which I was at one time much associated, is that of the gradual advance of modern armaments, not only in size, but in range, power, and accuracy. Until forty years ago the science of artillery had practically remained stagnant ever since the time of the Tudors. Indeed, it may be said that the guns used during the Crimean War, although less cumbersome, were in all essential particulars much of the same type as those of the days of Queen Elizabeth. The introduction, however, of rifled small-arms, and of armour-plating for vessels of war, indicated the necessity of improved ordnance; and what may almost be termed a revolution commenced, which has had many vicissitudes, and even now has hardly reached its final solution. It was in 1854 that Lord Armstrong first took up the subject, of which he has ever since been acknowledged as one of the chief authorities. He has also rendered good service in the establishment of a manufacturing arsenal at Elswick, which, in the event of a great war, would become of national advantage. The first rifled breech-loading guns of his pattern were adopted in 1859, and gave results in range and accuracy far beyond anything that had hitherto been achieved. They were followed by the introduction of others of a larger calibre; and so enthusiastic were the navy and artillery, that many of our vessels of war and fortresses were speedily supplied with them. Between 1859 and 1862, two millions and a half sterling were expended on new armaments. Notwithstanding their great success and superiority, however, they developed considerable defects in regard to breech mechanism; and numerous accidents occurred both by sea and land, due in a measure to want of skill in their handling. It became evident from experience in the war in China in 1860, and in Japan in 1862-3, that they were somewhat delicate weapons.[102] In 1863 the Armstrong and Whitworth competition took place, in which both firms were represented on the committee; and after lengthened trials they reported[103] in 1865 that the breech-loading system was inferior for purposes of war to that of muzzle-loading, and was more expensive. Other experiments followed, leading to a similar conclusion, and as a consequence the latter was adopted, and continued in force for many years; the guns rising rapidly in size and in weight from five up to one hundred tons. In 1867 a committee of thirteen artillery officers, under the late Field-Marshal Sir Richard Dacres, inquired into the subject as regards field guns, and reported unanimously in favour of muzzle-loaders. In 1868 the Admiralty were asked whether they wished the subject re-opened as regards naval guns, but they declined. Having served in India from 1857 to 1866, I had, of course, no practical knowledge of the earlier stages of this difficult and much-debated subject; but on becoming Director of Artillery in 1870, I found that the two services were in practical unanimity as to the advantages of the rifled muzzle-loading system--that it was simpler, better adapted for war, and cheaper than the other. In 1871 the Admiralty were again consulted on the question, but with the same result as before. In that year, a German 9-pounder breech-loading field gun was obtained for comparison with our own; and after a long series of trials the committee reported that the English gun was superior, not only in simplicity, but in range and power, and in rapidity of fire.[104] It was also known that during the great war of 1870 upwards of two hundred German guns had become unserviceable. All experience, therefore, appeared at the time to point in one direction; but a change gradually arose, the causes of which were partly scientific, partly mechanical. Whilst the attention of experts was engaged in the effort to produce the best gun, it ultimately proved that the real solution rested not so much with the weapon as with the motive power which gives life and force to the projectile. The question of gunpowder had until about 1870 remained much in the same stagnant, neglected condition as that of ordnance. Long and careful researches were, however, carried out at that time, chiefly by Sir Andrew Noble and Sir Frederick Abel, which led to the introduction of a comparatively mild and slow-burning explosive, and finally determined the system of gun-construction. In the first place, owing to its gradual combustion, the excessive strain on the breech mechanism was much diminished; and further, as an improved system of closing had been adopted, the difficulties, and the accidents at critical moments, which had been so perplexing, were in a great measure at an end. That was one important result; but there was a second. As the explosion was no longer instantaneous, but comparatively gradual, it followed that larger charges could be employed, and in order to utilise them greater length of bore became necessary, as, within limits, the longer the gun the greater the initial velocity and consequent range and power. These altered conditions were manifestly both in favour of breech-loading, not so much as a matter of principle, but of convenience. Sir Andrew Noble, in writing to me on the subject in 1875, said: 'As regards the effects to be produced from a gun, precisely the same results can be attained, whether it be made in the form of a muzzle or a breech-loader. There is no magic, as many seem to imagine, in one form or the other.... As regards convenience in using, there may be, and undoubtedly are, differences.' Between 1875 and 1880 experiments were somewhat slowly carried out, with a view to re-introducing breech-loading. Having been appointed Surveyor-General of the Ordnance in the latter year, I advised that the experiments should be pushed on vigorously, and on a larger scale. The adoption of steel, to the exclusion of wrought iron, in the construction of guns, was another important change about to take place; and, with a view to a full consideration of these great questions, Mr. Childers in 1881 re-established a permanent Ordnance Committee, which for some reason had been abolished in 1867. The main principles thus established, the naval and military armaments have since proceeded uninterruptedly. Many improvements, especially as regards quick firing, have recently been introduced; and we have every reason to believe that they are fully equal in all respects to those of any other nation. That this subject has been a difficult and an anxious one is evident. Lord Armstrong, in his address to the Civil Engineers in 1882, said: 'All breech-loading mechanism is of a nature to require very accurate fittings, and require care both in use and for preservation.' Again, in a work published as late as 1893 by Commander Lloyd, R.N., and Mr. A. Hadcock, late R.A., of the Elswick establishment, they say 'that it has taken all the ingenuity, backed by all the mechanical resources of the present day, to obtain a satisfactory breech-loading arrangement.'[105] The whole question is extremely technical; but I have endeavoured to give an outline of its broad characteristics; and it is evident that the consideration of so vital a question requires a permanent committee of naval and artillery officers, and of scientific civil engineers; we may then feel confidence that the requirements of the two services will be adequately dealt with. Even the placid and scientific temperament of an Ordnance Committee may, however, occasionally be subject to a severe strain. Many years ago, a proposal was submitted by some inventor that a small gun, strapped broadside across a horse's back, and fired from that position, would be useful, especially in mountain campaigns. The experiment was made in the Arsenal at Woolwich, the horse's head being tied to a post, with the muzzle of the gun pointed to an old earthen butt; the Committee standing on the other side of the horse to watch the result. The gun was loaded, and, in order to give time, a slow-burning fuse was used to fire it. The Committee, however, in tying the animal's head, had omitted to take the precaution of also making fast its tail. The first result was that, when the horse heard the fizzing of the fuse on its back, it became uneasy and walked round the post, so that the gun, instead of pointing at the butt, was thus directed straight at the heads of the Committee. Not a moment was to be lost; down went the chairman and members, lying flat and low on their stomachs. The gun went off; the shot passed over the town of Woolwich, and fell in the Dockyard; the horse being found lying on its back several yards away. The Committee were fortunately unhurt, and gradually recovered their equilibrium, but reported unanimously against any further trial. _Armaments and Reserves._--Amongst the many subjects which constantly occupy the attention of the War Department is the provision of adequate reserves of armaments, small arms, gunpowder, accoutrements, camp equipage, harness, clothing, and the numerous Engineer, medical, and commissariat stores which have to be maintained in readiness for war, not only in the United Kingdom, but at our stations in various parts of the world. The great majority of these reserves are required for both the fighting services; and until recently have been provided and cared for by the War Office, acting in co-operation with the Admiralty. The subject is not only complex, but very little is known by the public as to its administration and cost. Formerly, the provision of these costly armaments and stores rested with the Ordnance Department; and, as the successive Master Generals were men of the highest distinction and experience in war, the country had a guarantee that the national requirements would be duly considered and maintained. As the Duke of Wellington wrote in 1843, 'the Ordnance Department and the office of Master General is constituted for the service of the Navy as well as that of the Army.' It is not necessary, nor indeed would it be proper, to give details of the amount of these various reserves, which, of course, have been modified and increased from time to time according to circumstances. It may be sufficient to say that in 1858[106] their value was reckoned as being upwards of eleven millions sterling; and since that date has undoubtedly risen, partly from the increased cost of modern armaments and appliances, and partly from the additional requirements of our enlarged empire. It is sometimes asserted that, owing to financial pressure, or to false ideas of economy, the maintenance of these essential requisites for defence is apt to be starved and neglected. My experience does not confirm this view. Having served at the War Office for years, under three Ministers of War, statesmen of divergent political views, I have found them all of one mind as to the necessary provision year by year of sufficient funds for the purpose. Naturally and properly they looked into the details. The estimates are presented to Parliament annually, and no reluctance is shown to vote the requisite supplies. Indeed, there are many influences in the House of Commons which rather tend the other way--that is, to extravagance. An unfortunate change, however, was made a few years ago--namely, in the separation of the naval and military reserves at home and abroad; and duplicate establishments, store-houses, and staff, now exist, which are leading to increased cost, some loss of efficiency, and eventually to diversity of patterns. As a great naval, military, and colonial Power, with fleets, fortresses, and depôts all over the world, it seems apparent that, both in regard to efficiency and economy, unity of system is essential. Not only the great Duke of Wellington, but successive Master Generals of Ordnance, concurred in this view, and agreed that the Ordnance was an efficient department of the State,[107] and should hold the reserves of both services. According to my judgment, we should revert at once to the former arrangements, and indeed, should war unfortunately arise, we should in all probability be compelled to do so. Having been appointed Governor of the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich in July 1875, I left the War Office, and did so with much regret. Although, as I have tried to explain, its system of administration is not altogether adapted to meet the requirements of parliamentary government, and although in some respects the Navy and Army are not in such close association as seems desirable, still these defects are capable of remedy, and, at all events, are in no way attributable to the chiefs of the various departments, military and civil, of the War Office, who are men of the highest character and experience, and who carry out very difficult duties with loyalty and success, even under a somewhat imperfect system. During my five years of office as Director of Artillery, the following sovereigns and foreign princes visited the manufacturing departments of the Arsenal: the late Emperor Alexander II. of Russia--the late Emperor Napoleon III.--the late Emperor of Brazil--the late Grand Duke Constantine of Russia--the late Comte de Paris--and the Shah of Persia. Some years after the inspection of the Arsenal by the Shah he paid a second visit to England, in 1889, and I had then an interesting interview with him at Lord Armstrong's in Northumberland. Having heard that I had served in India, the Shah came up during the evening and alluded to our position on the North-West Frontier. It must be understood that the conversation was entirely through a Persian interpreter, the Shah knowing only a few English words. He discussed the subject in a very sensible manner, and said we should avoid entering into war with the Afghans, and should endeavour to keep on terms of friendship with the Ameer at Cabul; to which I cordially assented. Looking about the room, and seeing a general officer at some distance, he inquired: 'Who is that great man in a red coat?' I replied that it was Sir Edward Blackett, High Sheriff of the county. Perhaps that did not convey much to his mind, so I said to the interpreter: 'Tell the Shah that five and thirty years ago, Sir Edward was in the Crimean war, and one day a shot came and took off his leg.' The Shah threw up his hands and was much impressed, but presently the interpreter said that his Majesty couldn't understand it, as he had two legs now. 'That is quite correct,' I observed; 'but tell the Shah that one of them is made of wood.' His Majesty said at once: 'I must go and talk to that great man.' He went up to Sir Edward, and remarked: 'You lost your leg in the Crimea?' to which Blackett assented. 'Ah,' says the Shah, 'I remember. It was in the same battle that Lord Raglan lost his arm!' The late Emperor of Brazil also paid a second visit to England, after he was dethroned, and on one occasion was shown a wheel by Lord Armstrong, which by some scientific arrangement made rapid revolutions, and he remarked: 'How very interesting. Its revolutions appear to me to be quicker even than those in South America.' The record of the Royal Military Academy during my period of command was like that of a nation without a history. As the Governor has been invested of late years with adequate power, and is assisted by a competent staff, civil and military, he has only himself to blame if its administration is not successful. The two hundred gentlemen cadets, youths just rising to manhood, no doubt require tact and discretion in those having authority over them; but if they are treated with confidence and kindness, we may feel assured that no real difficulties will arise. Indeed, during my period of office, speaking generally, the conduct of the cadets was admirable throughout; and it is a gratification to me to know that many of those who were then at the institution are now becoming distinguished as officers of Artillery and Engineers. As regards education, the cadets, in my opinion, have too many subjects imposed upon them during their two years' residence at Woolwich. In addition to following up their previous studies in mathematics, French, and German, they have to learn artillery, fortification, military surveying, landscape drawing, chemistry, military history, riding, gymnastics, and drills of all kinds. There is, however, another point, not due to any defect in the regulations, which injuriously affects candidates for the military colleges--namely, the apathy of many of the great public schools, in not teaching the boys who may desire to follow a military career the subjects which are held to be essential to the profession. The result is that a large proportion of those who go up for the competitive examinations are compelled to leave the colleges at a critical period, and to be hastily educated by special teachers. Unjust criticisms are often made on what are commonly called the 'crammers,' whilst the real fault lies elsewhere; and if those in authority at the public schools would take more pains to have the boys educated for the profession in which they are ultimately to serve, the army and other branches of the public service would reap the benefit. During the year 1875, the late Mr. John Holms, then member of Parliament for Hackney, constituted himself a vigorous critic of the army reforms which had been instituted by Lord Cardwell, and also put forward a distinct plan of his own of military organisation. His view was that we should maintain three separate armies--one for home, a second for the Colonies, and a third for India--all recruited and organised on different systems. It is not necessary now to discuss these proposals; but as his criticisms at the time attracted some attention, I was asked by Lord Cardwell in 1876 to publish a short reply; and as soon as it was ready he gave me a letter of introduction to the late Mr. John Murray, the well-known publisher of Albemarle Street, with a view to his bringing it out. When Mr. Murray had read Lord Cardwell's note, he turned to me and said: 'So you wish to publish a pamphlet--why, an archangel wouldn't read a pamphlet!' My reply was that we were not thinking so much at the present moment of archangels, as of members of Parliament and others, who were of quite a different class. The argument was so conclusive that he published the article in the course of a few days, and it may, perhaps, to some extent have accomplished the intended object.[108] At all events, I received many letters of approval of its contents, and amongst others, the following from my old friend the late Lord Airey, who had been Governor of Gibraltar:-- 'Lowndes Square, March 1876. 'My dear Adye,--You were so kind as to send me and ask me to read your reply to Mr. Holms. When I was at Gibraltar, Drummond Hay, our Minister at the Court of Morocco, sent me over the Grand Vizier and the Commander-in-Chief of the Moorish Army. 'They were solemn, silent, but not unobservant parties. Amongst other things, I showed them some long-range seaward artillery practice. When they saw the little flag shot down two or three times, they turned to me, and simply said, "The Spaniards may go to bed!" I think Mr. Holms may go to bed. 'Yours truly, my dear Adye, 'RICHARD AIREY.' I also received the following letter from Mr. Gladstone:-- 'September 1876. 'Dear Sir John Adye,--Amidst a great pressure and many interruptions, I have been able to gather very interesting information from your valuable pamphlet. For the last three years my attention to current public questions has been much relaxed, while the work of dilapidation incident to an unrefreshed memory has gone on. I do not now recollect as I ought, the precise terms of the present contract of the soldier with regard to the three years, which I have been accustomed to regard as the proper term of short service. To reaching that term for the British Army, I attach (ignorantly) a great value, with this idea among others, that it will very greatly popularise the service, besides its favourable bearing on the question of marriage. 'It will be a great pleasure as well as advantage to me, if I should have an opportunity of resuming the conversation which we began under Lord Sydney's hospitable roof. 'Believe me, faithfully yours, 'W.E. GLADSTONE.' FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 102: _Treatise on Construction of Ordnance_, 1877.] [Footnote 103: _Textbook on Rifled Ordnance_, 1872.] [Footnote 104: _Treatise on Construction of Ordnance_, 1877.] [Footnote 105: _Artillery, its Progress and Present Position_, 1893. By Commander Lloyd, R.N., and A.C. Hadcock, late R.A.] [Footnote 106: Clode's _Military Forces of the Crown_, ii. 214.] [Footnote 107: See Appendix to Fifth Report of Committee of House of Commons on Army and Navy Estimates, 1887, in which correspondence is quoted between the Treasury, War Office, and Admiralty, confirming the above views.] [Footnote 108: _The British Army in 1875: a Reply to Mr. John Holms, M.P._] CHAPTER XXVII CENTRAL ASIA AND THE AFGHAN WAR OF 1878-79 The gradual advance of Russia, and its conquest of the ancient principalities of Central Asia during the present century, have from time to time formed subjects of great interest to the people of this country, chiefly on account of the possible effect of the Russian approach to the borders of our Indian empire; and, having studied the question for many years, I propose to give a short summary of its rise, progress, and present position, more especially from a military point of view. At the beginning of the century, the southern boundary of Russia extended from the north of the Caspian by Orenburg and Orsk, and then across to the old Mongolian city of Semipalatinsk, and was guarded by a cordon of forts and Cossack outposts. This line was no less than 2,000 miles in length, and abutted on the great Kirghis steppe, and to a certain extent controlled the tribes pasturing in its vicinity, but by no means established the hold of Russia on that pathless, and for the most part lifeless waste. Nevertheless, even in those early days, we experienced occasional alarms from imaginary invasions of our Eastern possessions. In 1801 we were threatened with a joint attack of the French, Persian, and Afghan armies; but finally we made a treaty with the Shah, in which it was stipulated that 'should an army of the French nation, actuated by design and deceit,' attempt to establish themselves in Persia, a conjoint force of English and Persians should be appointed to put an end to them. In 1808, another great expedition against the East India Company's possessions was planned--on paper--between Napoleon and the Emperor Alexander of Russia; but this danger was also averted by a second treaty at Teheran in 1809, in which the Shah covenanted 'not to permit any European force whatever to pass through Persia.' Again, for a third time, in 1837, we were supposed to be threatened by a combined attack of Persians, Russians, and Afghans, of which Kaye gives the following account: 'It was believed,' he says, 'that the danger was great and imminent. There was a Persian army, under the command of the King of kings himself, investing Herat, and threatening to march upon Candahar and Cabul. There were Russian diplomatists and Russian engineers in his camp, directing the councils of the Shah and the operations of the siege. The Barukzye sirdars of Afghanistan were intriguing with the Persian Court; and far out in the distance, beyond the mountains of the Hindoo Koosh, there was the shadow of a great northern army, tremendous in its indistinctness, sweeping across the wilds and deserts of Central Asia towards the frontier of Hindostan.'[109] All these shadows, however, passed harmlessly away; and the so-called great northern army, as we now know, but as we did not know then, was the Russian column of Perofski, consisting of a few thousand men, which had left Orenburg with a view to chastise the Khan of Khiva, and which perished from famine and pestilence in the snowy wastes of the Barsuk desert, north of the Aral. It was not until 1847, contemporaneously with our final conquest of the Punjab, that the Russian advances in Central Asia assumed an important aspect. She had held nominal sway since 1730 over the Kirghis tribes in the western division of the great steppe; but, except in the vicinity of Orenburg, had little real control. In 1847-8, however, Russia erected three fortresses in the heart of the steppe--thus forming a connecting link with the Sir Daria--and established Fort Aralsk, near the embouchure of the river. The Russians having thus crossed the great desert, came permanently into contact with the three khanates of Central Asia, and their progress and conquests since that date have been comparatively easy and rapid. The principalities had no military strength which could long withstand the advance of a great Power, and the Russians are now predominant in that part of the world, and are masters on the Aral and Caspian Seas. Drawing a line from east to west, their outposts are dotted along the crests of the Tian-Shan mountains, looking down on Kashgar; in the centre their frontier touches the outlying provinces of Afghanistan which lie to the north of the Hindoo Koosh; whilst on the west their possessions run along the border of Persia. What we have to consider, therefore, is the fact that a great Power, within the last forty or fifty years, has virtually advanced its old frontier for many hundred miles southwards, rapidly overrunning the country like a tidal wave over sands; absorbing decaying principalities, establishing forts at strategic points, taking possession of inland seas, routes, and river communications, until its frontier posts not only approach our own, but are on the confines of countries with which we are closely associated, and some of which are more or less under our direct influence and control. Her long line of frontier is devious, and not always perfectly defined; it wanders along the crests of mountains, is marked sometimes by the course of rivers, and occasionally almost lost in pathless deserts. So far as the principalities themselves are concerned, it is admitted that their conquest by Russia is an unmixed blessing to the inhabitants. In their bare outline these changes are certainly matters of interest to us; but they do not necessarily constitute a great danger. There is undoubtedly a difference between the present and the past. The military forces of a great Power are now in comparative proximity to our Indian empire, and hold ground formerly in possession of governments which, although usually unfriendly, had no real means of injuring us. We need not now discuss the causes of Russian activity; whether they have been the result of the apocryphal will of Peter the Great, or of the military restlessness and ambition of her generals on the spot, or the inevitable consequence of collision with half-civilised decaying States. What we have to consider is the effect on our position in India. Perhaps the most striking feature is the vast extent of country absorbed by Russia. From Orenburg in the north to Samarcand in the south is more than 1,000 miles in a straight line, and from the Caspian to Kuldja, west to east, about 1,500 miles. Increased military power is not, however, a necessary result of extended dominion. The annexation of a country well peopled, fertile, rich, and civilised, and whose inhabitants are in accord with their new rulers, may give a great accession of strength, but when none of these conditions are fulfilled, conquest may lead to military weakness. The population of Central Asia is not only extremely sparse, but, owing to extensive deserts and to the vicissitudes of climate, many of the tribes are nomadic in their habits. The whole population is estimated not to exceed four millions and a half. When we consider that our empire of India, which approximately is of about the same geographical area as Russian Central Asia, contains a population of over 250 millions, we have at once a striking example presented to us of the difference of the two regions. The power of conducting military operations on a great scale depends not only on the resources of the country to be traversed as regards supplies of food, pasture, fuel, and water, but also on facilities of communication and transport. In discussing, therefore, the possible future danger to our Eastern possessions from a further advance of Russia, the sterility and general characteristics of the country in which she has established herself, and also the great distance of her troops from the main resources of the empire, become important elements for consideration. War is a science which depends for its success not only on the courage of well armed, disciplined hosts, and of skilled generals as leaders, but also on the means of rapid concentration and of bringing up reserves of munitions and _matériel_. Modern armies are specially tied by such considerations. Now Central Asia is exceptionally deficient in all these essential requirements, and these conditions are abiding. It therefore forms a very weak base of operations against a great empire like India, whose general characteristics are of an exactly contrary character; and although the construction in recent years of a railway from the Caspian to Samarcand will to a certain extent give facility for transport, still it will not in itself alter the general features of the pathless deserts of which the greater part of the country consists. Between the recently conquered provinces of Russia and our empire of India lies the mountainous country of Afghanistan, inhabited by warlike tribes of brave, fanatical Mohammedans who certainly have no love for Russia. In a geographical and indeed in every sense, it is laid out, as it were, as the natural frontier of an empire. All along its northern provinces stands the snow-capped range of the Hindoo Koosh, stretching away from east to west: a line of mountains between 15,000 and 20,000 feet high, with few practicable passes, and even these are closed in winter. It thus presents for the greater part of its length a natural barrier against aggression, which a few military works at the passes would render impregnable. Even as far west as Herat, the ranges to the north of it are several thousand feet high. But this is not all. The great ridges which run away in a south-westerly direction from the Hindoo Koosh, and which, enclosing long narrow valleys of limited fertility, form the greater part of Afghanistan--all these present a series of additional natural defences. Afghanistan resembles Switzerland, but its mountains are higher, its defiles more difficult, its resources very scanty, and it has no roads properly so called; so that an enemy advancing from the north can only come in any force by one route--that is, by skirting the successive ridges where they sink into the southern deserts. It is indeed remarkable that India is surrounded for hundreds of miles to the north-west by a vast zone of barren country, including Afghanistan, Persia, and the principalities; territories unequalled perhaps in the world for their misery and desolation; but which, regarded from a purely military point of view, offer a great impediment to projects of invasion. The Afghans are poor, but brave, hardy, fanatical, and no doubt somewhat turbulent. They hate all intruders. In former days the hordes of Asia, composed chiefly of cavalry, could disregard bases of support and supply, and, being unencumbered with siege trains or other modern appliances, could sally out from these desert wastes, and, braving all risks, overflow the comparatively rich fertile plains of India. But all such incursions are now happily impossible. Circumstances have entirely altered. Modern science has so expanded the means of defence that armies of invasion must necessarily bring with them a corresponding power; and this entails vast encumbrances, numerous depôts, good roads, and safe communications. It now becomes time to consider the military position of our empire in India, and here we are met at once by conditions the very opposite of those I have described as prevailing in Central Asia. Whilst Russia has been engaged for many years past in the almost futile effort of establishing her power amongst the remains of decaying principalities, and of introducing civilisation in regions where almost every element of prosperity is deficient, we have also consolidated our empire in the East. Order now reigns in India in place of anarchy, the government of the law has replaced that of the sword, and provinces formerly almost depopulated by depredations and misrule have become fertile and prosperous. Life is safe, and religion and property respected. The value of land has increased; great commercial cities have arisen and trade flourishes.[110] Good civil government, in causing contentment to the people and in developing the resources of the country, gives vast additional strength to our military power. In addition to the British troops, we maintain highly efficient armies recruited from the many martial races under our rule, and are able to increase them almost at will. At the same time, the improved means of communication by railways, roads, and rivers enable us to concentrate our forces, supplies, and munitions with comparative ease. It may seem almost unnecessary to dwell upon facts so well known; but judging from much of what we often hear and read, the enormous latent strength we possess in India appears not to be fully appreciated. We hold a central position of great concentration and power, whilst that of Russia is necessarily much the opposite; so even were the two empires in contact, the danger would not be on our side. We are the great and predominant naval and military power in the East, and Russia is comparatively the weak one; and there is nothing in the present aspect and condition of affairs likely to cause any important alteration in these respects. Russia may not have the wish to attack us in India, but she has not the power, which is a far more important consideration. But the two empires are not in contact, or near it. The most advanced Cossack outpost on the Murghab is several hundred miles from the Indus; so that, far as the Russians have already advanced, and far removed as their outposts are from the bases of supply, they have still a whole continent of very difficult country to traverse before they would even be in sight of our frontier river and of the plains of India. The views on this important question which I had formed and published years ago, were fully confirmed in 1887 by Sir West Ridgeway, who was our representative at the Joint Commission, which, between 1885 and 1887, finally marked out the northern frontier of Afghanistan; and who, from his position and the accurate knowledge he obtained of the country, was able to give an authoritative opinion. He wrote: 'If any Russian general were so reckless as to attempt the invasion of India, and, relying on the single line of lightly constructed rails which connect the Caspian with the Oxus--and which are liable in summer to be blocked by the moving sands of the desert, and in winter by the falling snows of heaven--if, relying on this frail and precarious base, he were to move an army through the barren plains bordering the Oxus, and, leaving in his rear the various hostile and excited races of Central Asia, he were to cross the difficult passes of the Hindoo Koosh and entangle his army in the barren mountain homes of the fanatical and treacherous Afghan, then indeed our fortunate generals may well congratulate themselves that the Lord has delivered the enemy into their hand. The same objection applies to an invasion of India by the Herat road. Imagine the plight of the Russian army when it arrived before our entrenched camp at Candahar, connected, as it would be, by railway with our immense resources in India. The Russian army would find itself in a country stripped of supplies and carriage, with a powerful enemy in its front, and fanatical tribes waging a guerilla war on its flanks and rear.'[111] Sir West Ridgeway also bore testimony to the beneficial rule of Russia in Central Asia, and that her officers on the frontier were conciliatory, moderate gentlemen. If the foregoing statements and the opinions which I have offered upon them are sound, then it is evident that our general line of policy towards the people of Afghanistan is simple and clear. They hold important outworks, as it were, just outside our frontier; and, whilst not interfering with their independence, we should do all in our power not only to maintain the authority of their ruler, the Ameer of Cabul, but also to keep on friendly terms with the tribes, many of whom, especially those along our frontier, are more or less independent. Our policy should be one of conciliation and of subsidies; and although in dealing with half-civilised, turbulent chiefs and tribes the beneficial results are achieved slowly, still, year by year, a patient and forbearing policy will bear good fruit, and indeed is now doing so in a marked degree. It is important to note that in our dealings with the Ameer, and in granting him subsidies and arms, we only claimed in return that his foreign policy should be under our guidance. Our principle for years past had been that Afghanistan should be strong, friendly, and independent. The gradual approach of the Russian frontier towards India led to a diplomatic correspondence in 1872-3[112] between Lord Granville, then Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and Prince Gortchakoff, with a view to a clearer definition of the Afghan frontier north of the Hindoo Koosh. It was not that the forces of either Power were then on the ground, nor had the country been accurately surveyed; but the object was to avoid complications in the future, and it is to be observed that the Russian Government ultimately acquiesced in all Lord Granville's proposals as to the provinces and districts which were to be considered as Afghan territory. Though Russia claimed independence of action so far as the principalities[113] were concerned, it also fully accepted the principle that Afghanistan was within the sphere of our influence. During the period from 1864 to 1876, when Lords Lawrence, Mayo, and Northbrook were successively Viceroys of India, the general policy which I have indicated was carefully pursued, but in the latter year a serious change occurred which eventually led to a great war in Afghanistan in 1878-9. There were apparently two main causes for the alteration in the views of the British Government. One was a restless feeling that we were somewhat in the dark as to the conduct of affairs in Cabul, and that the then Ameer Shere Ali was becoming unfriendly; the other that the long range of the Suliman mountains trans-Indus formed a somewhat insecure border line, and that we should take possession of some of the passes with a view of establishing what was called a scientific frontier. In pursuance of the first a violent effort was made to force English representatives on the Ameer at Cabul, Candahar, and Herat, a policy known to be specially feared by the Afghans, and which we had hitherto engaged more than once not to adopt.[114] In January 1877 an Afghan envoy, Noor Mahomed Khan, held prolonged meetings with the late Sir Lewis Pelly on the subject at Peshawur, and begged that the proposal might be dropped. He said: 'Why all this pressing to send British officers, when you declare that you have no wish to interfere in the internal affairs of Afghanistan? It has roused the suspicion of the Ameer.... He is now convinced that to allow British officers to reside in his country will be to relinquish his own authority.' ... Again he said: 'Your Government is a powerful and a great one; ours is a small and weak one. We have long been on terms of friendship, and the Ameer clings to the skirt of the British Government, and till his hand be cut off he will not relax his hold of it.' Sir Lewis Pelly, however, stated that the presence of English officers in Afghanistan was a _sine quâ non_; and as Lord Lytton, the Viceroy, had already, in speaking of the position of Shere Ali between Russia and England, described it as that 'of an earthen pipkin between two iron pots,' it was evident that no friendly arrangement was likely to ensue. During 1877 our native agent at Cabul was withdrawn, our subsidy ceased, and Shere Ali remained in a position of isolation, and was left to form friendship elsewhere. In fact, we washed our hands of him and were evidently drifting into war. As regards the other cause of dispute--the rectification of the trans-Indus frontier--the opinion of our Government at the time was that we should march into Afghanistan, and establish what was termed a strategical triangle between Cabul, Ghuznee and Jellalabad, and thus guard, as it were, the avenues to India.[115] Being greatly interested in the proposed military operations at the period in question, I wrote a letter to the Times,[116] pointing out the serious results which were likely to ensue on our advance into Afghanistan, and of which the following are extracts. 'In my opinion such an idea is a dangerous delusion. Afghanistan is a country of mountains, and the Suliman range, which forms our boundary, is merely the first of a series of great ridges running down south-westerly from the Hindoo Koosh. If we enter the country and merely hold the nearest passes, we shall at once find ourselves in a maze of mountains, with dozens of other passes and strong positions in our front. Not only that, but we shall become involved with other tribes; and as soon as our flag is seen flying within the Afghan mountains, our influence will begin to extend, political and military complications will arise, and we shall inevitably be carried forward.' Alluding to the policy which had for some years past been followed, I went on to point out that 'the frontier throughout its length is far quieter now than in the years gone by. Occasional acts of outrage and robbery are treated as matters of police. Many of the men of the Afghan tribes beyond the border now enter our service, and do their duty well.... Therefore, I maintain that a conciliatory policy has been in a great measure successful, and was leading straight to the object we had in view, although time, patience, and forbearance are required before the results become palpable and confirmed.' Lord Lawrence, the greatest authority then living on the subject, wrote several letters to the 'Times' in 1878 strongly deprecating our change of policy, and I had the satisfaction of receiving from him a note expressing his entire agreement with the military views which I had put forward. Whilst the two causes I have described gradually led to the estrangement of the Ameer of Cabul, an additional fear arose in his mind owing to our dealings with the ruler of the neighbouring country of Beluchistan.[117] Here also we had for many years past, and amidst some difficulties, pursued a course of conciliation and subsidies with the ruler, the Khan of Khelat; one of our objects being to insure the safe passage of caravans with goods through the Bolam. In 1877, however, a new treaty having been made, a small British force entered the country, and, marching through the Pass, occupied and fortified Quetta, on the borders of Afghanistan, ostensibly as a protection to our representative. It was, perhaps, only natural under the circumstances, that Shere Ali should look with some distrust at the presence of our troops on his immediate southern border, and on the direct road to Candahar. Matters drifted on during 1878, but Shere Ali having finally rejected our ultimatum, war was declared in November, and British troops entered Afghanistan in three columns--one by the Khyber as far as Jellalabad, the second occupied the Koorum valley, whilst the third, marching through the Bolam, reached Candahar in January 1879. These operations were accomplished with comparative ease, and for the moment our success seemed complete. Shere Ali fled from Cabul, and died soon afterwards, and his son and successor, Yakoob Khan, having sued for peace, a treaty was signed in May, the chief items of which were that we should permanently retain the Koorum and Pisheen valleys, and also send an English officer with a suitable escort as our representative at Cabul, Major Cavagnari being selected for the purpose.[118] So far all seemed well; but in reality the war, instead of being at an end, was only at its commencement. In September, Cavagnari and his escort were surrounded and murdered, and the whole country was disorganised and seething with excitement. The treaty of peace was torn up,[119] and the Khyber and Koorum columns marched at once upon Cabul, and after severe fighting established our authority at the capital. So completely had these serious and untoward events changed the aspect of affairs that Lord Lytton, the Viceroy, in January 1880 stated that we must recognise disintegration as the basis of our policy. The province of Cabul was to be given over to one Afghan chief, Candahar to another, and as to Herat, the most flourishing and important district of all, it was proposed to hand it over to Persia. It is not necessary to describe the military measures which followed, which were brilliantly carried out, but towards the close of the campaign we had about 60,000 men either actually in Afghanistan or on the frontier, and even then we only commanded the ground on which we stood; whilst the cost of the war amounted to nearly twenty millions sterling. In the end, and after much discussion, however, the British Government reverted to the original policy of a strong, friendly, and independent Afghanistan; and Abdul Rahman Khan, who had been a refugee for years in Russian territory, was acknowledged by us as the ruler of the country. Our forces were withdrawn early in 1881, and the strategical triangle was, by common consent, consigned to the waste paper basket.[120] In my opinion the war of 1878-9 was bad in policy and unjust in principle from beginning to end. It is a matter of history now, but we not only were fighting against those we ought to have conciliated, but nearly ended in disintegrating the country and taking a large portion of it ourselves. Subsequent to the withdrawal of our army the country became more settled, although the position of Abdul Rahman was for some time precarious. By our support, financial and other, however, he slowly established his authority, and has continued on terms of friendship with our Government. Reverting to Central Asia, the capture of Merv by the Russians and their gradual approximation to the northern provinces of Afghanistan, combined with the somewhat overbearing conduct of their military subordinates on the spot, led in 1885 to a conflict at Penjdeh between the Russian and Afghan outposts, which at one time threatened to lead to a great war. I have already explained that although by the Granville-Gortchakoff agreement of 1873 the northern Afghan provinces were settled, their actual boundaries, in the absence of full information, remained somewhat indefinite. Indeed, in countries chiefly inhabited by nomadic tribes, wandering about in search of pasture, such questions are often more or less uncertain. As a proof of the doubtful nature of the facts at that time, I may point out that in the official English maps published a few years before the Penjdeh incident, that hitherto almost unknown village was marked as outside the Afghan frontier. It would answer no good purpose to re-open a subject which involved no great principle, and the issues of which were exaggerated at the time by violent and imprudent language, both in England and Russia. It was eminently one for diplomatic arrangement and not for war, and found its solution in the joint Boundary Commission which was originated by Lord Granville,[121] and brought to a friendly conclusion in 1887. The Marquis of Salisbury, who was Prime Minister at the time, alluding to the arrangement, said: 'I believe a more well-balanced and equable settlement could hardly have been arrived at. There has been no great sacrifice on either side; but I value the settlement for this reason, not because I attach much importance to the square miles of desert with which we have been dealing--and which probably after ten generations of mankind will not yield the slightest value to any human being--but because it indicates on both sides that spirit which in the two Governments is consistent with continued peace.' That, in my judgment is the spirit in which two great Powers should always be prepared to act in international disagreements. One more subject remains, as regards Central Asia, which deserves a few remarks--that of the Pamirs, on the north eastern confines of Afghanistan. The country, until recently very little known, is an elevated desolate plateau ringed round with snowy ridges, and is the point of junction of the three great mountain ranges--the Himalayas, the Hindoo Koosh, and the Tian-Shan. The fact that some of the lakes on this elevated region are over 12,000 feet above the sea is a proof of its exceptional character. The climate is very severe, and its inhabitants appear to be chiefly nomadic tribes from Afghanistan, Russia, and China respectively, who bring their flocks there for pasture during the three or four summer months. The actual delimitation of the frontiers, it is understood, is now being amicably arranged between the Powers concerned. As a base for military operations for an advance on India, the very nature of the country offers insurmountable obstacles and hardly needs discussion. I have dealt in some detail with the subject of Central Asia, as one of great and general interest, and have endeavoured to explain the military aspect of the case, because it is the one perhaps not so generally understood. There are people who say that war, sooner or later, is inevitable. As the late Lord Derby once very sensibly remarked: 'Of the two I prefer it later.' It appears to me that there is no cause for war, or indeed probability of it, between Russia and England in that part of the world; but should such unfortunately arise, the danger would not lie on our side. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 109: Kaye's _History of the War in Afghanistan in 1838_.] [Footnote 110: _What England has done for India_, Dr. W. Hunter, 1879.] [Footnote 111: 'The New Afghan Frontier,' by Col. Sir West Ridgeway, K.C.S.I., C.B.; _Nineteenth Century_, October 1887.] [Footnote 112: _Parliamentary Paper_: Central Asia, C 2164, 1878; also C 699, 1873.] [Footnote 113: Central Asia, No. 1, 1878.] [Footnote 114: _Parliamentary Paper_: Afghanistan, 1878.] [Footnote 115: _Parliamentary Paper_: Afghanistan, No. 2, 1881, C 2811.] [Footnote 116: _Times_, October 18, 1878.] [Footnote 117: _Parliamentary Paper_: Beluchistan, February 1878.] [Footnote 118: Afghanistan, No. 7, 1879, C 2401.] [Footnote 119: Afghanistan, No. 1, 1881, C 2776, and No. 2, 2811.] [Footnote 120: _Afghanistan_, 1881, No. 1, pp. 60-87.] [Footnote 121: _Central Asia_: No. 2, 1885, C 4387; and No. 1, 1887, C 5114.] CHAPTER XXVIII APPOINTED SURVEYOR GENERAL OF THE ORDNANCE--PRINCIPLES OF ARMY PROMOTION--EGYPTIAN WAR OF 1882 On the formation of Mr. Gladstone's Government in 1880 I was offered by him, and accepted, the appointment of Surveyor General of the Ordnance. Mr. Childers, on becoming Minister for War in 1880, at once took vigorous measures to bring to maturity the changes which had been instituted by Lord Cardwell, but of which some, from one cause or another, had been rather retarded. One of his first acts was to complete the localisation of the infantry regiments in counties, which had been so strongly recommended by Colonel Stanley's[122] Commission of 1877; and which is now exercising so beneficial an influence in welding the regular and militia forces, and in the gradual formation of local ties and associations. Another measure, introduced in 1881, was an increase in the pay and pension of non-commissioned officers, and the appointment of those in the higher grades as warrant officers. Essential as it is to maintain the system of short service for private soldiers, as affording the only method of creating a reserve and of giving strength and elasticity to the army in war, it is at the same time desirable that a proportion of the non-commissioned officers should be induced to prolong their duties in the ranks. The same difficulty, it may be observed, is felt, and the same remedy adopted, in the chief European armies, where considerable advantages as to pay, pensions, and ultimate civil employment are given to non-commissioned officers who extend their service. _Principles of Promotion and Retirement of Officers_ Amongst the many problems which have to be considered and solved by the War Office, none perhaps is more complex than that of providing a system of promotion for officers in order that a sufficient proportion of the most capable may attain to the higher positions at a time of life when their previous experience can be fully utilised. The great and real difficulty may be explained in a few words. In the army, as probably in every profession more or less, the number of employments available for the higher ranks is comparatively limited, whilst the junior branches are crowded with young men, all full of life and energy, gradually gaining experience, and all animated with the one laudable hope of rising to the top. In the military profession perhaps more than in others, the organisation of ranks is strictly defined as to numbers, and is supposed to require a considerable excess of officers in the lower grades, who, in time of peace at all events, have not adequate occupation, and some of whom as the years pass away, losing their zeal and activity, become unfitted for responsible posts, when their long deferred opportunity arrives. There are two methods of partially solving the difficulty: one, which is now mainly in force in the British army, is a graduated scale of compulsory retirements with pensions at certain fixed ages. No doubt it tends to clear the list, and thus to make room for the juniors. But it has great drawbacks; first of all in its excessive cost, and secondly, that it does not in reality discriminate between the efficient and the inefficient. Age alone being the criterion, it often happens that promising officers who have no wish to retire, are compelled to do so--and this is not only a hardship on individuals, but injurious to the State, in depriving it of men who carry away with them into private life valuable experience gained in various parts of the world. It is, in short, a system which, if rigidly enforced, is costly in both senses, without adequate benefit to the army. In 1876 a commission under Lord Penzance investigated and reported on the subject, and it is chiefly on their recommendations that the above arrangements were adopted. There are, however, other ways of meeting the difficulty which would at all events tend to remove some of these objections. In the first place it must be remembered that the duties of the British army are far more varied and severe than is the case with the Continental powers. More than half our troops are always at foreign stations. Many officers, therefore, as they arrive at middle life, and whose health has suffered from tropical climates, find themselves compelled to retire; and a scheme of voluntary, in lieu of compulsory, pensions would meet their cases without injuring capable officers, and without inflicting individual hardships. But there is another and a more efficacious mode of meeting the difficulty; namely, by a careful reorganisation of ranks. Lord Penzance's Commission was quite alive to this alternative, and said that a reorganisation of ranks would meet the question in another way, would be less costly, and would prevent the loss of valuable officers, but that it was beyond their instructions. As I have already mentioned, the present organisation rests on the hypothesis that a fixed proportion of officers is requisite in each rank, with a vast preponderance of juniors. But is this really essential? Now it so happens that of late years considerable modifications have been made in every army in Europe except our own, tending to reduce the disparity. On the Continent the infantry regiments, for instance, are now organised in double companies under mounted officers, and the cavalry in squadrons. It is held that under the modern system of fighting such arrangements are more efficient; and they virtually lead to an increase in the upper, and a diminution in the lower, ranks, which in point of promotion is exactly the remedy wanted. Mr. Childers in 1881 introduced changes with this two-fold object in view, and the following table exemplifies the result in an infantry regiment of two battalions. +---------------+-------------------------+------------------------+ | Ranks |Establishment before 1881|Establishment after 1881| +---------------+-------------------------+------------------------+ |Lieut.-Colonels| 2 } | 4 } | |Majors | 4 } 6 | 8 } 12 | |Captains | 20 } | 14 } | |Lieutenants | 32 } 52 | 30 } 44 | +---------------+-------------------------+------------------------+ |Total | 58 | 56 | +---------------+-------------------------+------------------------+ By the old plan the number of field officers to juniors was, as will be seen, 6 to 52--or 1 to 8-2/3. By the new one it became 12 to 44 or 1 to 3-2/3. It will be evident at once that the prospects of the juniors as regards promotion were greatly improved, and it had the additional merit of being more economical as regards pensions, and further, as it is held by many that the new organisation is more efficient for war, it would appear to have everything in its favour. Unfortunately, owing to diversities of opinion, although the ranks were thus re-arranged, the battalions have never been divided into double companies; so that the most important part of the scheme has not been completed and remains untried. Indeed, the tendency during the last few years has been of a retrograde nature. In my opinion, the proportion of the ranks should be rigidly enforced so as to reduce the juniors to a minimum in time of peace, as being better in the interests of the officers, more in accordance with the requirements of modern warfare, and more economical to the State. The following figures giving the proportion of senior officers to juniors in the army in 1884 and 1894 respectively, will illustrate my argument, and will afford proof that the changes made three or four years ago have injuriously affected the prospects of young officers in respect to promotion. +------------------------------------+-------+-------+ | -- | 1884 | 1894 | +------------------------------------+-------+-------+ |Number of General and Field Officers| 2,586 | 2,128 | |Number of Captains and Lieutenants | 5,601 | 6,723 | +------------------------------------+-------+-------+ | -- | 8,187 | 8,851 | +------------------------------------+-------+-------+ It will be observed that the proportion of seniors to juniors in 1884 was nearly 1 to 2, whereas in 1894 it is about 1 to 3. Again, the annual cost of pensions in 1884 was about £737,000, but in 1894 it has risen to about £1,000,000. So that not only are the prospects of promotions less, but at the same time the cost to the country in pensions is greater. There remains one more point connected with the subject which must be mentioned--namely, that of selection. The principle is a valuable one, and should be carefully carried out in the higher ranks. It will affect individuals and be beneficial to the army; but it will not in itself have much bearing on promotion generally. Speaking of retirement, it is related that some years ago the late Lord Airey went to the German manoeuvres, and on being introduced to the old Emperor William, his Majesty said: 'I hear, Lord Airey, you are going to retire. What is your reason?' Lord Airey replied that, being seventy years old, by the regulations he had no option in the matter. 'Retire at seventy!' said the Emperor; 'why, all my best generals are over that age!' 'Oh yes, your Majesty,' said Airey, 'I quite agree with you, but in England they get tired of us at seventy, and get rid of us.' _Expedition to Egypt_ At the beginning of 1882 the War Office in Pall Mall had for a time to put aside what may be called its domestic reforms, and, in concert with the Admiralty, to prepare for an expedition to Egypt, in which our naval and military forces were destined before the close of the year to take a leading and a successful part. The causes of the revolution in Egypt (which commenced in 1881) appear to have been a complicated mixture of intrigues, military discontent, and a sham national uprising; and it is difficult now to understand how a man like Arabi Pasha, who had neither political experience nor military skill, could, even for a time, have become the virtual master of the situation. But if the local causes are somewhat obscure, the diplomatic action, or rather inaction, of the various Powers of Europe is almost equally strange. England alone from the first seems to have perceived the true issue, and by denouncing Arabi as a mere mutinous adventurer, and by insisting on the necessity of crushing the rebellion and restoring the authority of the Khedive, she protected not only her own interests in the country, but also those of Turkey, and, indeed, of Europe generally. The Government of France at the outset appeared to be quite in accord with our own. In January a joint assurance was given to the Khedive of adequate support, and in May the French and English fleets accordingly arrived at Alexandria for the maintenance of order. It is further to be observed that the other European powers, recognising the superior interests of France and England, acquiesced in their proposed intervention. So far unanimity apparently prevailed. And yet, when an insurrection headed by Arabi occurred in Alexandria the following month, France for some reason withdrew her ships and left England alone. And again, when it became evident in July that a military force could alone restore order, notwithstanding the oft repeated desire of the British Government that the two nations should act in concert, the French Chamber, which on the 19th of July had voted the necessary supplies for their part of the expedition, on the 29th reversed their policy, and by a majority of 375 declined to take any part in the campaign. Judging by the debates in the French Chamber at the time, it would appear that their Ministers were disinclined to embark on a distant expedition on two grounds: (1) that they had anxieties nearer home and wished to keep themselves free; (2) that the people of France were really sick of campaigns, and would not therefore give their support to a policy of distant adventure--not perhaps an unnatural view on their part. So uncertain, indeed, was the policy of the French Government up to the last moment that towards the end of July, when I was appointed Chief of the Staff to the expedition, I received instructions to proceed to Paris, to discuss with the French military authorities as to the place of landing, and to ascertain their views on the joint operations. The vote of the Chamber on the 29th, however, of course rendered my visit unnecessary. The policy of Turkey as to Egypt was still more uncertain. It would naturally have been supposed that when one of its tributary States had broken out into insurrection, and when the power of the local ruler had been subverted, the Sultan's Government would have been anxious to quell the revolution, as we invited them to do, and would have welcomed the assistance of allies like ourselves who had a similar object in view. Instead of that the Turkish Government not only hesitated, but after the outbreak at Alexandria in June actually conferred the Grand Cordon of the Medjidi on Arabi Pasha, the rebel leader. The Sultan, however, must be a man of great impartiality and discrimination, for when I arrived at Cairo in September, after the short desert campaign, he also conferred on me the Grand Cordon of the Medjidi. Whether he was under the impression that I was a friend or an enemy of Arabi I never cared to inquire. Before proceeding to give details of the preparations for the expedition to Egypt, it will be as well to allude shortly to certain misconceptions which appear to prevail as to the supposed want of concert between the navy and army in war. Even as recently as 1890 these misconceptions were prominently alluded to, and indeed endorsed in the report of Lord Harrington's Commission.[123] Whilst pointing out that the two services are 'to a large extent dependent on each other,' the report goes on to say that 'little or no attempt has ever been made to establish settled and regular relations between them.' This, if correct, would be serious. My experience in the Crimea, in Egypt, and at the War Office does not lead me at all to the conclusion stated by the commission. The two professions are so distinct in themselves that they require separate administration, but that does not necessarily entail any want of co-operation in war. On the contrary, they thoroughly understand their relative positions; and whether as regards preparations for national defence, or in operations for the expansion of the empire in various parts of the world, our success has been remarkable, and the results are due to the united efforts of the navy and army. The present arrangements are, in my opinion, efficient, and should be left alone. The Egyptian expedition of 1882 affords the most recent proof of what I have urged. No sooner was it determined on, than the Minister for War and the First Lord of the Admiralty, with their chief advisers, held constant meetings, and discussed and decided difficulties and details day by day, and nothing could be more complete than the cordial co-operation of the two departments--a co-operation which was not limited to the authorities at home, but was equally conspicuous at the seat of war. Throughout the operations the naval and military authorities on the spot fully appreciated their relative positions; and it was due to their combined efforts, backed by the discipline and courage of the officers and men of both services, that the campaign was carried to a speedy and successful conclusion. Although the Egyptian expedition of 1882 bears no comparison either as to its duration, difficulties, or hard fighting with that of the Crimea, still in respect to the number of troops embarked at the outset the two closely approximate. The force sent to Egypt from England, and from the Mediterranean garrisons, amounted to about 26,000 men, with 54 field guns and 5,000 cavalry and artillery horses. To these were shortly added about 8,000 men from India, consisting of the Seaforth Highlanders, a battery of artillery, and several regiments of native cavalry and infantry. The troops from home commenced embarking towards the end of July; and so complete and satisfactory were the arrangements of the Admiralty, due in great measure to the energy and experience of Admiral Sir William Mends, the Director of Transports, that after a voyage of 3,000 miles they arrived at Alexandria without a _contretemps_ of any kind. The general outline of the campaign and of the movements to be undertaken had been discussed before the departure of the expedition, and it was virtually decided to take temporary possession of the Suez Canal; Ismailia becoming the base of operations with a view to an advance upon Cairo. There were obvious political and strategical reasons for the decision. In the first place the occupation of the canal would secure its safety, and prevent its being blocked or injured by the enemy--a most important European interest in itself; and it is curious that the late Monsieur de Lesseps, who was in communication with Arabi and who was at Ismailia at the time of our arrival, was violently opposed to our action in this respect. In the next place Cairo was then the centre of disaffection, and as it was known that the Egyptian army, reinforced by Bedouins, was in considerable strength and entrenching at Tel-el-Kebir, on the verge of the desert, it was probable that a rapid advance from Ismailia and a severe defeat of the enemy would cause a general collapse, and thus save Cairo from fire and pillage. These various considerations determined the general plan of the operations, and the result amply justified the anticipations formed. To have advanced from Alexandria, or from the neighbouring Bay of Aboukir, would have entailed a long and difficult march south, through the Delta of the Nile, a country without roads and intersected by irrigating canals. Further, the distance to Cairo was about 120 miles, as compared with 75 from Ismailia. In short, no striking or rapid result could be anticipated by an advance from Alexandria, and in the meantime Cairo would have been left at the mercy of a mutinous army, and of other elements of disaffection and disorder. It was very important that the decision as to entering the canal, and using it as a base, should be kept secret; and therefore, on the arrival of our troops at Alexandria, during August, it was ostentatiously announced that our great object was to land in strength at Aboukir Bay, and from that position and from Alexandria to attack Arabi Pasha, who with a large force was entrenched at Kaffr-Dewar, a few miles distant; and fortunately the device succeeded. All being ready, the British fleet and transports left Alexandria on the afternoon of August 19, a considerable force having to be left behind temporarily for the protection of the city. In order still further to mislead Arabi Pasha, the fleet and the great majority of the transports proceeded in the first instance to Aboukir Bay, and anchored for the night; a few shots being fired at the works on shore. One brigade, however, went on to Port Said, which was reached on the 20th, when the two ends of the canal were temporarily closed. On August 21, Sir Garnet Wolseley[124] and staff arrived at Ismailia with the brigade of General Graham, which was landed, pushed on at once, and seized the railway station at Neficè, two miles outside. From the moment, indeed, of our arrival it became an urgent necessity to land troops of all arms as fast as possible, in order to take possession of what was called (somewhat figuratively) the Sweet-Water canal and also the single line of railway which ran parallel to each other in the direct line of our destined march across the desert. Ismailia, from its limited resources and with only a small wooden pier, was not well adapted for the disembarkation of an army. However, in the course of three days nearly 9,000 men, with a portion of the Household Cavalry and two Horse Artillery guns, had been landed. As the water in the Sweet-Water canal began to fall rapidly, it was evident that the enemy were at work not far off and were obstructing its flow. Accordingly, at daylight on the 24th a small force advanced into the desert, and found the enemy in considerable strength at Magfar, about six miles from Ismailia. They had constructed a dam across the canal, which after some sharp fighting was captured, the Egyptians falling back two or three miles to some sandhills at Mahuta, where they were in considerable numbers and entrenched. As a serious engagement was likely to take place at Mahuta, reinforcements of all arms were pushed on during the day and following night as soon as landed; the Brigade of Guards under H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught having to make a hurried and harassing march across the desert in the extreme heat, on the afternoon of the 24th. At daylight on the 25th the British troops were formed up across the desert at Magfar in order of battle, and advanced to the attack on Tel-el-Mahuta. But the Egyptians at once lost heart, and were observed to be retiring in haste, partly by rail; and, being followed by the cavalry and horse artillery, they not only evacuated their strong position at Mahuta, but were driven out of Mahsamah, eight miles further on, where seven Krupp guns, large numbers of rifles, and a quantity of ammunition, food, stores, camp equipment, and seventy-five railway waggons fell into our possession. Considering that the troops had only just landed, that the heat was extreme, and that the cavalry and artillery horses were in bad condition from their long voyage, these operations of the 24th and 25th were not only highly successful, but were very creditable to the various arms engaged. Sir Garnet Wolseley did not fail to take full advantage of the demoralisation and feeble tactics of the enemy, and on the following day General Graham's brigade made a farther advance of two or three miles to Kassassin Lock on the canal, and within a few miles of the Egyptian main position at Tel-el-Kebir. Thus, within five days of our arrival at Ismailia, notwithstanding the restricted facilities for landing, and in spite of the difficulties of marching during the hottest season of the year across the desert, we had been able to drive away the enemy and to take possession of twenty miles of the fresh-water canal, and of the railway and telegraph line. As an interval of some days now elapsed before further movements of importance took place, it may be interesting to give a short summary of the strategy of the Egyptian leaders, which appears to have been faulty throughout. In the first place they divided their main forces into two parts far removed from each other, one being placed in front of Alexandria, and the other behind a long weak line of entrenchments across the desert at Tel-el-Kebir. They may no doubt have been somewhat uncertain at the outset as to our general plan; but at all events, when the arrival at Ismailia had made our intentions clear, their troops outside Alexandria should have gone forthwith to the scene of active operations. Instead of doing so, they remained stationary throughout the short campaign, with the result that they had eventually to disband without firing a shot. In the desert they were equally blind to the real position. If on our arrival they had at once blocked the fresh-water canal, diverted its stream before it had reached the desert, and had entirely destroyed the railway and telegraphic lines, they would at all events have greatly added to the difficulties and hardships of our march. By neglecting these obvious precautions, they enabled us within a week to advance and hold these important resources, and to establish ourselves at Kassassin Lock, where, as soon as our army was concentrated, we crushed their power by capturing their main position and brought the war to an end. In addition to the guns, ammunition, and railway plant secured at Mahsamah on the 25th, we were fortunate also in taking prisoner Mahmoud Fehmi Pasha, one of the chief leaders of the insurrection. I had a short interview with him on his being brought to Ismailia. He was naturally rather excited, and, speaking in French, said that as he had been fighting against us we could dispose of him as we chose. 'Fusillez-moi, si vous voulez,' he remarked; but he begged not to be handed over to the Khedive's Government, as they would torture him. He added, that he knew the English were just people; and I replied that he might feel sure that the British Government would treat him as a prisoner of war, and give him a fair trial. In sketching the history of a campaign, it is always desirable, if possible, to ascertain the views of the combatants on both sides; and as regards the earlier incidents in the desert, it so happens that we were fortunate enough to find at the railway stations copies in Arabic of various telegrams which had been sent from Cairo, and also from Arabi Pasha to the Egyptian leaders on the spot; and I will quote English translations of a few of them, as examples of the different conclusions which two opponents may come to on the same events. 1. 'From Under Minister of War, Cairo, to Mahmoud Pasha Fehmi, informing him that his telegram had been read in council, and complimenting him on his victory over the English at Mahsamah.' 2. 'From the Military Commander, Cairo, to H.E. Rashid Pasha Husni. We, and the entire Egyptian nation, congratulate your Excellency on your defeat of the enemy. May God be pleased to bless your crusade.' 3. 'Telegram of three pages from Arabi Pasha, complimenting Rashid Pasha Husni, the Commander of the Eastern Division, on his frequent defeats of the English, who are the enemies of religion and of humanity. Hopes the honour of the Egyptian nation may be written with the blood of the English.' Speaking of telegrams, towards the end of September, when the British army had arrived at Cairo a rather bewildering message was received by us from Kaffir-Zoyat. 'Atrocity has taken place in all the stations from the inhabitants and immigrants. The station master is helpless, and now is the time for the arrival of local train. The station master requires help soon. A copy has been sent to Sultan Pasha.' Notwithstanding the congratulations which the Egyptian generals in the desert had received on their imaginary victories, they became gradually alive to the necessity of making an effort to recover their lost positions, and on August 28, Arabi Pasha having arrived, they seriously attacked Kassassin with about 10,000 men and 12 guns. The battle lasted all day, with occasional intervals, but General Graham (who had rather less than 2,000 men under his command), supported by the cavalry and horse artillery from Mahsamah under Sir Drury Lowe, at length drove off the enemy, and their retreat was hastened by a brilliant cavalry charge after dark in the desert. Our losses on the occasion in killed and wounded were 97. Subsequent to this attack on Kassassin there was a lull in active operations for about a fortnight. Although the rapidity of our earlier movements had gained us possession of the fresh-water canal and railway, still, as both had been blocked with large dams and embankments, they were for the moment of limited service for transport, and in reality we had, as it were, out-run our commissariat. Consequently for a few days the troops suffered some hardships, although their general health was not apparently affected, the sick list being less than six per cent. There were no resources, of course, in the desert, and it was calculated that we had to send forward about sixty tons a day of food and forage. By incessant exertions, however, the obstructions were removed, and early in September many barges were placed on the fresh-water canal; and, the single line of rail and the telegraph having been repaired, the chief difficulties were thus overcome, and we were able to send up about 250 tons of supplies daily. From that moment we became masters of the situation, and gradually accumulated a large reserve of food, forage, munitions, medical and other stores. The Highland Brigade of four battalions, with Sir Edward Hamley and Sir Archibald Alison, had arrived at Ismailia on September 1, and by the 12th the British forces were concentrated at Kassassin in readiness for decisive action. Previously, however, on September 9, a considerable portion of the Egyptian army from Tel-el-Kebir again attacked the position at Kassassin at daylight; but we were too strong for them, their opportunity was gone, and under the orders of General Willis our troops advanced boldly across the desert, and drove the enemy back, capturing three of their guns. Our losses on the occasion were: killed, 3; wounded, 77; total, 80. Arabi's estimate was very different. In his telegram, September 12, to the Ministry of War, Cairo, he says: 'Moreover, from true observation it has been proved to us that the number of the enemy killed and remaining on the field of battle is about 2,500, and their carts were insufficient for carrying off the wounded.' During the early part of September, reconnoissances were made with a view of ascertaining the general position of the enemy's defences, and, as far as possible, their armament and progress. Our reconnoitring parties consisted of one or two officers with a small mounted escort, who approached the Egpytian entrenchments at daylight and made careful observations from different parts of the desert; the enemy taking little or no notice of their appearance. Indeed, it was rather remarkable that, although the Egyptian leaders must have been aware of the near approach of the British army, they apparently sent out no cavalry at night, and even their infantry pickets were, as a rule, lying about close to their works and only roused themselves at dawn. The right of the enemy's earthworks rested on the fresh-water canal, and then stretched away northerly for nearly four miles across the desert, their left being _en l'air_. Their very extent was a great weakness. So far as could be ascertained before the battle, the entrenchments towards the canal, which were subsequently stormed by the Highlanders, were the most complete and formidable, being armed with many Krupp field-guns, and supported by retrenchments inside. About 1,000 yards in advance of that part of the defences the Egyptians had constructed and armed a detached outwork, which, curiously enough, escaped the observation of our reconnoitring parties. Most fortunately when we advanced on the 13th, and when a portion of our troops must have passed close to it just before daylight, they were not discovered; otherwise our great object of reaching the main line of works unperceived might have been prematurely divulged at a critical moment. The Egyptian forces were estimated as being about 38,000 men, with 60 guns, of which we captured 59. [Illustration:] The plan of attack of the lines of Tel-el-Kebir was one requiring the greatest care and consideration. The enemy had been for several weeks on the spot, and had not only entrenched their position and armed it with many guns, but the whole of the ground in their front was a flat, sandy desert, without cover of any kind. An attack by us in open daylight under such circumstances must inevitably have entailed a prolonged conflict and enormous losses. By a wide flank movement we might, no doubt, have turned their left with comparative ease, and have captured the position without great loss, experience at Tel-el-Mahuta and elsewhere having proved that the enemy were not prepared for, and in fact would not stand against such a manoeuvre; but, as Sir Garnet Wolseley clearly stated in his dispatch after the battle, 'It would not have accomplished the object I had in view--namely, to grapple with the enemy at such close quarters that he should not be able to shake himself free from our clutches except by a general flight of all his army. I wished to make the battle a final one.... My desire was to fight him decisively when he was in the open desert, before he could take up fresh positions, more difficult of access, in the cultivated country in his rear.' All these considerations led to the decision to make a night march across the desert, to be followed by an assault along the whole line of entrenchments at dawn. No doubt there was risk, but the object to be attained was supreme, and Wolseley relied, and with good reason, on the steadiness and courage of his troops. Early on the morning of September 12 (twenty-four hours before the battle) Sir Garnet Wolseley, accompanied by all the general officers, rode out towards Tel-el-Kebir, so as to arrive at daylight in sight of the works, and as near as prudence would allow; and he then explained to them his plan of attack, and gave to each a rough sketch of the intended formation, which is shown by the diagram on preceding page. The day preceding the battle passed quietly, and no movements of any kind gave signs of the coming event. As soon as it was dark the whole of the tents were struck, rolled up, and, with the baggage, stacked alongside the railway and left behind. The strength of the army was about 12,000 infantry, 2,700 cavalry, and 2,400 artillery, with 60 guns. [Illustration: EVE OF TEL-EL-KEBIR. ENCAMPMENT OF BRITISH ARMY AT KASSASSIN LOCK] During the early part of the night the troops moved out about 2,000 yards into the desert, and, having taken up their respective positions, bivouacked. Perfect silence was maintained; no lights were permitted, the men not being even allowed to smoke. Except the occasional neighing of a horse, all was still. The general direction of the march was west and by north; and as the night was dark with occasional clouds, and as the stars were our only guides, Lieutenant Rawson, the naval _aide-de-camp_, volunteered to accompany the Highland brigade, and gave them the benefit of his experience in regulating their course.[125] At half-past one in the morning the march was resumed; Admirals Sir Beauchamp Seymour,[126] Sir Anthony Hoskins, and several other naval officers who had done so much to assist us in all the difficulties of disembarkation and transport, joined the head quarter staff and accompanied us during the operations. The enemy apparently kept no look-out, and were quite unaware of our approach. Sir Garnet Wolseley and the staff during the latter part of the march rode in company with the Highlanders, and when about 1,500 yards from the entrenchments halted and dismounted, in order to watch the development of the attack and to give such orders as circumstances might render necessary. A battalion of the Royal Marine Artillery under Colonel Tuson remained in reserve with head quarters. The troops, who were now approaching the Egyptian position, moved steadily forward over the firm, dry sand, and so complete was the silence that it was difficult to realise the fact that two armies were close to each other and just about to meet in dire conflict. At about 4.45 A.M. the first faint glimmerings of the dawn were observed, and in the course of a few minutes some straggling musket shots were heard, fired evidently by the feeble pickets of the enemy just outside their works. Then all along the line in front of the Highlanders a perfect blaze of musketry fire commenced, and continued for the next half-hour without intermission. The Egyptian artillery were also in action, but, being fired at a high elevation, their shells for the most part burst wildly all over the desert. General Graham's brigade on the right had slightly deviated from its course in the darkness. This, however, was soon rectified, and as the day dawned the leading brigades, in the most gallant and determined manner, stormed the whole line of the enemy's works; and followed up by the Guards under the Duke of Connaught, and by Colonel Ashburnham's brigade in rear of the Highlanders, they swarmed over the parapets and held their ground inside. In the meantime the seven batteries of artillery under General Goodenough, in the centre of the line, had also continued their advance; and although from the nature of the assault they were unable to give active support to the infantry at the first onset, they watched their opportunity, and as soon as our men were on the crest of the parapets, several batteries succeeded in getting through the works, and, by following up the Egyptians, contributed to their defeat and flight. One battery, just before entering the entrenchments, was brought into action against the detached outwork which I have previously mentioned, and, taking it in reverse, led to its immediate abandonment by the enemy. At length came the opportunity for the cavalry and horse artillery under General Drury Lowe. They had purposely been held back until the infantry had established their footing on the works, but then, sweeping round the northern extremity, they charged the retreating Egyptians, who were now in headlong flight all over the country, and also captured several trains and locomotives on the railway. It is necessary now to turn to the movements of Sir Herbert McPherson, who, with the Seaforth Highlanders and part of the Indian contingent, marched from Kassassin during the night on the south side of the canal, supported on their right by a naval battery of Gatlings, which moved along the railway. Their advance was never checked, and after some smart skirmishing in the cultivated ground near the village, and taking twelve guns, they arrived at the bridge at Tel-el-Kebir on one side, just as our other victorious troops had reached it on the opposite bank. The short account I have given of the various movements in the field during the eventful night march, and the battle at the dawn, will, I think, afford proofs not only of the gallantry and perfect discipline of the troops of all arms engaged, but also of the skill and care with which the general officers in command had carried out their arduous and anxious duties. The severe fight within the entrenchments did not last much more than half an hour, and the Egyptians, finding their works and guns all captured, broke and fled in thousands, throwing away their arms, Arabi having been one of the first to make his escape. The entrenchments inside were crowded with dead and wounded; and in addition to 59 guns, an immense quantity of arms, ammunition, and stores, together with the whole of their large camp, fell into our possession. The Egyptian losses amounted to 1,500 killed and about 3,000 prisoners, large numbers of them being wounded. The losses of the British army in killed, wounded, and missing were 459. The victory was complete, but no time was lost in taking advantage of the flight and utter disorganisation of the enemy. Sir Herbert McPherson's force, strengthened by a battery of artillery, marched at once along the line of railway to Zagazig, and, arriving during the afternoon, captured several trains and locomotives, the Egyptian soldiers bolting without firing a shot. The movements of the cavalry division are graphically described in Sir Garnet Wolseley's despatch: 'Major General Lowe was ordered to push on with all possible speed to Cairo.... These orders were ably carried out, General Lowe reaching the great barracks of Abbassich just outside Cairo, at 4.45 P.M. on the 14th instant. The cavalry marched 65 miles in these two days. The garrison of about 10,000 men, summoned by Lieutenant Colonel H. Stewart to surrender, laid down their arms, and our troops took possession of the citadel. A message was sent to Arabi Pasha calling upon him to surrender forthwith, which he did unconditionally. He was accompanied by Toulba Pasha, who was also one of the leading rebels in arms against the Khedive.' The divisions of General McPherson and Drury Lowe having thus been despatched to Zagazig and Cairo, the head quarter staff and remainder of the army rested for the day on the field of Tel-el-Kebir, awaiting the final _dénouement_. In fact, the result of the battle of the 13th and the flight of the Egyptian forces became known by telegraph throughout the country in the course of a few hours, and the war came to a sudden termination. The medical arrangements at Tel-el-Kebir were admirably carried out. As soon as the position had been taken, large marquees were erected close to the fresh-water canal, and our wounded officers and men, having been attended to, were then conveyed in covered barges to Ismailia; thus avoiding a long rough journey in carts across the sandy desert. Late in the afternoon, I rode along the captured entrenchments, the ground being covered with dead and wounded Egyptians--the latter faint and helpless, and praying for water. Parties of our men had been sent out during the day with carts of provisions and barrels of water, and did all in their power to mitigate the sufferings of these poor creatures. Thousands of muskets and vast quantities of ammunition lying about were broken up, and then buried. On the afternoon of the 14th the head quarter staff, accompanied by the Duke of Connaught and Prince Teck, with a part of the Brigade of Guards, left the field of battle by rail for Zagazig; but the line was a single one and in disorder, so that we were constantly delayed, and did not arrive till 9 o'clock P.M. Our baggage animals were wandering about somewhere in the desert, and none of us had even a change of clothes; and, with the exception of a tin of meat, a few biscuits, and bottle of claret--fortunately brought by the Duke of Connaught, who kindly shared his scanty supplies with us--we had no food. Our troops of all arms were marching along the line of railway, and once, when we were detained, a weary gunner passed the carriage, and on being asked where he was going replied, 'To Zig-zag.' Two other gunners had captured a dromedary, and were riding along in high spirits. The inhabitants of the villages as we passed through the cultivated country came out and salaamed, and seemed quite happy. They had stuck poles with white rags flying on the tops of their houses in token of surrender. Altogether it was an interesting and amusing scene. I slept that night on the railway platform at Zagazig, surrounded by myriads of flies. However, these were the last of our hardships, if such they can be called; and on the following morning we arrived by train at Cairo, and were cordially received; in fact, the whole population had turned out in the streets to give us welcome. Every English soldier walking about was followed by an admiring crowd. The Khedive, telegraphing from Alexandria, placed the Abdin Palace at the disposal of the staff and begged us to consider ourselves as his guests. From a small tent in the desert to a royal palace in two days--with a battle in the interval--was certainly an unusual but welcome change of scene. There was, however, one drawback. Although the Abdin Palace contained suites of handsome state apartments, gorgeous in satin and gold, there were no bed-rooms! Whether rulers in Egypt never sleep, or whatever the explanation, we had to make the best of it, and I took possession of one large state room; but my little camp-bed looked very shabby and insignificant amidst such splendid surroundings. There were upwards of 100 wax candles in glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. As several thousand Egyptian soldiers were still in arms on our arrival at Cairo, many of them in a large barrack just opposite the palace, an order was sent over that they were to give up their muskets and were then free to return to their homes. Hardly had the order been received than it was acted on, and crowds of them, divested of their uniforms, were seen running as if for their lives, and in a few minutes the barrack was deserted. I inquired the reason of their extreme haste, and was informed that the news was so good they could hardly believe it to be true, and were afraid we might change our minds and detain them. The incident I have mentioned affords a good indication of the real feeling of the inhabitants, who were not anxious to fight anybody, but rather to be allowed to return and live in peace in their native villages. Egypt is probably not the only country in which these sentiments largely prevail, but do not always find expression. In the prison within the citadel we found a large number of people in chains; criminals, political prisoners, even Arab women and children, and two English subjects (Maltese) all jumbled together, ill-treated, and nearly starved. Separating the real criminals, after inquiry, the remainder were set free, and by way of a change the jailor was placed in one of the cells. In some small rooms in a corner of the great barrack, in Abdin Square, Arabi and Toulba Pashas were confined as prisoners, with an English guard over them. As there were several passages and staircases about the place, with Arab servants and others constantly going to and fro, and as, to an English sentry, one native is very like another, there seemed a possibility of Arabi's attempting to escape. So, under pretext of calling to inquire as to his health (for he had been unwell), I paid him a visit, with an interpreter, in order to inspect the premises. Arabi came up and shook hands, and, on my asking if he were better, he replied that now I had come to see him he was quite well--which was encouraging. Then he went on to say that the English were famous for their love of freedom, of liberty, and of justice, and that, relying on our honour, he had surrendered unconditionally. He seemed inclined to enter into a discussion, so I replied that no doubt his case would receive careful consideration and justice from the British Government. He did not strike me as a man of much education or intelligence. Subsequently, Colonel Thynne, Grenadier Guards, was specially appointed to take charge of him.[127] Although during the short period of active operations our troops had enjoyed excellent health, notwithstanding the heat and the occasional hardships they had undergone, soon after their arrival at Cairo considerable numbers were struck down by fever and dysentery; probably attributable to the bad water in the canal at Kassassin, and partly to the insanitary condition of Cairo itself. Acting on advice, large numbers of the sick were conveyed by rail to Alexandria, embarked for home, and speedily recovered at sea. Without wishing to exaggerate the events of the campaign, I think it will be admitted that the difficult arrangements connected with the embarkation of our troops were carefully carried out; and that the expedition was conducted with great promptitude and success. These results testify to the efficiency of the naval and military administration at home, and also to the courage and discipline of the two services under somewhat trying circumstances. From a financial point of view, the rapidity of the operations enabled us on arrival at Cairo at once largely to reduce expenditure, by cancelling contracts for food, forage, transport animals, and stores at various ports in the Mediterranean. So sudden, indeed, was the transition from war to peace, and so completely had the insurrection collapsed, that in the course of a few weeks a large proportion of our forces were withdrawn from the country and returned to England. The campaign being at an end, I left Egypt early in October in order to resume my duties as Surveyor General in the War Office; but before embarking had a farewell audience with the Khedive, Ibrahim Tew-fik. I had had interviews with him on one or two occasions previously. He was quiet and friendly in manner, and apparently of a gentle disposition; was cordial in his recognition of the good services rendered to him by the British forces. I said I hoped that the conduct of our men since their arrival at Cairo had been satisfactory, and he at once expressed his admiration of their good discipline, and remarked that in every respect, whether in the streets or in the bazaars, their conduct had been most orderly. What vexed him was that some of his people in the bazaars cheated our men, and demanded extravagant prices for their goods. I assured him, however, that he need not worry himself on that point, as the English soldiers would readily discover the market value, and matters would soon find their level; and that they enjoyed their visit to Cairo. Statements were current at the time that the Khedive was not really loyal to England. On this being brought to his notice, it is said, and I believe truly, that he observed: "Not loyal to the English? When my country was in insurrection and my authority and life in danger, there was only one power in Europe which would move a finger to help me--and that was England. If I am not faithful to them it would be strange indeed!" [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 122: Now Earl of Derby.] [Footnote 123: _Report of Royal Commission on the Relations of the Naval and Military Departments to Each Other_, 1890.] [Footnote 124: Now Field Marshal Viscount Wolseley, G.C.B.] [Footnote 125: This gallant young naval officer, whose services were so valuable during the night march, unfortunately received a wound on entering the works, of which he died a few days afterwards.] [Footnote 126: Now Lord Alcester.] [Footnote 127: Visiting card of Arabi Pasha, found at Tel-el-Kebir. [Illustration]] CHAPTER XXIX GIBRALTAR--ITS VALUE FROM A NAVAL AND COMMERCIAL POINT OF VIEW--ZOBEHR PASHA A STATE PRISONER--SANITARY CONDITION OF GIBRALTAR. Soon after my return from the expedition to Egypt I was appointed Governor of Gibraltar, and on January 2, 1883, took over the command from my distinguished predecessor, Field Marshal Lord Napier of Magdala. Before alluding to the present position of Gibraltar, and to the duties in connection with it during my tenure of office, it may be as well to refer shortly to its eventful history in the past. One of the most ancient fortresses in Europe, it owes its exceptional interest and importance partly to its position at the entrance to the Mediterranean and partly from its vicinity to the kingdom of Morocco. From the early part of the eighth century, when first occupied and fortified by the Moors, it became, as it were, their chief base of operations in the gradual conquest of the greater part of Spain. Its history in those days is indeed one continual record for several centuries of sieges, and of battles fought in its vicinity; and although re-taken in 1309, and held for a few years by the Spanish forces, it may be said to have been in possession of the Moors during almost the whole of the eight hundred years of their rule in that country. During that long period its value was chiefly of a military character; and it is only in more recent times, as circumstances in Europe gradually changed, that its unique position in regard to naval power in the Mediterranean has been fully recognised and developed. Subsequently to the expulsion of the Moors in the sixteenth century it was held by the Spanish Government, but its defences were apparently neglected and its importance little appreciated; so that when attacked by the British fleet under Admiral Rooke in 1704 it was captured with comparative ease, its possession being confirmed to us by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Since that date, although it has undergone several sieges--notably that by the allied armies and fleets of France and Spain, which lasted from 1779 to 1782, it has successfully resisted all attacks; and its past history would appear to prove that, if properly armed and resolutely held, it is practically safe from capture by land or sea. [Illustration: GIBRALTAR FROM QUEEN OF SPAIN'S CHAIR] Coming down to modern days, the first and perhaps the most important point relates to its value as a harbour; and in this respect it is, and always has been, somewhat defective from a naval point of view in time of war. Although its anchorage is so far good that well-found vessels can remain there in safety during the heaviest weather, still it cannot be considered a harbour in the ordinary technical sense. It has no narrow entrance or channel which by means of land armaments, lines of torpedoes, or other means can be absolutely denied to a hostile fleet. In fact, it is an open bay several miles wide. These general conditions are, of course, permanent; but it is to be observed that the increased range, power, and accuracy of modern ordnance have to some extent given the fortress a greater command over the sea approaches than it had in former days; so that, although hostile vessels cannot be absolutely interdicted from paying flying visits in war, they would be unable without great risk to remain for any length of time within range. The conditions of modern warfare, therefore, have not been of an unfavourable character in that respect. Another point has to be noticed. The shores of the bay consist for the most part of territory belonging to Spain; consequently, its waters are more or less under the command of that country, and the improvement in modern artillery, no doubt, has extended their power in this respect. It is, however, clear that only in the event of war with Spain would this aspect of the case assume importance; and, as a matter of fact, so little is the contingency regarded that no batteries containing modern armaments have been erected along their coast. On the whole, although the position of Gibraltar may not in all respects be an ideal one, its general conditions remain very much as they always have been; and to a great naval, colonial, and commercial nation such as Great Britain it is of the highest value, not only in war, but also in peace. Its possession gives us a place of rendezvous and of observation for our fleets; so that in time of war, with ordinary vigilance, no hostile vessels can enter or leave the Mediterranean without our knowledge. That of itself is an important consideration. We are also enabled to maintain within the fortress reserves of naval munitions, food, coals, and stores, available for our vessels of war, either in the Mediterranean or coming from the Atlantic. Its value, however, is not limited to a period of war. Gibraltar has been for many a year to a certain extent a centre of trade, not only with the neighbouring towns of Spain, but also with the ports along the coast of Morocco. And since the opening of the Suez Canal its mercantile interests have greatly increased, the number of trading and passenger vessels of all nations calling in daily for provisions and coals and other requisites being much larger than of yore, as will be seen by the following table, giving the number and tonnage of vessels calling at Gibraltar during 1868 and 1893 respectively:-- +------- +-------------------------- +-------------- + | Year |Number of vessels calling |Total tonnage | +----------------------------------- +-------------- + | 1868 | 4,471 | 1,519,046 | | 1893 | 5,172 | 4,637,454 | +--------+-------------------------- +-------------- + As a proof of its commercial activity I may point out that Linea, which five and twenty years ago was a mere Spanish village at the other end of the neutral ground, is now a town of twelve thousand people, large numbers of whom visit Gibraltar daily, bringing in supplies of food, forage, vegetables, and fruit, &c., and leaving again at night with English goods. In fact, it has become a suburb, as it were, of the city. The trading facilities of Gibraltar are beneficial to the country round, and are fully appreciated by the inhabitants of that part of Andalusia. Taking all these matters into consideration, it will, I think, be apparent that the value of the city and fortress to this country are greater now even than in former days. It is no doubt quite natural that the Government and people of Spain should feel regret at the permanent occupation of Gibraltar by a foreign power; and it has been suggested that we should accept in exchange the town and fortress of Ceuta, which holds a somewhat analogous position on the other side of the Straits and which belongs to Spain, and thus remove any cause for unfriendly feeling on their part. The question, however, is not so simple as at first sight it would appear. Assuming for the moment that the strategical value of Ceuta as a naval station equals that of Gibraltar, on which I offer no decided opinion, it is by no means certain that the proposal if made by us would be accepted. The Spanish Government are very tenacious of their possessions on the coast of Morocco, as giving them great influence in that country. Their apparent desire is to hold a powerful, if not a predominating, influence on both sides of the straits; and, although they would no doubt gladly obtain possession of Gibraltar, it does not therefore follow that they would give up possession of one of their most valuable positions on the opposite coast in exchange. Other Mediterranean powers also are carefully watching events in Morocco, and it is very possible they might not acquiesce in our occupation of Ceuta. These are diplomatic rather than military questions, and I only allude to them as proofs that the subject is rather involved and goes beyond a mere exchange of territory. So far as Morocco is concerned, its present condition is deplorable. It is a country situated only a few miles from Europe, with an excellent climate and great agricultural and mineral resources; inhabited, moreover, by a fine, brave race of people, and yet, notwithstanding these advantages, owing partly to the jealousies of its neighbours, its resources remain undeveloped, whilst its government is weak and cruel to a degree. In considering the two-fold aspect of Gibraltar as a fortress and a commercial city combined, it is sometimes argued that its dual interests are antagonistic, and that the presence of a large civil population would add to the difficulties of its defence. To a certain extent no doubt the position is anomalous, as in other fortified cities. Should hostilities occur, and should the fortress be seriously threatened, its trade would certainly suffer and a considerable proportion of the inhabitants would probably seek temporary refuge elsewhere. Still we must bear in mind that war is the exception; and as not a shot has been fired at Gibraltar for upwards of a century, it would appear senseless to paralyse its commercial advantages in time of peace in anticipation of what an enemy might attempt to accomplish in war. In short, the remedy would be far worse than the disease. The shipping trade of Gibraltar in the present day is subject to one disadvantage, from the absence of any wharves for coaling the numerous steam vessels which call daily throughout the year. In order to remedy this deficiency, the coal reserves of the mercantile marine are stored in large old wooden hulks, about thirty-five in number, which are moored in _échelon_ down the bay, inconveniently crowding the anchorage. The arrangement is not only costly in the purchase and maintenance of the hulks, but in time of war they would be liable to be sunk either by ramming or by torpedoes. The difficulty, however, could be met by an extension of the new mole pier, and by the construction of a wharf from the Ragged Staff bastion; which would not only enclose a considerable area of deep water and give facilities for coaling vessels, both of war and of commerce, but would also enable a large reserve of coals to be maintained on shore, under protection of the guns of the fortress. The enclosed area would also be an appropriate site for the proposed dock. One of the first subjects brought to my consideration on arrival as Governor, was that of coaling merchant vessels at night. Ever since the days of the great siege it had been the custom to close and lock up all the gates of the city at sunset, and to prevent any communication with the outer world until the following morning; just as if an enemy at the gate outside were waiting to rush in and take possession. One consequence of this extreme vigilance was that all vessels arriving after dark had to remain at anchor for many hours before their wants could be supplied. A deputation of merchants represented to me that great advantage would arise if the detention could be avoided. Their request seemed reasonable enough, and as on inquiry it appeared that their wishes could be met by permitting a few coal-heavers to leave the city at night, orders were given accordingly; and the result not only obviated the inconvenience, but led to an increase in the vessels visiting the port, thus adding considerably to the harbour dues. The old records of Gibraltar[128] during the eighteenth century contain some interesting and amusing regulations concerning matters both of civil administration and army discipline, and I will quote a few examples. 'Any donkeys loose in the town are to be the property of the person taking them away, and any straying on the ramparts are to be shot by the sentries. 'Fishermen are only to sell their fish after the servant of the Governor has bought what he requires. 'Whatever suttler doth not inform against men that swear in their houses contrary to the orders given out shall be turned out of town. 'A hat having been taken from the Convent by some gentleman who left his own instead, Mr.---- takes this method that the gentleman may exchange hats _if he pleases_. 'No gaming to be allowed in wine houses, particularly including the games of the devil-and-the-taylors and skuttles. 'All oysters which come from Portugal are to lie in the sea for at least a fortnight before they are brought into the garrison, as they are found very unwholesome without this precaution. 'If sentries are attacked by bullocks in the streets or on the Line Wall, they are to retire into an embrasure or get upon the parapet; but they are not to fire inconsiderately. 'A loose ball and a charge of powder in a cane is to be issued to each man on guard to save their cartridges. The loose ball to be carried in the cock of their hats. 'On account of the scarcity of flour soldiers are not to have their hair powdered till further orders. 'Officers and non-commissioned officers commanding guards are frequently to send out patrols through the day with their arms unloaded to kill every dog they see going about the streets. 'The Governor recommends it to the commanding officers of regiments to give directions that the cartridges may not be made too large for firing at exercise or reviews, some barrels of firelocks having split in firing. 'No person whatever is to be suffered to go on the Line Wall or ramparts in a night-gown, night-cap, or binyan on any pretence whatever, and all sentries are to turn off such as shall attempt to come near their posts in any of the said dresses without distinction of persons. 'All sentinels who do not call out "All's well" every half minute shall be punished with two hundred lashes. 'The queue is to be fixed to the hair of the head, but when an officer's hair is not long enough for this purpose he may be allowed to fix the queue otherwise till his hair is sufficiently long, but this is not to continue longer than two months on any account. 'No one to suffer any person to stand at their doors or go into the streets that has marks of the smallpox. No mackerel to be suffered to come into town. 'No woman to beat a soldier; the first that doth shall be whipped and turned out of town. 'Any man who has the misfortune to be killed is to be buried by the guard where it happens, and his clothes to be sent to his regiment. 'Officers at guard-mounting will bring their espantoons to a half recover and come to the right about together upon a flam and not upon the ruffle, which will be previous to it.' (The terms are meant for certain beats on the drum. The espantoon for officers was done away with in 1786.) The conditions under which our soldiers serve in the present day as compared with those of the last century are certainly of a much improved character, and the results in all respects are very satisfactory. They are better paid, clothed, fed, and generally cared for than in the days gone by. During my residence at Gibraltar, I obtained permission from the War Office to convert some old store-houses within the city into reading and recreation rooms for the garrison, and it was carried out on a considerable scale. The chief room was capable of seating 1,200 persons; and every week a free smoking concert or entertainment was given, open to all soldiers, their wives, and friends; each regiment taking its turn to arrange a programme. Ladies and officers were sometimes kind enough to take part in the concerts, which were always crowded. The institution also contained a library, a billiard room, and was provided with games, such as bagatelle, chess, draughts, &c. Tea, coffee, and non-intoxicating drinks, at moderate prices were sold all day at a buffet; and after sunset until roll-call a bar was opened, at which the men could get glasses of beer, &c. The expenses were not large, and the financial results were satisfactory. The non-commissioned officers and men of the garrison only paid one halfpenny a month each, and were then free to use the institution every day during their leisure hours; and to attend the free concerts and other entertainments at will. Their subscriptions, added to contributions from officers and to the profits from sale of beer and refreshments, &c., were found to be sufficient for the purpose. The furniture and gas were supplied by Government. During the period of my command there was not a single case of disturbance or trouble of any kind; and in my opinion such institutions are excellent in every way, not only as places of innocent recreation, but, especially in a place like Gibraltar, as tending to draw the men away from the numerous wine-shops in the lower parts of the town. I may add that during the visits of the Channel fleet the seamen and marines were invited to make free use of the rooms, and did so in considerable numbers: the institution thus contributing to promote that friendly association between the men of the two services which is so desirable from every point of view. A somewhat singular story is told of General Sir Robert Wilson on his arrival as Governor of Gibraltar in 1843. It may be premised that Sir Robert's services in the army had been of a very distinguished character. Born in 1777, he was appointed a cornet of dragoons in 1794, and saw active service in Flanders and in Holland, and then in Egypt in 1801. In 1802 he became a Lieutenant Colonel and went to Brazil, and was also at the capture of the Cape of Good Hope in 1806. In subsequent years he served in Poland, and also in Portugal and Spain during the Peninsular war. He was with the Russians in the campaign of 1812, and with the allied armies on the Continent up to 1814. From 1818 to 1830 he was Member of Parliament for Southwark. In September 1821, however, he was dismissed from the service by King George IV. on account of his participation in the London riots which occurred on the death of Queen Caroline. On the accession of William IV, in 1830, he was restored to his rank in the army, and in 1843, was appointed Governor of Gibraltar, in succession to Sir Alexander Woodford. It is related that on his arrival he inquired of Sir Alexander if he remembered the last occasion on which they had met? Woodford's reply was that so many years had elapsed that he was unable to recall the exact time or incident. Sir Robert Wilson then said: 'The last time we met was in 1821, when you were at the head of the Guards and I was with the mob, and you were driving us through the streets of London!' It is not often, perhaps, that two general officers meet on two occasions under such very different circumstances. [Illustration: ZOBEHR PASHA] In March 1885 Zobehr Pasha, accompanied by two sons, an interpreter, and several servants, arrived at Gibraltar from Egypt as a state prisoner by order of the British Government, and he was detained there during the remainder of my period of office. I had many conversations with him on the subject of the Soudan, and found him to be a man of considerable ability; and, although cautious in the expression of his views on Egyptian affairs, I gathered from him that the people of the Soudan specially detested the rule of the Egyptian Pashas, and that the cause of their hostility to us arose solely from a belief that in sending an expedition up the Nile to Khartoum in 1884, our object was to reinstate the rule of Egypt in that country. Without entering at any length into this much discussed question, it must be borne in mind that until conquered in 1821 by the late Mohammed Ali the Soudan was entirely independent of Egypt, and separated from it by a great desert. Colonel Charles Gordon wrote: 'From Wady Halfa southwards to Hannek, a distance of 180 miles, an utter desert extends, spreading also for miles eastwards and westwards, on both sides of the Nile.... It was this boundary that kept the warlike and independent tribes of the Soudan quite apart from the inhabitants of Egypt proper, and made the Soudanese and the Egyptians two distinct peoples that have not the least sympathy one with the other.' Of the result of Egyptian rule, the late Sir Samuel Baker, writing in 1864, drew a melancholy picture. He described the provinces as utterly ruined and only governed by military force, the revenue unequal to the expenditure, and the country paralysed by taxation; shut in by deserts, all communication with the outer world was most difficult, and the existing conditions rendered these countries so worthless to the State that their annexation could only be accounted for by the fruits of the slave trade. Zobehr Pasha's opinion as expressed to me was, that if the people of the Soudan were assured that no attempt would be made to restore the authority of Egypt, their hostility would cease, and they would be anxious to open their country to trade. Speaking generally, it appeared to me that his views were sound, and that if we were to proclaim a policy of peace at Souakim, combined possibly with some annual payment to the neighbouring chiefs, the road to Berber and Khartoum would soon re-open and commerce be renewed. At all events I cannot see that it is any part of our duty to assist the Egyptians to reconquer the Soudan. Gibraltar, like many another ancient fortress, has undergone frequent changes in its defences from time to time, owing to the advances in military science, and to the constantly increasing power of modern artillery. These changes have been incessant during the present century, and it has been re-fortified and re-armed over and over again. It is said that many years ago the Inspector General of Fortifications of the day, desirous of bringing it up to date, recommended an extra expenditure of 100,000_l._, and had an interview with the Chancellor of the Exchequer for the purpose of obtaining his consent. He explained to the Chancellor the steep and isolated nature of the rock, and, after giving him a graphic account of its numerous sieges, asked his opinion. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's reply was discouraging, and he said that, from the lucid and interesting description of the Inspector General, it appeared to him that Gibraltar would be perfectly impregnable if the military authorities would only leave it alone. The money, however, was ultimately granted, and I only mention it as an example of the different conclusions which financial and military authorities may arrive at from a consideration of the same facts. The one was evidently thinking of bastions and the other of budgets. Gibraltar has a population of about twenty-four thousand persons, of which between four and five thousand are military, and as it is said to be one of the most thickly inhabited places in the world[129] its sanitary condition is a matter not only of importance, but under the circumstances one of some difficulty. In the early part of the century it was frequently visited by severe epidemics of fever, and more recently by serious attacks of cholera. Of late years, however, its sanitation has been under the careful supervision of a Sanitary Commission, which during my period of office consisted of twelve members, four official, and eight civilians selected from the grand jury list, and all unpaid. They had charge of the drainage, water, gas, and general improvements of the city; and, under the authority of the Governor, levied an annual rate on the inhabitants to meet the necessary expenditure. It is evident that their duties were arduous and responsible. The Sanitary Commission may be said to be the only form of representation given to the people, and it is one which should be carefully preserved. However necessary it may be that the governor of a city, such as Gibraltar, enclosed within a fortress should have full power and authority, still it must be an advantage to him and to the public service that in a matter of vital interest to the people, in which also their local knowledge can be utilised, they should be consulted and associated with the Government. I may go farther and record my opinion that at Gibraltar, as elsewhere, it is desirable that representatives of the people should be freely consulted, not only in regard to sanitation, but also in commercial and other matters; and during my residence there I derived much assistance from their knowledge and friendly co-operation. The results of the care bestowed, for many years past, on the sanitary arrangements at Gibraltar have been very satisfactory. Not only is its condition far better than that of the neighbouring towns of Spain, but it is now one of the healthiest stations of the British army at home or abroad, as the following statistics will prove. Annual death rate per thousand of the troops at various stations at home and abroad, on the average of ten years from 1882 to 1891--[130] United Kingdom 5·73 Gibraltar 6·03 Malta 8·18 Egypt[131] 23·78 Bermuda 10·11 Ceylon 12·38 India 14·78 A striking proof of the excellent sanitary condition of the city was afforded in 1885, when the greater part of Spain was visited by a severe attack of cholera, which gradually spread southwards; and early in August several cases suddenly occurred both in Gibraltar and in the neighbouring town of Linea. Bearing in mind the crowded population, the matter was very serious, and certain additional precautions were at once taken in order as far as possible to mitigate the severity of the attack. One difficulty which has always existed more or less is that of good drinking water. The chief supply is obtained from rain water, collected from the surface of the rock during the wet season, and stored in large reservoirs above the town. A considerable quantity is also pumped up from shallow wells on the north front, but although available for flushing, washing, &c., it is brackish and unfit for drinking. As a consequence of this scarcity, there always has been a considerable trade in water brought from Spain in barrels and sold in the streets; but as on analysis it was found to be very impure, its introduction on the appearance of cholera was stopped. Fortunately, my predecessor, Lord Napier of Magdala, with a view to the possible requirements of a state of siege, had commenced in 1882 the erection of works for distilling sea water in large quantities; and, as they were just completed, they were put into operation, and for some weeks about 8,000 gallons a day were distilled and sold to all comers at the rate of six gallons for a penny. A medical authority, speaking not long since, said that 'cholera is an exclusively water-carried disease, and all European countries may be rendered impervious to its attacks by close attention to the purity of water.' That, I may say, was the view of my medical advisers at Gibraltar at the time, and I attribute our escape from a severe attack very much to this supply of pure water to the inhabitants. Another precaution taken was the establishment of a camp just outside the fortress for the inhabitants of the houses attacked. Indian experience has proved that it is very advantageous to regiments when visited by cholera to move them out of their barracks and place them under canvas on fresh ground. The cases at Gibraltar nearly all occurred among the poorer inhabitants living in very crowded dwellings; and the families attacked being at once sent to the camp and supplied with pure water, the disease was immediately checked. Their houses were temporarily closed, the drains disinfected, cisterns emptied, and rags and rubbish burnt; and in the course of a few days they returned home, and the cholera, so far as they were concerned, was at an end. The epidemic at Gibraltar lasted for about two months, and great misery resulted amongst the poorer classes, owing to the city being placed in quarantine by the other ports of Europe. As a consequence very few vessels called, and large numbers of the inhabitants were out of employment. So great was the poverty that public soup kitchens were established, and for some time about 2,000 persons a day received free rations of soup and bread. In the meantime the disease was raging at Linea and other neighbouring towns, and, considerable alarm being felt, I was constantly urged to establish a cordon of troops across the neutral ground, and to prevent all communication from the outside. But although the precise causes of cholera may be somewhat obscure, it appeared to me that, as the chief supplies of food came from Spain, had a cordon been established, prices would have risen at once, and the misery already existing would have been considerably increased. All Indian experience proves that such arrangements are useless. In fact, a line of sentries cannot stop the march of a disease; and therefore, advised by experienced medical officers who had served in the East, I refused to close the communications with Spain. The actual cases of cholera at Gibraltar and at Linea respectively in the autumn of 1885 were as follows: +-----------+-------------+--------------------+------------------+ | | Population, | Number of cases of | Number of deaths | | | Approximate | cholera | | +-----------+-------------+--------------------+------------------+ | Gibraltar | 24,000 | 32 | 24 | | Linea | 12,000 | 429 | 206[132] | +-----------+-------------+--------------------+------------------+ So that whilst in Gibraltar one person in 750 was attacked, in Linea it was one in 28. These facts speak for themselves, and prove that adequate sanitary measures and precautions will to a great extent serve to prevent the spread of epidemic disease. Before leaving this subject, I would mention that at the end of 1885 a numerous committee of distinguished members of the medical profession, including amongst others, Sir William Jenner, Sir William Gull, and Sir Joseph Fayrer, conducted an inquiry into the subject of Asiatic cholera, and at the end of their report they state as follows: 'The Committee feel that they ought not to separate without expressing their conviction that sanitary measures in their true sense, and sanitary measures alone, are the only trustworthy means to prevent outbreaks of the disease, and to restrain its spread and mitigate its severity when it is prevalent. Experience in Europe and in the East has shown that sanitary cordons and quarantine restrictions (under whatsoever form) are not only useless as means for arresting the progress of cholera, but positively injurious; and this not merely because of the many unavoidable hardships which their enforcement involves, but also because they tend to create alarm during periods of epidemics of the disease and to divert public attention at other times from the necessity which constantly exists for the prosecution of sanitary measures of assured value--measures which, moreover, tend to mitigate the incidence of all forms of disease.' The story of my 'Recollections' now draws to a close. Whatever vicissitudes or occasional hardships I may have experienced during my long service in various parts of the world, I was in great measure free from them during the period of my government of Gibraltar. There were, of course, numerous duties, and sometimes anxieties, connected with its administration, but these were rendered comparatively easy by the warm support of all classes which was so heartily given during the four years of my residence amongst them. They are a loyal people, and were most grateful for any efforts of mine to promote their welfare. The conduct of the troops in garrison throughout was excellent, and a friendly spirit prevailed at all times between the civil and military population. I left Gibraltar with much regret, feeling deeply the kindness shown to my family and myself by the inhabitants who came to bid us farewell on our embarkation for England in November 1886. I hope that the narrative which I have given of the campaigns in which I bore a small part, and the views which I have expressed on military and political matters, may be of some interest to the public generally. It will always be a gratification to me that throughout my career I have been so closely associated with the officers and men of the Royal Artillery, a corps in which members of my family have served in uninterrupted succession from 1762 down to the present day. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 128: See _Gibraltar Directory_, in which many others are recorded.] [Footnote 129: _Colonial Office Book_, 1894.] [Footnote 130: _Army Medical Department Report_, 1892.] [Footnote 131: Average of nine years.] [Footnote 132: These figures were given me by the Spanish authorities.] _Spottiswoode & Co. Printers, New-street Square, London._ SMITH, ELDER, & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. THE LIFE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE CONSORT. By Sir THEODORE MARTIN, K.C.B. With Portrait and Views. 5 vols. Demy 8vo. 18s. each. Also a 'People's Edition,' in 1 vol., bound in cloth, 4_s._ 6_d._; or in six parts, 6_d._ each. Cloth Cases for binding, 1_s._ each. 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53819	----	Web Archive (University of Alberta) Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source the Web Archive: https://archive.org/details/cihm_75374 (University of Alberta) THE COIL OF CARNE BY JOHN OXENHAM AUTHOR OF "THE LONG ROAD" TORONTO THE COPP, CLARK CO. LIMITED 1911 TO RODERIC DUNKERLEY, B.A., B.D. "_And what are you eager for, Mr. Eager?_" "_Men, women, and children--bodies and souls_." _Intra, page_ 53. "_By God's help we will make men of them, the rest we must trust to Providence_." _Intra, page_ 66. "_Catch them young!_" _Intra, page_ 67. "_No man is past mending till he's dead, perhaps not then_." _Intra, page_ 82. CONTENTS BOOK I CHAP. I. THE HOUSE OF CARNE II. THE STAR IN THE DUST III. THE FIRST OF THE COIL IV. THE COIL COMPLETE V. IN THE COIL BOOK II VI. FREEMEN OF THE FLATS VII. EAGER HEART VIII. SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS IX. MORE OF SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS X. GROWING FREEMEN XI. THE LITTLE LADY XII. MANY MEANS XIII. MOUNTING XIV. WIDENING WAYS XV. DIVERGING LINES XVI. A CUT AT THE COIL XVII. ALMOST SOLVED XVIII. ALMOST SOLVED AGAIN XIX. WHERE'S JIM? XX. A NARROW SQUEAK XXI. A WARM WELCOME XXII. WHERE'S JACK? BOOK III XXIII. BREAKING IN XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST XXV. REVELATION AND SPECULATION XXVI. JIM'S TIGHT PLACE XXVII. TWO TO ONE XXVIII. THE LINE OF CLEAVAGE XXIX. GRACIE'S DILEMMA XXX. NEVER THE SAME AGAIN XXXI. DESERET XXXII. THE LADY WITH THE FAN XXXIII. A STIRRING OF MUD XXXIV. THE BOYS IN THE MUD XXXV. EXPLANATIONS XXXVI. JIM'S WAY XXXVII. A HOPELESS QUEST XXXVIII. LORD DESERET HELPS XXXIX. OLD SETH GOES HOME XL. OUT OF THE NIGHT XLI. HORSE AND FOOT XLII. DUE EAST XLIII. JIM TO THE FORE XLIV. JIM'S LUCK XLV. MORE REVELATIONS XLVI. THE BLACK LANDING XLVII. ALMA XLVIII. JIM'S RIDE XLIX. AMONG THE BULL-PUPS L. RED-TAPE LI. THE VALLEY OF DEATH LII. PATCHING UP LIII. THE FIGHT IN THE FOG LIV. AN ALLY OF PROVIDENCE LV. RETRIBUTION LVI. DULL DAYS LVII. HOT OVENS LVIII. CHILL NEWS LIX. TOUCH AND GO FOR THE COIL LX. INSIDE THE FIERY RING LXI. WEARY WAITING LXII. FROM ONE TO MANY LXIII. EAGER ON THE SCENT LXIV. THE LONG SLOW SIEGE LXV. THE CUTTING OF THE COIL LXVI. PURGATORY LXVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END LXVIII. HOME AGAIN LXIX. "THE RIGHT ONE" LXX. ALL'S WELL THE COIL OF CARNE BOOK I CHAPTER I THE HOUSE OF CARNE If by any chance you should ever sail on a low ebb-tide along a certain western coast, you will, if you are of a receptive humour and new to the district, receive a somewhat startling impression of the dignity of the absolutely flat. Your ideas of militant and resistant grandeur may have been associated hitherto with the iron frontlets and crashing thunders of Finisterre or Sark, of Cornwall or the Western Isle. Here you are faced with a repressive curbing of the waters, equal in every respect to theirs, but so quietly displayed as to be somewhat awesome, as mighty power in restraint must always be. As far as eye can reach--sand, nothing but sand, overpowering by reason of its immensity, a very Sahara of the coast. Mighty levels stretching landward and seaward--for you are only threading a capricious channel among the banks which the equinoctials will twist at their pleasure, and away to the west the great grim sea lies growling in his sandy chains until his time comes. Then, indeed, he will swell and boil and seethe in his channels till he is full ready, and come creeping silently over his barriers, and then--up and away over the flats with the speed of a racehorse, and death to the unwary. You may see the humping back of him among the outer banks if you climb a few feet up your mast. Then, if you turn towards the land, you will see, far away across the brown ribbed flats, a long rim of yellow sand backed by bewildering ranges of low white hummocks, and farther away still a filmy blue line of distant hills. Here and there a fisherman's cottage accentuates the loneliness of it all. At one point, as the sun dips in the west, a blaze of light flashes out as though a hidden battery had suddenly unmasked itself; and if you ask your skipper what it is, he will tell you that is Carne. Then, if he is a wise man, he will upsail and away, to make Wytham or Wynsloe before it is dark, for the shifting banks off Carne are as hungry as Death, and as tricky as the devil. For over three hundred years the grim gray house of Carne has stood there and watched the surface of all things round about it change with the seasons and the years and yet remain in all essential things the same. When the wild equinoctials swept the flats till they hummed like a harp, the sand-hills stirred and changed their aspects as though the sleeping giants below turned uneasily in their beds. For, under the whip of the wind, grain by grain the sand-hills creep hither and thither and accommodate themselves to circumstances in strange and ghostly fashions. So that, after the fury of the night, the peace of the morning looked in vain for the landmarks of the previous day. And the cold seabanks out beyond were twisted and tortured this way and that by the winds and waves, and within them lay many an honest seaman, and some maybe who might have found it difficult to prove their right to so honourable a title. But the banks were always there, silent and deadly even when they shimmered in the sunshine. And generations of Carrons had held Carne, and had even occupied it at times, and had passed away and given place to others. But Carne was always there, grim and gray, and mostly silent. The outward aspects of things might change, indeed, but at bottom they remained very much the same, and human nature changed as little as the rest, though its outward aspects varied with the times. What strange twist of brain or heart set its owner to the building of Carne has puzzled many a wayfarer coming upon it in its wide sandy solitudes for the first time. And the answer to that question answers several others, and accounts for much. It was Denzil Carron who built the house in the year Queen Mary died. He was of the old faith, a Romanist of the Romanists, narrow in his creed, fanatical in his exercise of it, at once hot- and cold-blooded in pursuit of his aims. When Elizabeth came to the throne he looked to be done by as he had done, and had very reasonable doubts as to the quality of the mercy which might be strained towards him. So he quietly withdrew from London, sold his houses and lands in other counties, and sought out the remotest and quietest spot he could find in the most Romanist county in England. And there he built the great house of Carne, as a quiet harbourage for himself and such victims of the coming persecutions as might need his assistance. But no retributive hand was stretched after him. He was Englishman first and Romanist afterwards. Calais, and the other national crumblings and disasters of Mary's short reign, had been bitter pills to him, and he hated a Spaniard like the devil. He saw a brighter outlook for his country, though possibly a darker one for his Church, in Elizabeth's firm grip than any her opponents could offer. So he shut his face stonily against the intriguers, who came from time to time and endeavoured to wile him into schemes for the subversion of the Crown and the advancement of the true Church, and would have none of them. And so he was left in peace and quietness by the powers that were, and found himself free to indulge to the full in those religious exercises on the strict observance of which his future state depended. His wife died before the migration, leaving him one son, Denzil, to bring up according to his own ideas. And a dismal time the lad had of it. Surrounded by black jowls and gloomy-faced priests, tied hand and foot by ordinances which his growing spirit loathed, all the brightness and joy of life crushed out by the weight of a religion which had neither time nor place for such things, he lived a narrow monastic life till his father died. Then, being of age, and able at last to speak for himself, he quietly informed his quondam governors that he had had enough of religion to satisfy all reasonable requirements of this life and the next, and that now he intended to enjoy himself. Carne he would maintain as his father had maintained it, for the benefit of those whom his father had loved, or at all events had materially cared for. And so, good-bye, Black-Jowls! and Ho for Life and the joy of it! He went up to London, bought an estate in Kent, ruffled it with the best of them, married and had sons and daughters, kept his head out of all political nooses, fought the Spaniards under Admiral John Hawkins and Francis Drake, and died wholesomely in his bed in his house in Kent, a very different man from what Carne would have made him. And that is how the grim gray house of Carne came to be planted in the wilderness. Now and again, in the years that followed, the Carron of the day, if he fell on dolorous times through extravagance of living--as happened--or suffered sudden access of religious fervour--as also happened, though less frequently--would take himself to Carne and there mortify flesh and spirit till things, financial and spiritual, came round again, either for himself or the next on the rota. And so some kind of connection was always maintained between Carne and its owners, though years might pass without their coming face to face. The Master of Carne in the year 1833 was that Denzil Carron who came to notoriety in more ways than one during the Regency. His father had been of the quieter strain, with a miserly twist in him which commended the wide, sweet solitude and simple, inexpensive life of Carne as exactly suited to his close humour. He could feel rich there on very little; and after the death of his wife, who brought him a very ample fortune, he devoted himself to the education of his boy and the enjoyment, by accumulation, of his wealth. But a short annual visit to London on business affairs afforded the boy a glimpse of what he was missing, and his father's body was not twelve hours underground before he had shaken off the sands of Carne and was posting to London in a yellow chariot with four horses and two very elevated post-boys, like a silly moth to its candle. There, in due course, by processes of rapid assimilation and lavish dispersion, he climbed to high altitudes, and breathed the atmosphere of royal rascality refined by the gracious presence of George, Prince of Wales. For the replenishment of his depleted exchequer he married Miss Betty Carmichael, only daughter and sole heiress of the great Calcutta nabob. She died in child-birth, leaving him a boy whose education his own diversions left him little time or disposition to attend to. He won the esteem, such as it was, of the Prince Regent by running through the heart the Duke of Astrolabe, who had, in his cups, made certain remarks of a quite unnecessarily truthful character concerning Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom he persisted in calling Madame Bellois; and lost it for ever by the injudicious insertion of a slice of skinned orange inside the royal neckcloth in a moment of undue elevation, producing thereby so great a shock to the royal system and dignity as to bring it within an ace of an apoplexy and the end of its great and glorious career. Under the shadow of this exploit Carron found it judicious to retire for a time to the wilderness, and carried his boy with him. He had had a racketing time, and a period of rest and recuperation would be good both for himself and his fortunes. He had hoped and believed that his trifling indiscretion would in time be forgotten and forgiven by his royal comrade. But it never was. The royal cuticle crinkled at the very mention of the name of Carron, and Sir Denzil remained in retirement, embittered somewhat at the price he had had to pay for so trivial a jest, and solacing himself as best he could. Once only he emerged, and then solely on business bent. In the panic year, when thousands were rushing to ruin, he gathered together his accumulated savings, girded his loins, and stepped quietly and with wide-open eyes into the wild mêlée. He played a cautious, far-sighted game, and emerged triumphant over the dry-sucked bodies of the less wary, with overflowing coffers and many gray hairs. He was prepared to greet the royal beck with showers of gold once more. But the royal neck, though it now wore the ermine in its own right, could not forget the clammy kiss of the orange, and Carron went sulkily back to Carne. When the Sailor Prince stepped up from quarter-deck to throne, he returned to London and took his place in society once more. But ten years in the desert had placed him out of touch with things; and with reluctance he had to admit to himself that if the star of Carron was to blaze once more, it must be in the person of the next on the roll. And so, characteristically enough, he set himself to the dispersal of the flimsy cloudlet of disgrace which attached to his name by seeking to win for his boy what the royal disfavour had denied to himself. Now, indeed, that the royal sufferer was dead, the rising generation, when they recalled it, rather enjoyed the crinkling of the royal skin. They would even have welcomed the crinkler among them as a reminder of the hilarities of former days. But the fashion of things had changed. He did not feel at home with them as he had done with their fathers, and he who had shone as a star, though he had indeed disappeared like a rocket, had no mind to figure at their feasts as a lively old stick. Young Denzil's education had been of the most haphazard during the years his father was starring it in London. On the retirement to Carne, however, Sir Denzil took the boy in hand himself and inculcated in him philosophies and views of life, based upon his own experiences, which, while they might tend to the production of a gentleman, as then considered, left much to be desired from some other points of view. He bought him a cornetcy in the Hussars, supplied him freely with money, and required only that his acquaintance should be confined to those circles of which he himself had once been so bright an ornament. The young man was a success. He was well-built and well-featured, and his manners had been his father's care. He had all the family faults, and succeeded admirably in veiling such virtues as he possessed, with the exception of one or two which happened to be fashionable. He was hot-headed, free-handed, jovial, heedless of consequences in pursuit of his own satisfactions, incapable of petty meanness, but quite capable of those graver lapses which the fashion of the times condoned. With a different upbringing, and flung on his own resources, Denzil Carron might have gone far and on a very much higher plane than he chose. As it was, his career also ended somewhat abruptly. At eight-and-twenty he had his captaincy in the 8th Hussars, and was in the exuberant enjoyment of health, wealth, and everything that makes for happiness--except only those things through which alone happiness may ever hope to be attained. He had been in and out of love a score of times, with results depressing enough in several cases to the objects of his ardent but short-lived affections. It was the fashion of the times, and earned him no word of censure. He loved and hated, gambled and fought, danced and drank, with the rest, and was no whit better or worse than they. At Shole House, down in Hampshire, he met Lady Susan Sandys, sister of the Earl of Quixande--fell in love with her through pity, maybe, at the forlornness of her state, which might indeed have moved the heart of a harder man. For Quixande was a warm man, even in a warm age, and Shole was ante-room to Hades. Carron pitied her, liked her--she was not lacking in good looks--persuaded himself, indeed, that he loved her. For her sake he summarily cut himself free from his other current feminine entanglements, carried her hotfoot to Gretna--a labour of love surely, but quite unnecessary, since her brother was delighted to be rid of her, and Sir Denzil had no fault to find either with the lady or her portion--and returned to London a married, but very doubtfully a wiser, man. Lady Susan did her best, no doubt. She was full of gratitude and affection for the gallant warrior who had picked her out of the shades, and set her life in the sunshine. But Denzil was no Bayard, and it needed a stronger nature than Lady Susan's to lift him to the higher level. For quite a month--for thirty whole days and nights, counting those spent on the road to and from Gretna--Lady Susan kept her hold on her husband. Then his regimental duties could no longer be neglected. They grew more and more exigent as time passed, and the young wife was left more and more to the society of her father-in-law. Sir Denzil accepted the position with the grace of an old courtier, and did his duty by her, palliated Captain Denzil's defections with cynical kindness, and softened her lot as best he might. And the gallant captain, exhausted somewhat with the strain of his thirty days' conservatism, resumed his liberal progression through the more exhilarating circles of fashionable folly, and went the pace the faster for his temporary withdrawal. The end came abruptly, and eight months after that quite unnecessary ride to Gretna Lady Susan was again speeding up the North Road, but this time with her father-in-law, their destination Carne. Captain Denzil was hiding for his life, with a man's blood on his hands; and his father's hopes for the blazing star of Carron were in the dust. CHAPTER II THE STAR IN THE DUST And the cause of it all?--Madame Damaris, of Covent Garden Theatre, the most bewitching woman and the most exquisite dancer of her time. Perhaps Captain Denzil's handsome face and gallant bearing carried him farther into her good graces than the others. Perhaps their jealous tongues wagged more freely than circumstances actually justified. Anyway, the rumours which, as usual, came last of all to Lady Susan's ears caused her very great distress. She was in that state of health in which depression of spirits may have lasting and ulterior consequences. There were rumours too of a return of the cholera, and she was nervous about it; and Sir Denzil was already considering the advisability of a quiet journey to that quietest of retreats: the great house of Carne, when that happened which left him no time for consideration, but sent him speeding thither with the forlorn young wife as fast as horses could carry them. There was in London at this time a certain Count d'Aumont attached to the French Embassy. He was a man of some note, and was understood to be related in some roundabout way to that branch of the Orleans family which force of circumstance had just succeeded in seating on the precarious throne of France. He cut a considerable figure in society, and had most remarkable luck at play. He possessed also a quick tongue and a flexibility of wrist which so far had served to guard his reputation from open assault. He had known Madame Damaris prior to her triumphant descent on London, and was much piqued when he found himself ousted from her good graces by men whom he could have run through with his left hand, but who could squander on her caprices thousands to his hundreds. Head and front of the offenders, by reason of the lady's partiality, was Denzil Carron, and the two men hated one another like poison. Denzil was playing at Black's one night, when a vacancy was occasioned in the party by the unexpected call to some official duty of one of the players. D'Aumont was standing by, and to Denzil's disgust was invited by one of the others to take the vacant chair. He had watched the Frenchman's play more than once, and had found it extremely interesting. In fact, on one occasion he had been restrained with difficulty from creating a disturbance which must inevitably have led to an inquiry and endless unpleasantness. Then, too, but a short time before, hearing of some remarks D'Aumont had made concerning Madame Damaris and himself, Denzil, in his hot-headed way, had sworn that he would break the Frenchman's neck the very first time they met. It is possible that these matters were within the recollection of Captain O'Halloran when he boisterously invited D'Aumont to his partnership at the whist-table that night. For O'Halloran delighted in rows, and was ready for a "jule," either as principal or second, at any hour of the day or night. He was also very friendly with D'Aumont, and it is possible that the latter desired a collision with Carron as a pretext for his summary dismissal at the point of the sword. However it came about, the meeting ended in disaster. The play ran smoothly for a time, and the onlookers had begun to believe the sitting would end without any explosion, when Carron rose suddenly to his feet, saying: "At your old tricks, M. le Comte. You cheated!" "Liar!" said the Count. Then Carron laid hold of the card-table, swung it up in his powerful arms, and brought it down with a crash on the Frenchman's head. The remnants of it were hanging round his neck like a new kind of clown's ruffle before the guineas had ceased spinning in the corners of the room. "He knows where to find me," said Denzil, and marched out and went thoughtfully home to his quarters to await the Frenchman's challenge, which for most men had proved equivalent to a death-warrant. Instead, there came to him in the gray of the dawn one of his friends, in haste, and with a face like the morning's. "Ha, Pole! I hardly expected you to carry for a damned Frenchman. Where do we meet, and when?" said Carron brusquely, for he had been waiting all night, and he hated waiting. "God knows," said young Pole, with a grim humour which none would have looked to find in him. "He's gone to find out. He's dead!" "Dead!--Of a crack on the head!" "A splinter ran through his throat, and he bled out before they could stop it. You had better get away, Carron. There'll be a deuce of a row, because of his connections, you see." "I'll stay and see it through. I'd no intent to kill the man--not that way, at any rate." "You'll see it through from the outside a sight easier than from the inside," said young Pole. "You get away. We'll see to the rest. It's easier to keep out of the jug than to get out of it." Carron pondered the question. "I'll see my father," he said, with an accession of wisdom. "That's right," said young Pole. "He'll know. Go at once. I'm off." It was a week since Denzil had been to the house in Grosvenor Square, and when he got there he was surprised to find, early as it was, a travelling-chariot at the door, with trunks strapped on, all ready for the road. He met his father's man coming down the stairs with an armful of shawls. "Sir Denzil, Kennet. At once, please." "Just in time, sir. Another ten minutes and we'd been gone. He's all dressed, Mr. Denzil. Will you come up, sir?" "Ah, Denzil, you got my note," said Sir Denzil at sight of him. "We settled it somewhat hurriedly. But Lady Susan is nervous over this cholera business. What's wrong?" he asked quickly, as Kennet quitted the room. Denzil quietly told him the whole matter, and his father took snuff very gravely. He saw all his hopes ruined at a blow; but he gave no sign, except the tightening of the bones under the clear white skin of his face, and a deepening of the furrows in his brow and at the sides of his mouth. "The man's death is a misfortune--as was his birth, I believe," he said, as he snuffed gravely again. "Had you any quarrel with him previously?" "I had threatened, in a general way, to break his head for wagging his tongue about me." "They may twist that to your hurt," said his father, nodding gravely. "In any case it means much unpleasantness. I am inclined to think you would be better out of the way for a time." "I will do as you think best, sir. I am quite ready to wait and see it through." "You never can tell how things may go," said his father thoughtfully. "It all depends on the judge's humour at the time, and that is beyond any man's calculation. . . . Yes, you will be more comfortable away, and I will hasten back and see how things go here. . . . And if you are to go, the sooner the better. . . . You can start with us. We will drop you at St. Albans, and you will make your way across to Antwerp. You had better take Kennet," he continued, with the first visible twinge of regret, as his plans evolved bit by bit. "He is safe, and I don't trust that man of yours--he has a foxy face. If they follow us to Carne, you will be at Antwerp by that time. Send us your address, and I will send you funds there. Here is enough for the time being. Oblige me by ringing the bell. And, by the way, Denzil, say a kind word or two to Susan. You have been neglecting her somewhat of late, and she has felt it. . . . Kennet, tell Lady Susan I am ready, and inform her ladyship that Mr. Denzil is here, and will accompany us." And ten minutes later the travelling-chariot was bowling away along the Edgware Road; and the hope which had shone in Lady Susan's eyes at sight of her husband was dying out with every beat of the horses' hoofs and every word that passed between the two men. For the matter had to be told, and the time was short. Sir Denzil had intended to stop for a time at Carne. Now he must get back at the earliest possible moment. And, though they made light of the matter, and described Denzil's hurried journey as a simple measure of precaution, and a means of escaping unnecessary annoyance, Lady Susan's jangled nerves adopted gloomier views, and naturally went farther even than the truth. Denzil did his best to follow his father's suggestion. His conscience smote him at sight of his wife's pinched face and the shadows under her eyes--shadows which told of days of sorrow and nights of lonely weeping, shadows for which he knew he was as responsible as if his fists had placed them there. "I am sorry, dear, to bring this trouble on you," he said, pressing her hand. "Let me go with you, Denzil," she cried, with a catch of hope in her voice. "Let me go with you, and the trouble will be as nothing." How she would have welcomed any trouble that drove him to her arms again! But she knew, even as she said it, that it was not possible. That lay before her, looming large in the vagueness of its mystery, which sickened her, body and soul, with apprehension. But it was a path which she must travel alone, and already, almost before they were fairly started, she was longing for the end of the journey and for rest. The jolting of the carriage was dreadful to her. The trees and hedges tumbled over one another in a hazy rout which set her brain whirling and made her eyes close wearily. She longed for the end of the journey and for rest--peace and quiet and rest, and the end of the journey. "We will hope the trouble will soon blow over," said Sir Denzil. "But we lose nothing by taking precautions. I shall return to town at once and keep an eye on matters, and as soon as things smooth down Denzil will join you at Carne." At which Denzil's jaw tightened lugubriously. He had his own reasons for not desiring to visit Carne. "Old Mrs. Lee," continued Sir Denzil--for the sake of making talk, since it seemed to him that silence would surely lead to hysterics on the part of Lady Susan--"will make you very comfortable. She is a motherly old soul, though you may find her a trifle uncouth at first; and Carne is very restful at this time of year. That woman of yours always struck me as a fool, my dear. I think it is just as well she decided not to come, but she might have had the grace to give you a little longer warning. That class of person is compounded of selfishness and duplicity. They are worse, I think, than the men, and God knows the men are bad enough. Your man is another of the same pattern, Denzil. They ought to marry. The result might be interesting, but I should prefer not having any of it in my service." At St. Albans they parted company. Denzil pressed his wife's hand for the last time in this world, hired a post-chaise, and started across country in company with the discomfited Kennet, who regarded the matter with extreme disfavour both on his own account and his master's, and Sir Denzil and Lady Susan went bumping along on the way to Carne. CHAPTER III THE FIRST OF THE COIL A woman trudged heavily along the firm damp sand just below the bristling tangle of high-water mark, in the direction of Carne. She wore a long cloak, and bent her head and humped her shoulders over a small bundle which she hugged tight to her breast. She had hoped to reach the big house before it was dark. But a north-east gale was blowing, and it caught up the loose tops of the sand-hills and carried them in streaming clouds along the flats and made walking difficult. The drift rose no higher than her waist; but if she stood for a moment to rest, the flying particles immediately set to work to transform her into a pillar of sand. If she had stumbled and been unable to rise, the sweeping sand would have covered her out of sight in five minutes. The flats stretched out before her like an empty desert that had no end. The black sky above seemed very close by reason of the wrack of clouds boiling down into the west. Where the sun had set there was still a wan gleam of yellow light. It seemed to the woman, when she glanced round now and again through her narrowed lids to make sure of her whereabouts, as if the sky was slowly closing down on her like the lid of a great black box. On her right hand the sand-hills loomed white and ghostly, and were filled with the whistle of the gale in the wire-grass and the hiss of the flying sand. Far away on her left, the sea chafed and growled behind its banks. Her progress was very slow, but she bent doggedly to the gale, stopped now and again and leaned bodily against it, then drew her feet out of the clogs the sand had piled round them and pushed slowly on again. At last she became aware, by instinct or by the instant's break in the roar of the wind on her right, that she had reached her journey's end. She turned up over the crackling tangle, crossed the ankle-deep dry sand of the upper beach, and stopped for breath under the lee of the great house of Carne. It was all as dark as the grave, but she knew her way, and after a moment's rest she passed round the house to the back. Here in a room on the ground floor a light shone through a window. The window had neither curtain nor shutter, but was protected by stout iron bars. The sill was piled high with drifted sand. The sight of the light dissipated a fear which had been in the woman's heart, but which she had crushed resolutely out of sight. At the same time it set her heart beating tumultuously, partly in the rebound from its fear and partly in anticipation of the ungracious welcome she looked for. She stood for a moment in the storm outside and looked at the tranquil gleam. Then she slipped under a stone porch, which opened towards the south-west, and knocked on the door. The door opened cautiously on the chain at last, six inches or so, and a section of an old woman's head appeared in the slit and asked gruffly: "Who's it?" "It's me, mother--Nance!" The door slammed suddenly to, as though to deny her admittance. But she heard the trembling fingers inside fumbling with the chain. They got it unsnecked at last, and the door swung open again. The woman with the burden stepped inside and shut out the drifting sand. The room was a stone-flagged kitchen; but the light of the candle, and the cheery glow of a coal fire, and the homeliness of the white-scrubbed table and dresser, and the great oak linen-press, mellowed its asperities. After the cold north-easter, and the sweeping sand and the darkness, it was like heaven to the traveller, and she sank down on a rush-bottomed chair with a sigh of relief. "So tha's come whoam at last," was the welcome that greeted her, in a voice that was over-harsh lest it should tremble and break. The old woman's eyes shone like black beads under her white mutch. She sniffed angrily, and dashed her hand across her face as though to assist her sight. She spoke the patois of the district. Beyond the understanding of any but natives even now, it was still more difficult then. It would be a sorry task to attempt to reproduce it. "Aye, I've come home." "And brought thy shame with thee!" "Shame?" said the other quickly. "What shame? He married me, and this is his boy." And as she straightened up, the cloak fell apart and disclosed the child. She spoke boldly, but her eyes and her face were not so brave as her speech. "Married ye?" said the old woman, with a grim laugh that was half sob and half anger. "I know better. The likes o' him doesna marry the likes o' you." Holding the sleeping child in her one arm, the girl fumbled in her bodice and plucked out a paper. "There's my lines," she said angrily. The old woman made no attempt to read it, but shook her head again, and said bitterly: "The likes o' him doesna marry the likes o' you, my lass." "He married me as soon as we got to London." But the old woman only shook her head, and asked, in the tone of one using an irrefutable argument: "Where is he?" At that the girl shook her head also; but she was saved further reply by the baby yawning and stretching and opening his eyes, which fastened vacantly on the old woman's as she bent over to look at him in spite of herself. "You might ha' killed him and yoreself coming on so soon," she said gruffly. "I wanted to get here before he came," said the girl, with a choke, "but I couldna manage it. I were took at Runcorn, seven days ago." "An' yo' walked from there! It's a wonner yo're alive. Well, well, it's a bad job, but I suppose we mun mak' best o' it. Yo're clemmed!" "Ay, I am, and so is he. I've not had much to give him, and he makes a rare noise when he doesn't get what he wants." The baby screwed up his face and proved his powers. His mother rocked him to and fro, and the old woman set herself to getting them food. She set on the fire a pannikin of goats' milk diluted with water to her own ideas, and placed bread and cheese and butter on the table. The girl reached for the food and began to eat ravenously. The old woman dipped her finger into the pannikin and put it into the child's mouth. It sucked vigorously and stopped crying. She drew it out of the girl's arms and began to feed it slowly with a spoon. "If he married yo', why did he leave yo' like this?" she asked presently, as she dropped tiny drops of food into the baby's mouth and watched it swallow and strain up after the spoon for more. "He was ordered away with his regiment. He left me money and said he'd send more. But he never did. I made it last as long's I could, but it runs away in London. I couldna bear the idea of--of it up there, an' I got wild at him not coming. I tried to find him, and then I set off to walk here. I got a lift on a wagon now and again. But when I got to Runcorn I could go no further. There a a woman there was good to me. Maybe I'd ha' died but for her. Maybe it'd ha' been best if I had. But,"--she said doggedly--"he married me all the same." The old woman shook her head hopelessly, but said nothing. The baby was falling asleep on her knee. Presently she carried him carefully into the next room and left him on the bed there. "I nursed him on my knee," she said when she came back, "before you came. If I'd known he'd take you from me I'd ha' choked him where he lay." The girl felt and looked the better for her meal. She nodded her head slowly, and said again, "All the same he married me." Her persistent harping on that one string--which to her mother was a broken string--angered the old woman. "Tchah!" she said, like the snapping of a dog, and was about to say a great deal more when a peremptory knocking on the door choked the words in her throat. Her startled eyes turned accusingly on the girl; what faint touch of colour her face had held fled from it, and her lips parted twice in questioning which found no voice. Her whole attitude implied the fear that there was something more behind the girl's story than had been told and that now it was upon them. The knocking continued, louder and still more peremptory. The girl strode to the door, loosed the chain and drew back the bolts, and flung it open. A tall man, muffled in a travelling-cloak, strode in with an imprecation, and dusted the sand out of his eyes with a silk handkerchief. "Nice doings when a man cannot get into his own house," he began. Then, as his blinking eyes fell on the girl's face, he stopped short and said, "The deuce!" and pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He stood regarding her in momentary perplexity, and then went on dusting himself, with his eyes still on her. He was a man past middle age, but straight and vigorous still. His clean-shaven face, in spite of the stubble of three days' rapid travel on it, and the deep lines of hard living, was undeniably handsome--keen dark eyes, straight nose, level brows, firm hard mouth. An upright furrow in the forehead, and a sloping groove at each corner of the mouth, gave a look of rigid intensity to the face and the impression that its owner was engaged in a business distasteful to him. "Ah, Mrs. Lee," he said, as his eyes passed from the girl at last and rested on the old woman. "Yes, Sir Denzil." And Mrs. Lee attempted a curtsey. "A word in your ear, mistress." And he spoke rapidly to her in low tones, his eyes roving over to the girl now and again, and the old woman's face stiffening as he spoke. "And now bustle, both of you," he concluded. "Fires first, then something to eat, the other things afterwards. I will bring her ladyship in." He went to the door, and the old woman turned to her daughter and said grimly: "There's a lady with him. Yo' mun help wi' the fires." She closed the door leading to the bedroom where the baby lay sleeping soundly, and then set doggedly about her duties. The two women had left the room carrying armfuls of firing when Sir Denzil came back leading Lady Susan by the hand, muffled like himself in a big travelling-cloak. He drew a chair to the fire, and she sank into it. He left her there and went out again, and as the door opened the rattle of harness on chilling horses came through. Lady Susan bent shivering over the fire and spread her hands towards it, groping for its cheer like a blind woman. Her face was white and drawn. Her eyes were sunk in dark wells of hopelessness, her lips were pinched in tight repression. Any beauty that might have been hers had left her; only her misery and weariness remained. Her whole attitude expressed extremest suffering both of mind and body. A piping cry came from the next room, and she straightened up suddenly and looked about her like a startled deer. Then she rose quickly and picked up the candle and answered the call. The child had cried out in his sleep, and as she stood over him, with the candle uplifted, a strange softening came over her face. Her left hand stole up to her side and pressed it as though to still a pain. A spasmodic smile crumpled the little face as she watched. Then it smoothed out and the child settled to sleep again. Lady Susan went slowly back to her seat before the fire, and almost immediately Sir Denzil came in again, dusting himself from the sand more vigorously than ever. "How do you feel now, my dear?" he asked. "Sick to death," she said quietly. "You will feel better after a night's rest. The journey has been a trying one. Old Mrs. Lee will make you comfortable here, and I will return the moment I am sure of Denzil's safety. You agree with the necessity for my going?" "Quite." "Every moment may be of importance. But the moment he is safe I will hurry back to see to your welfare here. I shall lie at Warrington to-night, and I will tell the doctor at Wynsloe to come over first thing in the morning to see how you are going on. Ah, Mrs. Lee, you are ready for us?" "Ay. The oak parlour is ready, sir. I'll get you what I con to eat, but you'll have to put up wi' short farin' to-night, sin' you didna let me know you were coming. To-morrow----" "What you can to-night as quickly as possible. Lady Susan is tired out, and I return as soon as I have eaten. See that the post-boy gets something too." "Yo're non stopping?" asked the old woman in surprise. "No, no, I told you so," he said, with the irritation of a tired man. "Come, my dear!" and he offered his arm to Lady Susan, and led her slowly away down the stone passage to a small room in the west front, where the rush of the storm was barely heard. An hour later Sir Denzil was whirling back before the gale on his way to London, as fast as two tired horses and a none too amiable post-boy could carry him. His usual serene self-complacency was disturbed by many anxieties, and he carried not a little bitterness, on his own account, at the untowardness of the circumstances which had dragged him from the ordered courses of his life and sent him posting down into the wilderness, without even the assistance of his man, upon whom he depended for the minutest details of his bodily comfort. "A most damnable misfortune!" he allowed himself, now that he was alone, and he added some further unprofitable moments to an already tolerably heavy account in cursing every separate person connected with the matter, including a dead man and the man who killed him, and an unborn babe and the mother who lay shivering at thought of its coming. CHAPTER IV THE COIL COMPLETE In the great house of Carne there was a stillness in strange contrast with the roaring of the gale outside. But the stillness was big with life's vitalities--love and hate and fear; and, compared with them, the powers without were nothing more than whistling winds that played with shifting sands, and senseless waves that sported with men's lives. It was not till the new-comer was lying in her warm bed in the room above the oak parlour, shivering spasmodically at times in spite of blankets and warming-pans and a roaring fire, that she spoke to the old woman who had assisted her in grim silence. The silence and the grimness had not troubled her. They suited her state of mind and body better than speech would have done. Life had lost its savour for her. Of what might lie beyond she knew little and feared much at times, and at times cared naught, craving only rest from all the ills of life and the poignant pains that racked her. It was only when Mrs. Lee had carefully straightened out her discarded robes, and looked round to see what else was to be done, and came to the bedside to ask tersely if there was anything more my lady wanted, that my lady spoke. "You'll come back and sit with me?" she asked. "Ay--I'll come." "Whose baby is that downstairs?" "It's my girl's," said the old woman, startled somewhat at my lady's knowledge. "Did she live through it?" "Ay, she lived." And there was that in her tone which implied that it might have been better if she had not. But my lady's perceptions were blunted by her own sufferings. "Is she here?" "Ay, she's here." "Would she come to me too?" But the old woman shook her head. "She's not over strong yet," she said grimly. "I'll come back and sit wi' yo'." "How old is it?" "Seven days." "Seven days! Seven days!" She was wondering vaguely where she would be in seven days. "It looked very happy," she said presently. "Its father was surely a good man." "They're none too many," said the old woman, as she turned to go. "I'll get my supper and come back t' yo'." "Who is she?" asked her daughter, with the vehemence of an aching question, as she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Lee closed the passage door and looked at her steadily and said, "She's Denzil Carron's wife." And the younger woman sprang to her feet with blazing face and the clatter of a falling chair. "Denzil's wife! I am Denzil Carron's wife." "So's she. And I reckon she's the one they'll call his wife," said her mother dourly. "I'll go to her. I'll tell her----" And she sprang to the door. "Nay, you wun't," said her mother, leaning back against it. "T' blame's not hers, an' hoo's low enough already." "And where is he? Where is Denzil?" "He's in trouble of some kind, but what it is I dunnot know. Sir Denzil's gone back to get him out of it, and he brought her here to be out of it too." "And he'll come here?" "Mebbe. Sir Denzil didna say. He said he'd hold me responsible for her. She's near her time, poor thing! An' I doubt if she comes through it." "Near----!" And the girl blazed out again. "Ay. I shouldna be surprised if it killed her. There's the look o' it in her face." "Kill her? Why should it kill her? It didn't kill me," said the girl fiercely. "Mebbe it would but for yon woman you told me of. Think of your own time, girl, and bate your anger. Fault's not hers if Denzil served you badly." "He connot have two wives." "Worse for him if he has. One's enough for most men. But--well-a-day, it's no good talking! I'll take a bite, and back to her. She begged me come. Yo' can sleep i' my bed. There's more milk on th' hob there if th' child's hungry." And carrying her bread-and-cheese she went off down the passage, and the young mother sat bending over the fire with her elbows on her knees. She had no thought of sleep. Her limbs were still weary from her long tramp, but the food and rest had given her strength, and the coming of this other woman, who called herself Denzil Carron's wife, had fired her with a sense of revolt. The blood was boiling through her veins at thought of it all--at thought of Denzil, at thought of the boy in the next room, and this other woman upstairs. Her heart felt like molten lead kicking in a cauldron. She got up and began to pace the floor with the savage grace born of a life of unrestricted freedom. Once she stopped and flung up her hands as though demanding--what?--a blessing--a curse--the righting of a wrong? The quivering hands looked capable at the moment of righting their own wrongs, or of wreaking vengeance on the wrongdoer if they closed upon him. Then, as the movement of her body quieted in some measure the turmoil of her brain, her pace grew slower, and she began to think connectedly. And at last she dropped into the chair again, leaned her elbows on her kneel and sat gazing into the fire. When it burned low she piled on wood mechanically, and sat there thinking, thinking. Outside, the storm raged furiously, and the flying sand hit the window like hailstones. And inside, the woman sat gazing into the fire and thinking. She sat long into the night, thinking, thinking--unconscious of the passage of time;--thinking, thinking. Twice her child woke crying to be fed, and each time she fed him from the pannikin as mechanically almost as she had fed the fire with wood. For her thoughts were strange long thoughts, and she could not see the end of them. They were all sent flying by the sudden entrance of her mother in a state of extreme agitation, her face all crumpled, her hands shaking. "She's took," she said, with a break in her voice. "Yo' mun go for th' doctor quick. I connot leave her. Nay!"--as the other sat bolt upright and stared back at her--"yo' _mun_ go. We connot have her die on our hands. Think o' yore own time, lass, and go quick for sake o' Heaven." "I'll go." And she snatched up her cloak. "See to the child." And she was out in the night, drifting before the gale like an autumn leaf. The old woman went in to look at the child, filled the kettle and put it on the fire, and hurried back to the chamber of sorrows. The gale broke at sunrise, and the flats lay shimmering like sheets of burnished gold, when Dr. Yool turned at last from the bedside and looked out of the window upon the freshness of the morning. He was in a bitter humour. When Nance Lee thumped on his door at midnight he was engaged in the congenial occupation of mixing a final and unusually stiff glass of rum and water. It was in the nature of a soporific--a nightcap. It was to be the very last glass for that night, and he had compounded it with the tenderest care and the most businesslike intention. "If that won't give me a night's rest," he said to himself, "nothing will." But there was no rest for him that night. He had been on the go since daybreak, and was fairly fagged out. He greeted Nance's imperative knock with bad language. But when he heard her errand he swallowed his nightcap without a wink, though it nearly made his hair curl, ran round with her to the stable, harnessed his second cob to the little black gig with the yellow wheels, threw Nance into it, and in less than five minutes was wrestling with the north-easter once more, and spitting out the sand as he had been doing off and on all day long. "There's one advantage in being an old bachelor, Miss Nancy," he had growled, as he flung the harness on the disgusted little mare; "your worries are your own. Take my advice and never you get married----" And then he felt like biting his tongue off when he remembered the rumours he had heard concerning the girl. She was too busy with her own long thoughts to be troubled by his words, however, and once they were on the road speech was impossible by reason of the gale. When they arrived at Carne she scrambled down and led the mare into the great empty coach-house, where the post-horses had previously found shelter that night. She flung the knee-rug over the shaking beast, still snorting with disgust and eyeing her askance as the cause of all the trouble. Then she followed the doctor into the house. He was already upstairs, however, and, after a look at her sleeping boy, she sat down in her chair before the fire again to await the event, and fell again to her long, long thoughts. And once more her thoughts were sent flying by the entrance of her mother. She carried a tiny bundle carefully wrapped in flannel and a shawl, and on her sour old face there was an expression of relief and exultation--the exultation of one who has won in a close fight with death. "He were but just in time," she said, as she sat down before the fire. "I'm all of a shake yet. But th' child's safe anyway." And she began to unfold the bundle tenderly. "Git me t' basin and some warm water. Now, my mannie, we'll soon have you comfortable. . . . So . . . Poor little chap! . . . I doubt if she'll pull through. . . . T' doctor's cursing high and low below his breath at state she's in . . . travelling in that condition . . . 'nough to have killed a stronger one than ever she was. . . . I knew as soon as ivver I set eyes on her . . . A fine little lad!"--as she turned the new-comer carefully over on her knee--"and nothing a-wanting 's far as I can see, though he's come a month before he should." She rambled on in the rebound from her fears, but the girl uttered no word in reply. She stood watching abstractedly, and handing whatever the old woman called for. Her thoughts were in that other room, where the grim fight was still waging. Her heart was sick to know how it was going. Her thoughts were very shadowy still, but the sight of the boy on the old woman's knee showed her her possible way, like a signpost on a dark night. She would see things clearer when she knew how things had gone upstairs. She must know. She could not wait. She turned towards the passage. "I will go and see," she said. "Ay, go," said the old woman. "But go soft." The doctor was sitting at the bedside. He raised his hand when she entered the room, but did not turn. She stood and watched, and suddenly all her weariness came on her and she felt like falling. She leaned against the wall and waited. Once and again the doctor spoke to the woman on the bed. But there was no answer. He sat with furrowed face watching her, and the girl leaned against the wall and watched them both. And at last the one on the bed answered--not the doctor, but a greater healer still. One long sigh, just as the sun began to touch the rippled flats with gold, and it was over. The stormy night was over and peace had come with the morning. The doctor gat up with something very like a scowl on his face and went to the window. Even in the Presence he had to close his mouth firmly lest the lava should break out. He hated to be beaten in the fight--the endless fight to which his whole life was given, year in, year out. But this had been no fair fight. The battle was lost before he came on the field, and his resentment was hot against whoever was to blame. He opened the casement and leaned out to cool his head. The sweet morning air was like a kiss. He drank in a big breath or two, and, after another pained look at the white face on the pillow, he turned and left the room. The girl had already gone, and as she went down the passage there was a gleam in her eyes. Her mother saw it as soon as she entered the kitchen. "Well?" asked the old woman. "She's gone." "And yo're glad of it. Shame on yo', girl! And yo' but just safe through it yoreself!" The girl made no reply, and a moment later the doctor came in. "Now, Mrs. Lee, explain things to me. Whose infernal folly brought that poor thing rattling over the country in that condition? And get me a cup of coffee, will you? Child all right?" "He's all right, doctor. He's sleeping quiet there"--pointing to a heap of shawls on the hearth. "It were Sir Denzil himself brought her last night." "And why didn't he stop to see the result of his damned stupidity? It's sheer murder, nothing less. Make it as strong as you can,"--referring to the coffee--"my head's buzzing. I haven't had a minute's rest for twenty-four hours. Where is Sir Denzil? He left word at my house to come over here first thing this morning. I expected to find him here." "He went back wi the carriage that brought 'em. There's trouble afoot about Mr. Denzil as I understond. He said it were life and death, and he were off again inside an hour." "Ah!" said the doctor, nodding his head knowingly. "That's it, is it? And you don't know what the trouble was?" "'Life and death,' he said. That's all I know." "Well, if he bungles the other business as he has done this it'll not need much telling which it'll be." And he blew on his coffee to cool it. "I must send him word at once," he said presently, "and I'll tell him what I think about it. I've got his town address. You can see to the child all right, I suppose? Another piece of that bread, if you please. Any more coffee there? This kind of thing makes me feel empty." "I'll see to t' child aw reet." "Send me word if you need me, not otherwise. There's typhus down Wyvveloe way, and I'm run off my legs. A dog's life, dame--little thanks and less pay!" And he buttoned up his coat fiercely and strode out to his gig. "I'll send John Braddle out," he called back over his shoulder. "But I doubt if we can wait to hear from Sir Denzil. However----" And he drove away, through the slanting morning sunshine. The white sand-hills smiled happily, the wide flats blazed like a rippled mirror, the sky was brightest blue, and very far away the sea slept quietly behind its banks of yellow sand. CHAPTER V IN THE COIL The days passed and brought no word from Sir Denzil in reply to Dr. Yool's post letter. And, having waited as long as they could, they buried Lady Susan in the little green churchyard at Wyvveloe, where half a dozen Carrons, who happened to have died at Carne, already rested. Dr. Yool and Braddle had had to arrange everything between them, and, as might have been expected under the circumstances, the funeral was as simple as funeral well could be, and as regards attendance--well, the doctor was the only mourner, and he still boiled over when he thought of the useless way in which this poor life had been sacrificed. Braddle was there with his men, of course, but the doctor only just managed it between two visits, and his manner showed that he grudged the time given to the dead which was all too short for the requirements of the living. Yet it went against the grain to think of that poor lady going to her last resting-place unattended, and he made a point of being there. But his gig stood waiting outside the churchyard gate, and he was whirling down the lane while the first spadefuls were drumming on the coffin. He thought momentarily of the child as he drove along. But, since no call for his services had come from Mrs. Lee, he supposed it was going on all right, and he had enough sick people on his hands to leave him little time for any who could get along without him. The days ran into weeks, and still no word from Sir Denzil. It looked as though the little stranger at Carne might remain a stranger for the rest of his days. And yet it was past thinking that those specially interested should make no inquiry concerning the welfare of so important a member of the family. "Summat's happened," was old Mrs. Lee's terse summing-up, with a gloomy shake of the head whenever she and Nance discussed the matter, which was many times a day. Other matters too they discussed, and to more purpose, since the forwarding of them was entirely in their own hands. And when they spoke of these other matters, sitting over the fire in the long evenings, each with a child on her knee, hushing it or feeding it, their talk was broken, interjectional even at times, and so low that the very walls could have made little of it. It was fierce-eyed Nance who started that strain of talk, and at first her mother received it open-mouthed. But by degrees, and as time played for them, she came round to it, and ended by being the more determined of the two. So they were of one mind on the matter, and the matter was of moment, and all that happened afterwards grew out of it. Both the children throve exceedingly. No care was lacking them, and no distinction was made between them. What one had the other had, and Nance, with recovered strength, played foster-mother to them both. Just two months after Lady Susan's death the two women were sitting talking over the fire one night, the children being asleep side by side in the cot in the adjacent bedroom, when the sound of hoofs and wheels outside brought them to their feet together. "It's him," said Mrs. Lee; and they looked for a moment into one another's faces as though each sought sign of flinching in the other. Then both their faces tightened, and they seemed to brace themselves for the event. An impatient knock on the kitchen door, the old woman hastened to answer it, and Sir Denzil limped in. He was thinner and whiter than the last time he came. He leaned heavily on a stick and looked frail and worn. "Well, Mrs. Lee," he said, as he came over to the fire and bent over it and chafed his hands, "you'd given up all fears of ever seeing me again, I suppose?" "Ay, a'most we had," said the old woman, as she lifted the kettle off the bob and set it in the blaze. "Well, it wasn't far off it. I had a bad smash returning to London that last time. That fool of a post-boy drove into a tree that had fallen across the road, and killed himself and did his best to kill me. Now light the biggest fire you can make in the oak room, and another in my bedroom, and get me something to eat. Kennet"--as his man came in dragging a travelling-trunk--"get out a bottle of brandy, and, as soon as you've got the things in, brew me the stiffest glass of grog you ever made. My bones are frozen." He dragged up a chair and sat down before the fire, thumping the coals with his stick to quicken the blaze. The rest sped to his bidding. Kennet, when he had got in the trunks, brewed the grog in a big jug, with the air of one who knew what he was about. "Shall I give the boy some, sir?" he asked, when Sir Denzil had swallowed a glass and was wiping his eyes from the effects of it. "Yes, yes. Give him a glass, but tone it down, or he'll be breaking his neck like the last one." So Kennet watered a glass to what he considered reasonable encouragement for a frozen post-boy, and presently the jingling of harness died away in the distance, and Kennet came in and fastened the door. Sir Denzil had filled and emptied his glass twice more before Mrs. Lee came to tell him the room was ready. Then he went slowly off down the passage, steadying himself with his stick, for a superfluity of hot grog on an empty stomach on a cold night is not unapt to mount to the head of even a seasoned toper. Kennet, when he came back to the room, after seeing his master comfortably installed before the fire, brewed a fresh supply of grog, placed on one side what he considered would satisfy his own requirements, and carried the rest to the oak room. It was when the girl Nance carried in the hastily prepared meal that Sir Denzil, after peering heavily at her from under his bushy brows, asked suddenly, "And the child? It's alive?" "Alive and well, sir." "Bring it to me in the morning." The girl looked at him once or twice as if she wanted to ask him a question. He caught her at it, and asked abruptly, "What the devil are you staring at, and what the deuce keeps you hanging round here?" Upon which she quitted the room. There was much talk, intense and murmurous, between the two women that night, when they had made up a bed for Kennet and induced him at last to go to it. From Kennet and the grog, after Sir Denzil had retired for the night, Nance learned all Kennet could tell her about Mr. Denzil. According to that veracious historian it was only through Mr. Kennet's supreme discretion and steadfastness of purpose that the young man got safely across to Brussels, and, when he tired of Brussels, which he very soon did, to Paris. "Ah!" said Mr. Kennet. "Now, that _is_ a place. Gay?--I believe you! Lively?--I believe you! Heels in the air kind of place?--I believe you! And Mr. Denzil he took to it like a duck to the water. London ain't in it with Paris, I tell you." And so on and so on, until, through close attention to the grog, his words began to tumble over one another. Then he bade them good night, with solemn and insistent emphasis, as though it was doubtful if they would ever meet again, and cautiously followed Nance and his candle to his room. The flats were gleaming like silver under a frosty sun next morning, and there was a crackling sharpness in the air, when Sir Denzil, having breakfasted, stood at the window of the oak room awaiting his grandson. "Tell Mrs. Lee to bring in the child," he had said to Kennet, and now a tap on the door told him that the child was there. "Come in," he said sharply, and turned and stood amazed at sight of the two women each with a child on her arm. "The deuce!" he said, and fumbled for his snuff-box. He found it at last, a very elegant little gold box, bearing a miniature set with diamonds--a present from his friend George, in the days before the slice of orange, and most probably never paid for. He slowly extracted a pinch without removing his eyes from the women and children. He snuffed, still staring at them, and then said quietly, "What the deuce is the meaning of this?" "Yo' asked to see t' child, sir," said Mrs. Lee. "Well?" "Here 'tis, sir." "Which?" "Both!" "Ah!"--with a pregnant nod. Then, with a wave of the hand. "Take them away." And the women withdrew. Sir Denzil remained standing exactly as he was for many minutes. Then he began to pace the room slowly with his stick, to and fro, to and fro, with his eyes on the polished floor, and his thoughts hard at work. He saw the game, and recognized at a glance that no cards had been dealt him. The two women held the whole pack, and he was out of it. He thought keenly and savagely, but saw no way out. The more he thought, the tighter seemed the cleft of the stick in which the women held him. The law? The law was powerless in the matter. Not all the law in the land could make a woman speak when all her interests bade her keep silence, any more than it could make her keep silence if she wanted to speak. Besides, even if these women swore till they were blue in the face as to the identity of either child, he would never believe one word of their swearing. Their own interests would guide them, and no other earthly consideration. He could turn them out. To what purpose? One of those two children was Denzil Carron of Carne. Which? The other--ah yes! The other was equally of his blood. He did not doubt that for one moment. He had known of Denzil's entanglement with Nance Lee, and it had not troubled him for a moment. But who, in the name of Heaven, could have foreseen so perplexing a result? When he glanced out of the window, the crystalline morning, the white sunshine, the clear blue sky, the hard yellow flats, the distant blue sea with its crisp white fringe, all seemed to mock him with the brightness of their beauty. How to solve the puzzle? Already, in his own mind, he doubted if it ever would be solved. And he cursed the brightness of the morning, and the women--which was more to the point, but equally futile,--and Denzil, and poor Lady Susan, who lay past curses in Wyvveloe churchyard. And his face, while that fit was on him, was not pleasant to look upon. Presently, with a twitching of the corners of the mouth, like a dog about to bare his fangs, he rang the bell very gently, and Kennet came in. "Kennet," he said, as quietly as if he were ordering his boots, "put on your hat and go for Dr. Yool. Bring him with you without fail. If he is out, go after him. If he says he'll see me further first, say I apologise, and I want him here at once. Tell him I've burst a blood-vessel." He had had words with the doctor the night before. He had stopped his post-chaise at his house and gone in for a minute to explain his long absence, and the doctor, who feared no man, had rated him soundly for the thoughtlessness which had caused Lady Susan's death. He did not for a moment believe that the doctor or any one else could help him in this blind alley. But discuss the matter with some one he must, or burst, and he did not care to discuss it with Kennet. Kennet knew very much better than to disagree with his master on any subject whatever, and discussion with him never advanced matters one iota. Discussion of the matter with Dr. Yool would probably have the same result, but it could do no harm, and it offered possibilities of a disputation for which he felt a distinct craving. Whether doctors could reasonably be expected to identify infants at whose births they had officiated, after a lapse of two months, he did not know. But he was quite prepared to uphold that view of the case with all the venom that was in him, and he awaited the doctor's arrival with impatience. Dr. Yool drove up at last with Kennet beside him, and presently stood in the room with Sir Denzil. "Hello!" cried the doctor, with disappointment in his face. "Where's that blood-vessel?" "Listen to me, Yool. You were present at the birth of Lady Susan's children----" "Eh? What? Lady Susan's child? Yes!" "Children!" "What the deuce! Children? A boy, sir--one!" "You'd know him again, I suppose?" "Well, in a general kind of way possibly. What's amiss with him?" "According to these women here, there are two of him now." "Good Lord, Sir Denzil! What do you mean? Two? How can there be two?" "Ah, now you have me. I thought that you, as a doctor--as the doctor, in fact--could probably explain the matter." The doctor's red face reddened still more. "Send for the women here--and the children," he said angrily. Sir Denzil rang the bell, gave his instructions to the impassive Kennet, who had not yet fathomed the full intention of the matter, and in a few minutes Mrs. Lee and Nance, each with a child on her arm, stood before them. "Now then, what's the meaning of all this?" asked Dr. Yool. "Which of these babies is Lady Susan's child?" "We don't know, sir," said Mrs. Lee, with a curtsey. "Don't know! Don't know! What the deuce do you mean by that, Mrs. Lee? Whose is the other child?" "My daughter's, sir. It were born a day or two before the other, and we got 'em mixed and don't know which is which." "Nonsense! Bring them both to me." He flung down some cushions in front of the fire, rapidly undressed the children, and laid them wriggling and squirming in the blaze among their wraps. He bent and examined them with minutest care. He turned them over and over, noticed all their points with a keenly critical eye, but could make nothing of it. They were as like as two peas. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, plump, clear-skinned, healthy youngsters both. The seven days between them, which in the very beginning might have been apparent, was now, after the lapse of two months, absolutely undiscoverable. Sir Denzil came across and looked down on the jerking little arms and legs and twisting faces, and snuffed again as though he thought they might be infectious. For all the expression that showed in his face, they might have been a litter of pups. "Well, I am ----!" said Dr. Yool, at last, straightening up from the inspection with his hands on his hips. "Now"--fixing the two women with a blazing eye--"what's the meaning of it all? Who is the father of this other child?" "Denzil Carron," said Nance boldly, speaking for the first time. "He married me before he married her, and here are my lines," and she plucked them out of her bosom. Dr. Yool's eyebrows went up half an inch. Sir Denzil took snuff very deliberately. The doctor held out his hand for the paper, and after a moment's hesitation Nance handed it to him. He read it carefully, and his good-humoured mouth twisted doubtfully. The matter looked serious. "Dress the children and take them away," he said at last. When they were dressed, however, Nance stood waiting for her lines. Dr. Yool understood. "I will be answerable for them," he said; and she turned and went. "A troublesome business, Sir Denzil," he said, when they were alone. "A troublesome business, whichever way you look at it. This"--and he flicked Nance's cherished lines--"may, of course, be make-believe, though it looks genuine enough on the face of it. That must be carefully looked into. But as to the children--you are in these women's hands absolutely and completely, and they know it." "It looks deucedly like it." "They know which is which well enough; but nothing on earth will make them speak--except their own interests, and that," he said thoughtfully, "won't be for another twenty years." "It's too late to make away with them both, I suppose," said Sir Denzil cynically. "Tchutt! It's bad enough as it is, but there's no noose in it at present. Besides, they are both undoubtedly your grandsons----" "And which succeeds?" asked the baronet grimly. "There's the rub. Deucedly awkward, if they both live--most deucedly awkward! There's always the chance, of course, that one may die." "Not a chance," said Sir Denzil. "They'll both live to be a hundred. They can toss for the title when the time comes. I'd sooner trust a coin than those women's oaths." The doctor nodded. He felt the same. "What about this?" he asked, reading Nance's lines again. "Will you look into it?" He pulled out a pencil and noted places and dates in his pocket-book. "What good? It alters nothing." "As regards your son?" Sir Denzil shrugged lightly. "He has shown himself a fool, but he is hardly such a fool as that. If he comes to the title, and she claims on him, he must fight his own battle. As to the whelps----" Another shrug shelved them for future consideration. Nevertheless, when Dr. Yool had driven away in the gig with the yellow wheels, Sir Denzil paced his room by the hour in deep thought, and none of it pleasant, if his face was anything to go by. He travelled along every possible avenue, and found each a blind alley. He could send the girl about her business, and the old woman too. But to what purpose? If they took one of the children with them, which would it be? Most likely Lady Susan's. But he would never be certain of it. That would be so obviously the thing to do that they would probably do the opposite. If they left both children, he would have to get some one else to attend to them, and no one in the world had the interest in their welfare that these two had. If both children died, then Denzil might marry again, and have an heir about whom there was no possible doubt. That is, if this other alleged marriage of his was, as he suspected, only a sham one. He would have to look into that matter, after all. If, by any mischance, the marriage, however intended, proved legal, then that hope was barred, and it would be better to have the children, or at all events one of them, live. Otherwise the succession would vest in the Solway Carrons, whom he detested. Better even Nance Lee's boy than a Solway Carron. The conclusion of the matter was, that he could not better matters at the moment by lifting a finger. Not lightly nor readily did he bring his mind to this. He spent bitter days and nights brooding over it all, and at the end he found himself where he was at the beginning. Time might possibly develop, in one or other of the boys, characteristics which might tell their own tale. But that chance, he recognised, was a small one. Both boys took after their father, and were as like Denzil, when he was a baby, as they possibly could be. In the spring he would look into that marriage matter. Till then, things must go on as they were. Not a word did he say to the women. Not the slightest interest did he show in the children. He rarely saw them, and then only by chance. And in the women's care the children throve and prospered, since it was entirely to their interest that they should do so. BOOK II CHAPTER VI FREEMEN OF THE FLATS Now we take ten years at a leap. So small a span of time has made no difference in the great house of Carne, or in its surroundings. Many times have the sand-hills sifted and shifted hither and thither. Many times have the great yellow banks out beyond lazily uncoiled themselves like shining serpents, and coiled themselves afresh into new entanglements for unwary mariners. In the narrow channels the bones of the unwary roll to and fro, and some have sunk down among the quicksands. Times without number have the mighty flats gleamed and gloomed. And the great house has watched it all stonily, and it all looks just the same. But ten years work mighty changes in men and women, and still greater ones in small boys. A tall straight-limbed young man strode swiftly among the sand-hummocks and came out on the flats, and stood gazing round him, with a great light in his eyes, and a towel round his neck. He had a lean, clean-shaven face, to which the hair brushed back behind his ears lent a pleasant eagerness. But the face was leaner and whiter than it should have been, and the eyes seemed unnaturally deep in their hollows. "Whew!" he whistled, as the wonder of the flats struck home. "A change, changes, and half a change, and no mistake! And all very much for the better--in most respects. The bishop said I'd find it rather different from Whitechapel, and he was right! Very much so! Dear old chap!" It was ten o'clock of a sweet spring morning. The brown ribbed flats gleamed and sparkled and laughed back at the sun with a thousand rippling lips. The cloudless blue sky was ringing with the songs of many larks. The young man stood with his braces slipped off his shoulders, and looked up at the larks. Then he characteristically, flung up a hand towards them, and cried them a greeting in the famous words of that rising young poet, Mr. Robert Browning, "God's in His heaven! All's well with the world!--Well! Well! Ay--very, very well!" And then, with a higher flight, in the words of the old sweet singer which had formed part of the morning lesson--"Praise Him, all His host!" And then, as his eye caught the gleam of the distant water, he resumed his peeling in haste. "Ten thousand souls--and bodies, which are very much worse--to the square mile there, and here it looks like ten thousand square miles to this single fortunate body. . . . That sea must be a good mile away. . . . The run alone will be worth coming for. . . ." He had girt himself with a towel by this time, and fastened it with a scientific twist. . . . "Now for a dance on the Doctor's nose," and he sped off on the long stretch to the water. The kiss of the salt air cleansed him of the travail of the slums as no inland bathing had ever done. The sun which shone down on him, and the myriad broken suns which flashed up at him from every furrow of the rippled sand, sent new life chasing through his veins. He shouted aloud in his gladness, and splashed the waters of the larger pools into rainbows, and was on and away before they reached the ground. And so, to the sandy scum of the tide, and through it to deep water, and a manful breasting of the slow calm heave of the great sea; with restful pauses when he lay floating on his back gazing up into the infinite blue; and deep sighs of content for this mighty gift of the freedom of the shore and the waves. And a deeper sigh at thought of the weary toilers among whom he had lived so long, to whom such things were unknown, and must remain so. But there!--he had done his duty among them to the point almost of final sacrifice. There was duty no less exigent here, though under more God-given conditions. So--one more ploughing through deep waters, arm over arm, side stroke with a great forward reach and answering lunge. Then up and away, all rosy-red and beaded with diamonds, to the clothing and duty of the work-a-day world. "Grim old place," he chittered as he ran, and his eye fell on Carne for the first time. "Grand place to live . . . if she lived there too. . . . Great saving in towels that run home. . . . Now where the dickens . . . ?" He looked about perplexedly, then began casting round, hither and thither, like a dog on a lost scent. "Hang it! I'm sure this was the place. . . . I remember that sand-hill with its hair all a-bristle." He poked and searched. He scraped up the sand with his hands in case they should have got buried, but not a rag of his clothes could he find. Stay! Not a rag? What's that? Away down a gully between two hummocks, as if it had attempted escape on its own account--a blue sock which he recognised as his own. He pounced on it with a whoop, dusted one foot free of the dry, soft sand, and put the sock on. "It's a beginning," he said, quaintly enough, "but----!" But obviously more was necessary before he could return home. He searched carefully all round, but could not find another thread. He climbed the sliding side of the nearest sand-hill, and looked cautiously about him. But the whole place was a honeycomb of gullies, and the clothing of a thousand men might have hidden in them and never been seen again. He sat down in the warm sand and cogitated. He looked at his single towel, and at the wire-grass bristling sparsely through the sand, and wondered if it might be possible to construct a primitive raiment out of such slight materials. But his deep-set eyes never ceased their vigilant outlook. Something moved behind the rounded shoulder of a hill in front. It might be only the loping brown body of a rabbit, but he was after it like a shot. When he topped the hill he saw a naked white foot slipping out of sight into a dark hole like a big burrow. He leaped down the hill, and stretched a groping arm into the hole. It lighted on squirming flesh. His hand gripped tightly that which it had caught, and a furious assault of blows, scratches, bites, and the frantic tearings of small fingers strove to loosen it. But he held tight, and inch by inch drew his prisoner out--a small boy with dark hair thick with sand, and dark eyes blazing furiously. He was stark naked, and held in his hand a small weapon consisting of a round stone with a hole in the centre, into which a wooden handle had been thrust and bound with string. With this, as he lay on his back, now that he had space to use it, he proceeded to lash out vigorously at his captor, who still held on to his ankle in spite of the punishment his wrist and arm were receiving. "Well, I'll be hanged!" said the young man in the towel, dodging the blows as well as he could. "What in Heaven's name are you? Ancient Briton? Bit of the Stone Age?" "Le' me go or I'll kill you," howled the prisoner. "No, don't! You're strong: be merciful. Hello!" as a fresh attack took him in the rear, and his bare back resounded to the blows of a weapon similar to the one that was pounding his arm. "You young savages! Two to one, and an unarmed man!" He loosed the ankle and made a quick dive at the brown thrashing arm, and, having secured it, lifted the wriggling youngster and tucked him under his arm like a parcel. Then, in spite of the struggles of his prisoner, he turned on the new-comer and presently held him captive in similar fashion. They bit and tore and wriggled like a pair of little tiger-cats, but the arms that held them were strong ones if the face above was thin and worn and gentle. "Stop it!" He knocked their heads together, and squeezed the slippery little bodies under his arms till the breath was nearly out of them, and took advantage of the moment of gasping quiescence to ask, "Will you be quiet if I let you down?" They intimated in jerks that they would be quiet. "Drop those drumsticks, then." First one, then the other weapon dropped into the sand. He put his foot on them and stood the boys on their feet. "Drumsticks!" snorted one, his sandy little nose all a-quiver. "Well, neither am I a drum," said their captor good-humouredly. "Now what's the meaning of all this? Who are you? Or what are you?" They were fine sturdy little fellows, of ten or eleven, he judged, their skins tanned brown and coated with dry sand, quick dark eyes and dark flushed faces all aglow still with the light of battle. They stood panting before him, no whit abashed either by their defeat or their lack of clothing. He saw their eyes settle longingly on the clubs under his feet. He stooped and picked them up, and the dark eyes followed them anxiously. "Promise not to use them on me and I'll give them back to you." The brown hands reached out eagerly, and he handed the weapons over. "Now sit down and tell me all about it." And he sat down himself in the sand. He saw them glance towards the mouth of their retreat, and shook his head. "You can't manage it. I'd have you out before you were half way in. You're prisoners of war on parole. Now then, who are you?" "Carr'ns." "Carr'ns, are you? Well, you look it, whatever it means. Do you live in that hole?" "Sometimes." "Never wear any clothes?" "Sometimes." "I see. Much jollier without, isn't it? But, you see, I can't go home like this. So perhaps you won't mind telling me why you stole my things and where they are?" "Carr'ns don't steal," jerked one. "Carr'ns only take things," jerked the other. "I see. It's a fine point, but it comes to much the same thing unless you return what you take. So perhaps you'll be so good as to turn up my things. Where are they?" One of the boys nodded towards the burrow. "That's the stronghold, is it? Not much room to turn about in, I should say." They declined to express an opinion. "May I go in and have a look?" But that was not in the terms of their parole, and they sprang instantly to the defence of their hold. The young man of the towel was beginning to wonder if another pitched battle would be necessary before he could recover his missing property, when a diversion was suddenly created by an innocent outsider. A foolish young rabbit hopped over the shoulder of a neighbouring sand-hill to see what all the disturbance was about. In a moment the round stone clubs flew and the sense was out of him before he had time to twinkle an eye or form any opinion on the subject. With a whoop the boys sprang at him and resolved themselves instantly into a pyrotechnic whirl of arms and legs and red-hot faces and flying sand, as they fought for their prey. "Little savages!" said the young man, and did his best to separate them. But he might as well have attempted argument with a Catherine wheel in the full tide of its short life. And so he took to indiscriminate spanking wherever bare slabs of tumbling flesh gave him a chance, and presently, under the influence of his gentle suasion the combatants separated and stood panting and tingling. The _causus belli_ had disappeared beneath the turmoil of the encounter, but suddenly it came to light again under the workings of twenty restless little toes. They both instantly dived for it, and the fight looked like beginning all over again, when the long white arm shot in and secured it and held it up above their reach. "I say! Are you boys or tiger-cats?" he asked, as he examined them again curiously. "Carr'ns," panted one, while both gazed at the rabbit like hounds at the kill. "Yes, you said that before, but I'm none the wiser. Where do you live when you're clothed and in your right minds?--if you ever are," he added doubtfully. One of them jerked his head sharply in the direction of the great gray house away along the shore. "There?" Another curt nod. He had rarely met such unnatural reserve, even in Whitechapel, where pointed questions from a stranger are received with a very natural suspicion. Here, as there, it only made him the more determined to get to the bottom of it. But Whitechapel had taught him, among other things, that round-about is sometimes the only way home. "Why do you want to fight over a dead rabbit?" "I killed it." "Didn't. 'Twas me." "Well now, if you ask me, I should say you both killed it. How did you become such capital shots?" But to tell that would have needed much talk, so they only stared up at him. He saw he must go slowly. "Those are first-rate clubs. Did you make them?" Nods from both. "Do you know?"--he picked one up and examined it carefully--"these are exactly what the wild men used to make when they lived here a couple of thousand years ago and used to go about naked just as you do." They listened eagerly, with wide unwinking eyes, which asked for more. "They used to stain themselves all blue"--the idea so evidently commended itself to them that he hastened to add--"but you'd better not try that or you'll be killing yourselves. They used the juice of a plant which you can't get and it did them no harm. Can you swim?" Both heads shook a reluctant negative. "Can't? Oh, you ought to swim. You can fight, I know, and you are splendid shots--and good runners, I'll be bound. Why haven't you learnt to swim?" "Won't let us." "Who won't let you?" "HIM." "Who's 'him'?" "Sir Denzil." "Is that your father?" "Gran'ther "I see. I wonder if he'd let me teach you. Every boy ought to learn to swim. You'd like to?" The black heads left no possible doubt on that point. "Well, I'll call on him and ask his permission. Now, what are your names?" "Denzil Carr'n." "And you?" "Denzil Carr'n." "But you can't both be Denzil Carr'n." "I'm Jack." "I'm Jim." "And how am I to tell who from which? You're as like as two peas." They looked at one another as if it had never struck them. "Stand up and let me see who's the biggest. No"--with a shake of the head, as they stood side by side--"that doesn't help. You're both of a tires Now, let me see. Jack's got a big bump on the forehead,"--at which Jim grinned with reminiscent enjoyment. "That will identify him for a few days, anyhow, and by that time I shall have got to know you. Why hasn't your grandfather let you learn to swim?" "Devil of a coast," said Jack, loosing his tongue at last. "Damned quicksands," said Jim in emulation. "Suck and suck and never let go." "We must be careful, then. You must tell me all about them. My name's Eager--Charles Eager. I've come to take Mr. Smythe's place at Wyvveloe. Do you two go to school?" Emphatically No from both shaggy heads, and undisguised aversion to the very thought of such a thing. "But you can't go on like this, you know. What will you do when you grow up?" "Go fighting," said Jack of the bumped forehead. "Quite so. But you don't want to go as privates, I suppose. And to be officers you must learn many things." This was a new view of the matter. It seemed to make a somewhat unfavourable impression. It provided food for thought to Eager himself also, and he sat looking at them musingly with new and congenial vistas opening before him. He had in him a great passion for humanity--for the uplifting and upbuilding of his fellows. Here apparently was virgin soil ready to his hand, and he wanted to set to work on it at once. "You know how to read and write, I suppose?" "We can read _Robinson Crusoe_--round the pictures." "Of course. Good old Robinson Crusoe! He's taught many a boy to read." "He's in there," said Jim, nodding vaguely in the direction of their burrow. "That's a good ides. Let us have a look at him." And Jim started off to fetch Robinson out. "And you might bring my things out too, Jim. My back's getting raw with the sun." Jim grinned and crept into the hole, and reappeared presently with an armful of clothing and a richly bound volume. Eager put on his other sock and his shirt and trousers, and then sat down again and picked up the book. It was an unusually fine edition of the old story, with large coloured plates, and had not been improved by its sojourn in the land. "Does your grandfather know you have this out here?" Most decidedly not. "I should take it back if I were you, or keep it wrapped in paper. It's spoiling with the sand and damp. It always hurts me to see a good book spoiled. Are there many more like this at the house?" "Heaps,"--which opened out further pleasant prospects if the mine proved workable. "Have you gone right through it?" "Only 'bout the pictures." "Well, if you're here to-morrow I'll begin reading it to you from the beginning. There must be quite three-quarters of it that you know nothing about. And as soon as I can, I'll call on your grandfather and have a talk with him about, the swimming and the rest. Can you write?" "Not much," said Jack. "Sums?" Nothing of the kind and no slightest inclination that way. "Now I must get back to my work," said Eager, as he finished dressing. "This is my first morning, and it's been holiday. I've been living for the last five years in the East End of London, where the people are all crowded into dirty rooms in dirty streets, and I came to have a took at the sea and the sands. It's like a new life. Now, good-bye," and he shook hands politely with each in turn. "I shall be on the look-out for you to-morrow." He strode away through the sand-hills towards Wyvveloe, and the boys stood watching till he disappeared. "My rabbit!" cried Jim, as his eye lighted on the old gage of battle lying on the sand, and he dashed at it. "Mine!" and in a moment they were at it hammer and tongs. And the Rev. Charles went on his way, not a little elated at thoughts of this new field that lay open before him. CHAPTER VII EAGER HEART "Mrs. Jex," said Eager, to the old woman in whose cottage he had taken his predecessor's rooms, "who lives in yon big house on the shore?" Mrs. Jex straightened her big white cap nervously. She had hardly got used yet to this new "passon," who was so very different from the last, and who had already in half a day asked her more questions than the last one did in a year. "Will it be Carne yo' mean, sir?" "That's it,--Carne. Who lives there, and what kind of folks are they?" "There's Sir Denzil an' there's Mr. Kennet----" "Who's Mr. Kennet?" "Sir Denzil's man, sir. An' there's the boys----' "Ah, then, it's the boys I met on the shore, running wild and free, without a shirt between them." "Like enough, sir. They do say 'at----" "Yes?"---as she came to a sudden stop. "'Tain't for the likes o' me, sir, to talk about my betters," said Mrs. Jex, with a doubtful shake of the head. "Oh, the parson hears everything, you know, and he never repeats what he hears. What do they say about the boys? Are they twins? They're as like as can be, and just of an age, as far as I could see." "Well, sir," said Mrs. Jex, with another shake, "there's more to that than I can say, an' I'm not that sure but what it's more'n anybody can say." "Why, what do you mean? That sounds odd." "Ay, 'tis odd. Carne's seen some queer things, and this is one of 'em, so they do say." "I'd like to hear. I rather took to those boys. They seem to be growing up perfect little savages, learning nothing and----" "Like enough, sir." "And I thought of calling on their grandfather and seeing if he'd let me take them in hand." "Yo'd have yore hands full, from all accounts." "That's how I like them. They've been a bit overfull for a good many years, but this offers the prospect of a change anyway." "Well, yo'd best see Dr. Yool. If yo' con get him talking he con tell yo' more'n onybody else. He were there when they were born--one of 'em onyway." "Worse and worse? You're a most mysterious old lady. What's it all about?" "Yo'd better ask t' doctor. He knows. I only knows what folks say, and that's mostly lies as often as not. Yore dinner's all ready. Yo' go and see t' doctor after supper and ax him all about it." After dinner he took a ramble round his new parish. He had arrived a couple of days sooner than expected and the head shepherd was away from home, so he had had to find his way about alone and make the acquaintance of his sheep as best he could. Mrs. Jex, who had also acted as landlady for the departed Smythe, had already thanked God for the change. For Smythe, a lank, boneless creature, who cloaked a woeful lack of zeal for humanity under cover of an unwrinkling robe of high observance, had found the atmosphere of Wyvveloe uncongenial. It lacked the feminine palliatives to which he had been accustomed. He had grown fretful and irritable--"a perfec' whimsy!" as Mrs. Jex put it. The sturdy fisher-farmer folk laughed him and his ways to scorn, and the whole parish was beginning to run to seed when, to the relief of all concerned, he succeeded in obtaining his transfer to a sphere better suited to his peculiar requirements. Mrs. Jex had had experience of Mr. Eager for one night and half a day, and she already breathed peacefully, and had thanked God for the change. And it was the same in every cottage into which the Rev. Charles put his lean, smiling face that day. Those simple folk, who looked death in the face as a necessary part of their daily life, knew a man when they saw one, and there was that in Charles Eager's face which would never be in Mr. Smythe's if he lived to be a hundred--that keen hunger for the hearts and souls and lives of men which makes one man a pastor, and the lack of which leaves another but a priest. And if the cottagers instinctively recognised the difference, how much more that bluff guardian--beyond their inclinations at times--of their outer husks, Dr. Yool! When Jane Tod, his housekeeper, ushered the stranger into his room Dr. Yool was mixing himself a stiff glass of grog and compounding new fulminations, objurgative and expletive, tending towards the cleansing of Wynsloe streets and backyards. Miss Tod was a woman in ten thousand, and had been specially created for the post of housekeeper to Dr. Yool. She was blessed with an imperturbable placidity which the irascible doctor had striven in vain to ruffle for over twenty years. When he came in of a night, tired and hungry and bursting with anger at the bovine stupidity of his patients, she let him rave to his heart's relief without changing a hair, and set food and drink before him, and agreed with all he said, even when he grew personal, and she never talked back. When she showed in Mr. Eager she simply opened the sitting-room door, said "New passon," and closed it behind him. "Will you let me introduce myself, Dr. Yool, seeing that the vicar is not here to do it? I am Charles Eager, vice Smythe, translated. You aid I are partners, you see, so I thought the sooner we became acquainted the better." "H'mph!" grunted Dr. Yool, eyeing his visitor keenly over the top of the glass as he sipped his red-hot grog. "Charles Eager, eh? And what are you eager for, Mr. Eager?" "Men, women, children--bodies and souls." "You leave their bodies to me," growled Dr. Yool in his brusquest manner. "Their souls '11 be quite as much as you can tackle." But Eager saw through his brusquerie. A very beautiful smile played over the keen, earnest face as he said: "When you separate them it's too late for either of us to do them any good." "Separate them! Takes me all my time to keep 'em together." "Exactly! So we'll make better headway if we work together and overlap." "Right! We'll work together, Mr. Eager." And the doctor's big brown hand met the other's in a friendly grip. "You've got more bone in you than the late invertebrate. He was a sickener. Hand like a fish. Have some grog? "I don't permit myself grog. It wouldn't do, you know. But I'll have a pipe. I see you don't object to smoke." "Smoke and grog are the only things a man can look forward to with certainty after a stiff day's work. The sooner you can get your flock to cleanse out the sheepfolds the better, Mr. Shepherd. We had typhus here ten years ago, and it gave them such a scare that for one year the place was fairly sweet. Now it stinks as bad as ever, and I'll be hanged if I can stir them." "I'll stir them, or I'll know the reason why!" Dr. Yool studied the deep-set eyes and firm mouth before him for a good minute, and then said: "Gad! I believe you will if any man can." "Do you know East London?" "Not intimately. I've seen enough of it to strengthen my preference for clean sand." "This is heaven compared with it. I'm going to open these people's eyes to their advantages." "You'll be a godsend if you can." "I want you to tell me all you think fit about two naked boys I came across on the shore this morning. Carr'ns, they called themselves. Fine little lads, and next door to savages, as far as I could judge. I tried to pump Mrs. Jex, and she referred me to you." Dr. Yool puffed contemplatively, and looked at him through the smoke. "That's the problem of Carne," he said slowly at last--"the insoluble problem." "What's the problem? And why insoluble?" "One of them is heir to Caine; the other is baseborn. No man on earth knows which is which." "Any woman?" "Ah--there you have it! Can you make a woman speak against her will--and her interest?" he added, as a hopeful look shot through Eager's eyes. "It's a strong combination against one. All the same, there is no reason why those boys should grow up naked of mind as well as of body. They are surely close in age? They're as like as two peas--splendid little savages, both." "There may be a week between them, not more." He puffed thoughtfully for several minutes again, and then said slowly: "If you can clothe them, body and mind, it will be a good work and a tough one. It's virgin soil and a big handful, and one of them's got a place in the world. I'll tell you the story for your guidance. I can trust it in your keeping. The old man would curse me, no doubt, but his time is past and the boys' is only coming. They are of more consequence." And bit by bit he told him what he knew of the strange happenings which had led to the problem of Carne. Eager followed him with keen interest. "And was that first marriage genuine?" he asked. "Very doubtful. I worried the old man till he went off to look into it, but when he came back he would say nothing. It makes no difference, however, for we don't know one boy from the other." "And the mother--the one who lived?" asked Eager, following out his own line of thought. "She stayed on at Carne with her mother for about a year. Then she disappeared, and, as far as I know, nothing has been heard of her since. She could solve the problem doubtless, but if she swore to it no one would believe her." "She believed in her own marriage, of course?" "Doubtless. And the time may come when she will put in her claim, if she is alive." "That's what I was thinking. And the father of the boys?" "The man he killed--unintentionally, no doubt, still after threats--had powerful friends. They would have exacted every penalty the law permitted. Denzil no doubt considered he could enjoy life better in other ways. If he is alive he is abroad. He has never shown face here since." "A complicated matter," said Eager thoughtfully, "and likely to become more so. Where would the old man's death land things?" "God knows. I've puzzled over it many a day and night." "And meanwhile Sir Denzil allows the youngsters to run to seed?" "Exactly. He takes absolutely no interest in them. If one of them died it would be all right for the other. He would be Carron of Carne in due course and no questions asked. But the complication of the two has made him look askance at both." "And the old woman--Mrs. Lee?" "She lives on at Carne, biding her time. I have no doubt she knows which is her grandson, but she won't speak till the time comes." "And how does Sir Denzil treat her?" "They say he has never spoken to her for the last ten years--never a word since that day she and her daughter brought the two children in to him and started the game. She tends the house and does the cooking, and so on. Sir Denzil lives in his own rooms, and his man Kennet looks after him. It's a very long time since I saw him. We never got on well together. He killed that poor girl, dragging her here as he did, and I told him so. And he chose to say that I ought to have been able to recognise t'other baby from which. Much he knows about it," snorted the doctor. "And what does he do with himself? Is he a student?" "Drinks, I imagine. I meet his man about now and again, and if it's like master like man there's not much doubt about it." "Poor little fellows! I must get hold of them, doctor. I must have them. Now, how shall I set about it?" "Better call on the old man and see what he says. His soul's in your charge, you know. I have my own opinion as to its probable ultimate destination, in spite of you. It'll be an experience, anyway." "For me or for him?" "Well, I was thinking of you at the moment." "And not an over-pleasant one, you suggest? "Oh, he's a gentleman, is the old man, if he is an old heathen. Gad! I'd like to go along with you, only it would upset your apple-cart and set you in the ditch." "I'll see him in the morning," said Eager. CHAPTER VIII SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS The struggle between the boys, which began before Mr. Eager was well out of sight, resulted in a bump on Jim's forehead similar to the one which already decorated Jack's, in a few additional scratches and bruises to both brown little bodies, and in Jim's temporary possession of the rabbit. That point decided for the time being, they sat down in the hot sand to recover their wind, Jim holding his prey tightly by the ears on his off side, since a moment's lack of caution would result in its instant transfer to another owner. "I'm going to learn to swim," said Jack. "HE won't let us," said Jim. Then, intent silence as a sand-piper came hopping along a ridge. It stopped at sight of them, and fixed them first with one inquiring eye and then with the other. Their hands felt for their little clubs. The sand-piper decided against them, and flew away with a cheep of derision. Jim had dropped the rabbit for his club. Jack leaned over behind him and had it in a second. Jim hurled himself on him, and they were at it again hammer and tongs, and presently they were sitting panting again, and this time the rabbit was on Jack's off side, and, for additional security, wedged half under his sandy leg. "We could tell him we'd asked HIM and HE said Yes," said Jim, resuming the conversation as if there had been no break. "He'll go and ask HIM himself, and HE'LL say No," said Jack, with perfect understanding, in spite of the mixture of third persons. "H'mph!" grunted Jim sulkily. "Wish HE was dead." "There'd be somebody else." From which remark you may gather that, where abstruse thinking met with little encouragement, Master Jack was the more thoughtful of the two. "We'll go in and watch him when he goes in to-morrow," suggested Jim presently. "They'd see us." "Drat 'em! Let 'em. Who cares?" "Means lickings. . . . And that Kennet he lays on a sight harder than he used to." "Ever since we caught him in the rat-trap. He remembers it whenever he's licking us. . . . Soon as I'm a man I'm going to kill Kennet. It's the very first thing I shall do." "I don't know," said Jack doubtfully. "He only licks us when HE tells him to." "I should think so," snorted Jim, with scorn at the idea of anything else. "HE always looks at us as if we were toads. Why does he?" "Damned if I know," said Jack quietly. It sounded odd from his childish lips, but it had absolutely no meaning for him. It was simply one of the accomplishments they had picked up from Mr. Kennet. An upward glance at the sun at the same moment suddenly accentuated a growing want inside him. He sprang up with a whoop, swinging his rabbit by the ears, and made for the hole in the sand-hill. Jim followed close on his heels, and presently, clad only in short blue knee-breeches of homely cut, and blue sailor jerseys, they were trotting purposefully through the shallows towards Carne and dinner, chattering brokenly as they went. A grim old man watched them from an upper window till they padded silently round the corner out of sight. They ran in through the back porch, and so into the comfortable kitchen with its red-tiled floor and shining pans, and dark wood linen-presses round the walls. Old Mrs. Lee, grandmother to one of them, turned from the fire to greet them. "Ready for yore dinner, lads? And which on yo' killed to-day?"--as she caught sight of the rabbit. "I did," from Jack. "No--me," from Jim. "Well, both of us, then," said Jack. "Clivver lads! Now fall to." And they needed no bidding to the food she set before them. They were always hungry, and never criticised her provisioning. Ten years had made very little change in Mrs. Lee. Indeed, if there was any change at all it was for the better. For, whereas in the previous times she had had grievous troubles and anxieties, during these last ten years she had had an object in life, not to say two, and lively subjects both of them. The grim old man upstairs would have viewed the death of either of the boys with more than equanimity. At the first sudden upspringing of the trouble he had, indeed, fervently wished both out of the way. But consideration of the subject and much snuff brought him to just that much better a frame of mind that he ended by desiring short shrift for only one of them, and which one he did not care a snap. Either would be preferable to a Solway Carron, but the two together produced a complication which time would only intensify, unless Death stepped in and cut the knot. In the beginning he watched Nance's and Mrs. Lee's treatment of them as closely as he could, without betraying his keen interest in the matter. His man, Kennet, had instructions to surprise, entrap, or coerce the secret out of the women in any way he could devise. But the women laughed to scorn their clumsy attempts at espionage, and meted out equal justice and mercy to both boys alike. Never by one single word or look of special favour bestowed on either did master or man come one step nearer to the knowledge they sought. Mr. Kennet, indeed, undertook, for a consideration, to make Nance his lawful, wedded wife, with a view to getting at the truth. But when he deviously approached Nance herself he received so hot a repulse, which was not by any means confined to mere verbal broadsides, that he beat a hasty retreat, with marks of the encounter on his face which took longer to heal than did his ardour to cool. She was a handsome, strapping girl, with a temper like hot lava, and she honestly believed herself Denzil Carron's lawful wife, though her mother still cast doubts upon it. "You!" Nance labelled Mr. Kennet after this episode, and concentrated in that single word all the scorn of her outraged feelings; and thereafter, till she took herself off to parts unknown, made Mr. Kennet's life a burden to him, yet caused him to thank his stars that the matter had gone no farther. And the grim old man upstairs? From the women's treatment of the boys--and he spied upon them in ways, and at times, and by means, of which they had no slightest idea--he had learned nothing. And so he waited and waited, with infinite patience, and hoped that time might bring some solution of the problem, even though it came by the hand of Death. And then, as Death stood aloof, and the boys grew and waxed strong, and developed budding personalities, he watched them still more keenly, in the hope of finding in their dispositions and tempers some indications which might help him in his quest. Plain living was the order of those days at Caine; and he who had hobnobbed with princes, and had been notorious for his prodigality in time when excess rioted through the land, lived now as simply as the simplest yeoman of the shire. And that not of necessity, for his income was large, and, since he spent nothing, the accumulations were rollicking up into high figures. The candle had simply burnt itself out. He had not a desire left in life, unless it was to get the better of these women who had dusted his latter days with ashes. Of his son, the origin of this culminating and enduring trouble, he had heard nothing for many years. He did not even know whether he was alive or dead, and, save for the confusion which lack of definite knowledge on that head might cause in the table of descent, he did not much care. He had looked to the gallant captain to raise the house of Carne to its old standing in the world--a poor enough ambition indeed, but still all that was left him. By his hot-headed folly Captain Denzil had struck himself out of the running, and by degrees, as this became more and more certain, his father's interest in life transferred itself from the impossible to the remotely possible, even though the possibility was all of a tangle. For a time he supplied the prodigal freely with money, and the prodigal dispensed it in riotous living. The fact that by rights he ought to have been cooling his heels in prison gave a zest to his enjoyments, and he denied himself none. His father buoyed his hopes, as long as hope was possible, on his son's return in course of time to his native land, and to those aristocratic circles of which he had previously been so bright an ornament. But time passed and brought no amelioration of his prospects. Louis Philippe still occupied the French throne. The death of d'Aumont was not forgotten. Sir Denzil's quiet soundings of the authorities were always met with the invariable, and perfectly obvious, reply, that Captain Carron was at liberty to return at any time--at his own risk; a reply which only strengthened Captain Carron's determination to remain strictly where he was. He lived for a time, as Kennet told us, in Paris, under an assumed name of course, but under the very noses of the men whose implacable memories debarred him from returning home. It was added spice to his already highly spiced life. But high living demands high paying, and Captain Denzil's demands grew and grew till at last his father--who would have withheld nothing for a definite object, but saw no sense in aimless prodigality--flatly refused anything beyond a moderate allowance. From that time communications ceased, and whether and how his son lived Sir Denzil knew, not, and, from all appearance; cared little. He had ceased to be a piece of value in the old man's game. Pending direction, from above or below or from the inside, Sir Denzil left the boys to develop as they might. A magnanimous, even a reasonably balanced nature would have assumed the burden and done its best for both alike, and trusted to Time and Providence for a solution of the problem. But no one ever miscalled Sir Denzil Carron to the extent of imputing to him any faintest trace of magnanimity. Time he had some hopes of. Providence he had no belief in. He was simply the product of his age: an unmitigated old heathen, with but one aim in life--the resuscitation of the house of Carne, and to that end ready to sacrifice himself, or any other, body, soul, and spirit. That both boys were of his blood he was satisfied, but the unsolvable doubt as to which was the rightful heir cancelled all his feelings for them and set them both outside the pale of his doubtful favours. At times, in pursuance of his search for leading signs, he had sent for the boys, talked to them, tried to get below the surface. But in his presence they crept into their innermost shells and became dull and dumb, and impervious even to his biting sarcasms on their appearances, tastes, and habits. They feared and hated the grim old tyrant, with his peaked white face and thin scornful lips and gold snuff-box. There was no kindliness for them in the keen dark eyes, and they felt it without understanding why. They would slink out of his presence like whipped puppies, but once out of it he would hear their natural spirits rising as they raced for the kitchen, and their merry shouts as they sped across the flats to their own devices. When that was possible he watched them unawares, on the look-out always for what he sought. But such chances were few, for natural instinct caused the boys to remove themselves as far away from him as possible, and the sand-hills offered an inviting field and unlimited scope for their abilities. CHAPTER IX MORE OF SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS All the next morning the boys lay in the wire-grass on top of their special sand-hill, on the look-out for their new friend. But he did not come. Instead, he walked over to Carne, and coming first on the back door, rapped on it, and was confronted by Mrs. Lee. It seemed to him that she eyed him with something more than native caution, and after what he had heard from Dr. Yool he was not surprised at it. "Can I see Sir Denzil?" he asked cheerily. "I'm the new curate." The old woman's mouth wrinkled in a dry smile, as though the thought of Sir Denzil and the curate compassed incongruity. "Yo' can try," she said. "Knock on front door and maybe Kennet'll hear yo'." And Eager went round to the front. Continuous knocking at last produced some result. The great front door looked as if it had not been opened for years. It opened at last, however, and Mr. Kennet stood regarding him with disfavour and surprise and a touch of relief on his hairless red face. Carne had few callers, and Kennet's first idea, when summoned to that door, was that Captain Denzil had come home, a return which could hardly make for peace and happiness. "Can I see Sir Denzil?" asked Eager once more. "Tell him, please, that Mr. Eager, the new curate, begs the favour of an interview with him." Kennet looked doubtful, but finally, remembering that he was a gentleman's gentleman, asked him to step inside while he inquired if Sir Denzil could see him. The hall was a large and desolate apartment, flagged with stone and destitute of decoration or clothing of any kind, and was evidently little used. There was a huge fireplace at one side, but the bare hearth gave a chill even to the summer day. A wide oak staircase led up to a gallery off which the upper rooms opened, and from which Sir Denzil at times in the winter quietly overlooked the boys at their play down below, and sought in them unconscious indications of character. And presently, Kennet came silently down the staircase and intimated that the visitor was to follow him. He ushered him into a room looking out over the sea, and Sir Denzil turned from the window, snuff-box in hand, to meet him. There was an intimation of surprised inquiry in the very way he held his snuff-box. He bowed politely, however, and his eyebrows emphasised his desire to learn the reasons for so unexpected a visit. "I trust you will pardon my introducing myself, Sir Denzil," said Eager. "I am taking Mr. Smythe's place, and the vicar is away." "Ah!" said Sir Denzil, taking a pinch very elegantly, "I had not the pleasure of Mr. Smythe's acquaintance,"--and his manner politely intimated that he equally had not sought that of Mr. Smythe's successor. "I have come with a very definite object," said Eager, cheerfully oblivious to the old man's frostiness, and going straight to his mark, as was his way. "I want you to let me take those two boys in hand. I met them on the sands yesterday. In fact, they amused themselves by hiding my clothes while I was in bathing, and I looked like having to go home clad only in a towel." And he laughed again at the recollection. "They shall be punished----" "My dear sir! You don't suppose I came for any such purpose as that! It broke the ice between us. I got my things and made two friends. I want to improve the acquaintance--with your sanction." "To what end?" "To the end of making men of them, Sir Denzil. There are great possibilities there. You must not neglect them, or the responsibility will be yours." "That, I presume, is my affair." "No--excuse me! In the natural course of things those boys will be here when you and I are gone. As their feet are set now, so will they walk then. If you leave them untrained the responsibility for their deeds will be yours. It is no light matter." Sir Denzil extracted a pinch very deliberately and closed the box with a tap on the First Gentleman's snub nose. "And suppose I prefer to let them run wild for the present?" "Then you are not doing your duty by them, and sooner or later it will recoil upon your own head--or house." "Yes; but, as you say, I shall probably not be here, and so I shall not suffer." "Your name--the name of your house will suffer----" Sir Denzil shedded the prospect with a shrug. "Who set you on this business, Mr. Eager?" he asked, with a touch of acidity. "God." "Ah!"--snuffing with extreme deliberation. "Now we approach debatable ground." "No, sir. We stand on the only ground that offers sound footing." "Well, well! I suppose some people still believe such things." "Fortunately, yes. Now about the boys. May I take them in hand?" Sir Denzil regarded him thoughtfully while he shook his snuff box gently and prepared another pinch. "On conditions, possibly yes," he said at last. "And the conditions?" "What have you heard about those boys, Mr. Eager?" "I think I may say everything." "Egad! Then you know more than I do. You have wasted no time. Who told you the story?" "Perhaps you will not press that question, Sir Denzil. Having got interested in the boys I naturally desired to learn what I could about them. It was from no idle curiosity, I assure you." "So you went to Dr. Yool, I suppose. I felt sure he would be at the root of the matter." "I assure you he is not. The root of the matter is simply my desire for those boys. I would like to try my hand at making men of them." "Very welt. You shall try--on this condition. As you are aware, one of them comes of high stock on both sides, the other of low stock on one side. The signs may crop out, must crop out in time. You will have opportunities, such as I have not, of observing them. What I ask of you is to bring all your intelligence and acumen to bear on the solution of my problem--which is which?" "I understand, and I will willingly do my best. But you must remember, Sir Denzil, that there is no infallibility in such indications. The crossing of blue blood with red sometimes produces a richer strain than the blending of two thin blues." "That is so. Still I hope there may be indications we cannot mistake, and then I shall know what to do. It is, as you can understand, a matter that has caused me no little concern." "Naturally. By God's help we will make men of both of them. The rest we must trust to Providence." Sir Denzil's pinch of snuff cast libellous doubts on Providence. "You design them for the army, I presume?" asked Eager. "Unless one should show an inclination for the Church," said the old cynic suavely. "Which I should be inclined to look upon as a clear indication of his origin." "I'm not so sure of that," said Eager, with a smile. "The Church has its heroes no less than the army." "You will find them difficult to handle." "We shall soon be good friends. I'm going to begin by teaching them to swim." Sir Denzil looked at him thoughtfully and said: "That might undoubtedly relieve the situation. It is a dangerous coast. If you could drown one of them for me----" "I am going to make men of them. I can't make a man out of a drowned boy. I will take every care of them, and some time you will be proud of them." "Of one of them possibly. The question is, which?" CHAPTER X GROWING FREEMEN The Rev. Charles was greatly uplifted as he tramped through the sand to keep his appointment with the boys. He had succeeded beyond his hopes, and a most congenial field of work and study lay open to his hand. "Catch them young," had been hammered into his heart and brain by his five years' work in East London. With heart and brain he had fought against the stolid indifference and active evil-mindedness of the grown-ups, till heart and brain grew sick at times. His greatest hopes had settled on the children, and here were two, of a different caste indeed, but as ignorant of the essentials as any he had met with--and they were given into his hand for the moulding. By God's help he would make men of them, high-born or baseborn. The side-issue was nothing to him, but it would add zest to the work. When he got, as he believed, into the neighbourhood of his previous day's adventure, he examined the ridge of sand-hills with care. But they were all so much alike that he could not be sure. He had hoped to find the boys on the look-out for him, but he saw no signs of them. He struggled up the yielding side of the nearest hill and looked round. If he could find their hole he would probably find them inside it or not far away. It was close on midday, baking hot, and the sand-hills seemed as deserted as Sahara. The sea lay fast asleep behind its banks, which reached to the horizon. When he looked back across the flats to Carne, he rubbed his eyes at sight of its stout walls bending and bowing and jigging spasmodically in an uncouth dance. The very wire-grass drooped listlessly. The only sound was the cheerful creak of a cricket. The width, length, and height of it, the gracious spaciousness of it all filled him with fresh delight. It was all so very different from the heart-crushing straitness of the slums and alleys in which his last years had been spent. He stood drinking it all in, and then, seeing no signs of the boys, he turned his back to the shore and strode inland. But within a few steps he caught sight of recent traces of them in fresh-turned yellow sand which the sun had not had time to whiten. He whistled shrilly, if perchance the sound might penetrate to their hold. And then, to his astonishment, the ground in front of him cracked and heaved, and first one and then another dark sanded head and laughing face came out, and the boys sprang up from the shallow holes in which they had buried themselves and stood before him. "You young rabbits," he laughed. "I had just about given you up. Thought I wasn't coming, I suppose." Decisive nods from both black heads. "Well, we'll make a start on that. Remember that I never break a promise, and I want you to do the same. The boy who makes up his mind that he'll never break his word is half a brave man." They stared up at him with wide eyes, and whether they understood it he did not know. But he knew better than to say more just then. "Now--why----?" And he looked from one to the other and then began to laugh. "Which of you is Jack and which is Jim? I was to remember Jack by a bump on the forehead, and now you've both got bumps. Been fighting again?" Gleaming nods from both boys. "We must find you something better to do. I've been seeing your grandfather, and he says I may teach you to swim." Squirms of anticipation in the active brown bodies, and glances past him at the distant sea. "No, not to-day. It's too late now, but it was worth spending the morning on. We'll make a start to-morrow. Can you be here at eight o'clock?" Their energetic heads intimated that they could be there very much before eight if desired. "Right! I'll be here. In the meantime you can be practising a bit on dry land. Here's the stroke"--and he laid himself flat on a convenient hummock and kicked out energetically, while the black eyes watched intently. "Now try it. You first, Jack. That's right. Keep your hands a bit more sloped, and your toes more down. Thrust back with the flat of your feet as though you were trying to kick some one. First rate! Now, Jim!" But Jim was already hard at work on his own account. "That's right. Hands sloped, toes down. Draw your knees well up under your body. You'll find it easier in the water. Oh, you'll do. You'll be swimmers in no time. That'll do for just now. Now--Jack," he looked at them both, but his eyes finally settled on Jim--"if you'll fetch Robinson out well make a start on him." Jim turned to dive down the hill-side, and was instantly tripped by Jack, who flung himself on top of him. They rolled down together, fighting like cats, amid a cloud of flying sand. Eager sprang after them, found it useless, as before, to attempt to separate them by any ordinary means, so spanked them indiscriminately till they fell apart and stood up panting. And the odd thing about it all was that no slightest ill-will seemed born of their strife. The moment it was over they were friends again. "He told me," panted Jack in self-justification. "He looked at me," panted Jim. "My fault, boys. I must tie a string round one of your arms till I get to know you. Now trot along one of you--no, you "--grabbing one by the shoulder as both started off again. "We haven't much time to-day. If I'm not home by one Mrs. Jex will be eating all my dinner." So they sat in the soft sand, and he read, and explained what he read, till Robinson Crusoe came alive and began to be as real to them as one of themselves, and they knew him as they had never known him before. When Eager was dodging about his sheepfold that afternoon he came upon Dr. Yool in the yellow-wheeled gig. "Well, I've got 'em," said the curate. "Got what? Measles, jumps----?" "Those boys. I bearded the old man in his den this morning, and he has given me a free hand with them." "You'll do," said Dr. Yool. "They'll keep you busy. Don't forget I want your help with these stinks"--pointing with his whip to the heaps of refuse lying about. "I'm tackling stinks now. Tiger-pups in the morning, stinks in the afternoon, Dr. Yool in the evening. That's the order of service at present." And they parted the better for the meeting. Eager had a chat with some of the wise men of Wynsloe, and got points from them as to shifting sands, and the tucking sands, and the other dangers of that treacherous coast, and in return incidentally dropped into their minds some seeds of wisdom respecting stinks and their consequences. Five minutes to eight next morning found him a-perch of the highest sand-hill in the neighbourhood, on the look-out for his pupils. Five minutes past eight found him somewhat disappointed at their non-appearance. They had seemed eager enough too, the day before. Perhaps the old man had thought better of it. Then he remembered his cynical hope that the swimming might prove of service in the solution of his great problem. And then a couple of war-whoops at each of his ears jerked him off his perch with so sudden a leap that the whoopers squirmed in the sand with delight. "Thought we weren't coming?" grinned Jack. "Well, I began to fear you'd been stopped----" "We promised," grinned Jim; and Eager rejoiced to think that that seed at all events had taken root. In two minutes they were trotting across the flats, and presently they were in the tide-way, and the little savages were revelling in a fresh acquirement and a new sense of motion. There was little teaching needed. Eager took them out, one after the other, neck-deep, and turned their faces to the shore, and they swam home like rats, and yelled hilariously from pure enjoyment as soon as they found their breath. Then he carried them out of their depths, and loosed them, and they paddled away back without a sign of fear. Fear, in fact, seemed absolutely lacking in them. The only thing on earth of which they stood in any fear, as far as he could make out, was the grim old man in the upper room at Carne, and even in his case it seemed to be as much distrust and dislike as actual fear. But even fearlessness has its dangers, and, mindful of his trust, Eager exacted from each of them a solemn promise not to go into the sea except when he was with them, for he had no mind to solve the old man's riddle for him in the way he had so hopefully suggested. Those mornings on the sands and in the water proved the foundation on which he slowly and surely built the boys' characters. A very few days of so close an intimacy stamped their individualities on his mind. After the third day he never again mistook one for the other. Time and again they tried to mislead him, but he saw deeper than they knew and never failed to detect them. They were, at this time, remarkably alike in every way, and though, later on, each developed marked characteristics of his own, there all along remained between them resemblance enough to put strangers to confusion, a matter in which they at all times found extreme enjoyment. But even now, like as they were, in face and body and the wild naturalness of their primeval ways, their respective personalities began to disclose themselves, as Eager broke them, bit by bit, to the harness of civilisation. And if their harnessing was no easy matter, either for themselves or their teacher, they came to realise very quickly that, though it might mean less of freedom in some ways, it meant also an immensely wider reach and outlook. Whereas their life had hitherto revolved in narrow grooves--with which indeed no man had taken the trouble to meddle, now it ran in courses that were ordered, but which also were spacious and lofty and filled with novelty and enterprise. And as their natural characteristics began to develop in these more reasonable ways, Eager watched and studied them with intensest interest. But little savages they remained in certain respects for a considerable time, and it was only by slow degrees that he managed to lead them out of darkness into something approaching twilight. Jim, for instance, had a rooted detestation of every living thing he came across on the shore, and promptly proceeded to squash it with his bare foot or to pound it into jelly with his prehistoric club. From tiny delicate crab to senseless jelly-fish or screaming gull, if Jim came across it it must die if he could manage it. To counteract, if he might, this innate lust for slaughter Eager took to explaining to them some of the more simple wonders and beauties of seashore life. He brought down a small pocket microscope and showed them things they had never dreamed of. This appealed to Jack immensely. He became a devoted slave of the wonderful glasses, and never tired of poring over and peering into things. Jim, however, drew a double satisfaction from them. He smashed things first and then delighted in the examination of the pieces, and many a pitched battle they fought over the destruction and defence of flotsam and jetsam which formerly they would both have destroyed with equal zest. It was all education, however, and Eager rejoiced in them greatly. He found them, in varying degrees and with notable exceptions, fairly easy to lead, but almost impossible to drive. He led them step by step from darkness towards the light, and meanwhile studied them with as microscopic a care as that with which he endeavoured to get them to study the tiny things of the shore. Their wild free life about the sand-hills had trained their powers of observation to an unusual degree. True, the observation had generally tended to destruction, but the faculty was good, and the end and aim of it was a matter to be slowly brought within control. They could tell him many strange things about the manners and customs of rabbits, and gulls, and peewits, and sandpipers, and bull-frogs, and tadpoles, and so on. They could forecast the weather from the look of the sky and the smell of the wind, with the accuracy of a barometer. They could run as fast and farther than he could, for they had been breathing God's sweetest air all their lives, while he had been travelling alley-ways, with tightened lips and compressed nostrils. And they could fling their little stone clubs with an aim that was deadly. Jim indeed vaunted himself on having once brought down a seagull on the wing, but the actual fact rested on his sole testimony and Jack cast doubts on it, and thereupon they fought each time it was mentioned, but proved nothing thereby. Eager told them of the wonders of the black man's boomerang; and they laboured long and practised much, but could not compass it. It was their ideal weapon, a thing to dream of and strive after, but it always lay beyond them. One day he brought home under his arm, from the shop in Wyvveloe, a small parcel which he took up into his own room. He borrowed Mrs. Jex's scissors, and spent a very much longer time planning and cutting than the result seemed to warrant. Then he got Mrs. Jex, who would have shaved her scanty locks to please him, to do some hemming and stitching and to sew on some bits of tape, and next day he astonished his little savages by attiring himself and them in bright-red loin-cloths, before they started for their mile sprint to the water. The boys were inclined to resist this innovation as an unnecessary cramping of their freedom. Jim averred that he couldn't stretch his legs, and that his garment burnt him, though when it was on it looked no bigger than his hand. Jack demanded reasons, and was told to wait and he would see. However, the brilliancy of the little garments somewhat condoned their offence, and once in the water they were soon forgotten, and as they flashed back and forth across the sands the startling effects they produced in the sunny pools by degrees reconciled their wearers to their use. About a week after this, the boys were sitting one morning in the hollow Mr. Eager used as a dressing-room, wondering why he was later than usual, "Gone to see HIM, maybe, 'bout yon books we brought out," growled Jack gloomily. "Hmph!" grunted Jim. "I don't care--'sides, he wouldn't." And then Eager strode in with a brighter face even than usual. "Afraid I wasn't coming, were you?" he laughed. "Thought maybe you'd gone to see HIM again," said Jack. "Your grandfather? No; I've been seeing some one very much nicer. Jim, did you say your verse this morning?" This was a gigantic innovation, and still much of a mere ritual. But it was a beginning, and the rest would follow. It was the first upward step towards those higher things which Charles Eager kept ever steadily in view. "Forgot," grunted Jim. This again was mighty gain. A month ago--if such a contingency had been possible--he would never have owned up. To his grandfather it is doubtful if he would have owned up even now. "Well, oblige me by going behind that sand-hill and saying it now, and think what you're saying as well as you can. And you, Jack?" "Said um," said Jack dutifully. "Never saw you," said Jim, on his knees. Whereupon Jack dashed at him and rolled him over prayer and all, and they had a regular former-state set-to. The Rev. Charles, grave of face, but internally convulsed, got them separated at last, and as soon as Jim had performed his devotions they turned their faces towards the sea. Before the two boys could start out, as they usually did, like bolts from a cross-bow, however, he laid a detaining hand on each brown shoulder, and to their surprise whistled shrilly across the hills. In reply, a tiny figure in brilliant scarlet sped out from an adjacent nook, and shot, with flowing hair, and little white feet going like drumsticks, across the flats towards the sea. The boys caught their breath and gaped in amazement. "What is it?" gasped Jim. "Whow! Who?" from Jack. "My little sister. She only arrived last night. Now let's see if we can catch her! Off you go!" And they tore away across the long ribbed sands after the flying streak of scarlet in front. They caught her long before she reached the tide-lip, and her eyes flashed merriment as they raced alongside. She had rare beauty even as a child--and no beauty of after-life ever quite equals that of a lovely child--and the two boys had never in their lives seen anything like her. They stumbled alongside, careless of holes and lumps, with sidelong glances for nothing but that radiant vision--scarlet-wrapped, streaming nut-brown hair, dancing blue eyes, white skin flushed with the run like a hedge-rose, little teeth gleaming pearls between panting, laughing lips, a little rainbow of beauty. "Well run, Gracie! Keep it up, old girl!" panted Eager, almost pumped himself. And then they were in the water. Grace, it appeared, could not swim yet. The boys fell to at once and fought for the honour of helping her, though neither would have dared to touch her. She screamed at sight of their brown bodies thrashing to and fro in the foam, but was comforted at sight of her brother's laughing face. "Come along, Gracie. Never mind the boys. They enjoy a fight more than anything. Now kick away, and strike out as I showed you how on the footstool. I'll hold your chin up. That's it! Bravo, little one! You'll be a swimmer in a week." CHAPTER XI THE LITTLE LADY And so another element entered into the tiger-cubs' education, and one that, for so small a creature, exercised a mighty influence on them, both then and thereafter. She was the Joy of Charles Eager's heart and the light of his eyes. Other sisters and brothers there had been, but all were gone save this little fairy, and they two were alone in the world. While he wrought in the dark corners of the great city he had boarded her with some maiden aunts in the suburbs, and the weekly sight of her, growing like a flower, had helped to keep his heart fresh and sweet. Not the least of the joys of his translation to this wide new sphere was the fact that he could have her always with him. Mrs. Jex wept with joy at sight of her, vowed she was the very image of her own little Sally, who died when she was eight, and proceeded to squander on her the pent-up affections of thirty childless years. And the Little Lady, as Mrs. Jex styled her, lorded it over them all, then and thereafter, and was a factor of no small consequence in all their lives. Over the slowly regenerating tiger-cubs she exercised a peculiarly softening and elevating influence. It was exactly what they needed, and all unconsciously it wrought upon the simple savageries of their boy-natures as powerfully as did the Rev. Charles's more direct and strenuous endeavours. Both boys, in moments of excitement, which were many in the course of each day, had a habit of expression, picked up from Sir Denzil and Mr. Kennet, which was not a little startling on their juvenile lips. Eager promptly suppressed these whenever they slipped out. He knew well enough that they conveyed no special meaning to the boys beyond an idea of extra forcefulness, but, besides being unseemly, they grated horribly on his sensitive ear. As for the Little Lady, Master Jim Carron did not soon forget the effect produced on her by one of his unconscious expletives. When Dan Fell of Wynsloe got to the end of his bottle of Hollands gin sooner than he expected one dark night at the fishing, and hurled it overboard with a curse, his only feeling was one of disgust at the shortcomings of a friend in time of need. If any one had told him that he was thereby assisting in the education of little Jim Carron of Carne he would have cursed more volubly still, under the impression that he was being made game of, which was a thing he could not stand. The bottle floated ashore, tried conclusions with a log of Norway pine thrown up by the last equinoctials, distributed itself in razor-like spicules about the soft sand, and lay in wait for unwary feet. Jim, racing home one day from the bathing alongside the Little Lady, and dazzled somewhat, perhaps, by the gleam of the little crimson robe and the damp little mane of flowing hair, set incautious foot on one of the razor spicules, jerked out an energetic and utterly unconscious "Damn!" and bit the sand. The Little Lady heard the word, but missed the cause. "Oh!" cried she, in a shocked voice, and sped away to her own apartment, and began to dress with trembling sodden pink fingers in extreme haste, as though clothing might possibly afford a certain amount of protection against the ill effects of flying curses. By the time she had got on her tiny pink petticoat, a peep round the corner showed her her brother and Jack kneeling by the fallen utterer of oaths and curses, and she began to fear something had happened. She had little doubt that punishment had promptly overtaken the sinner. But she liked the sinner in spite of his sin, and she stole back to see what was the matter. That it was something serious was evident by Charles's knitted brows as he bent over the foot which Jim held tightly between his hands. His lips were pinched very close, and his brown face was mottled with putty colour, and the sand below was red. The indurated little pad, hard as leather almost with much running on the sands--for the boys scoffed at shoes--was badly sliced and bleeding freely, but the worst of it was that the treacherous spicule had broken off short and stopped inside and they had no means of getting it out. "Rags, Gracie," said Eager, at sight of the tearful face and clasped hands and pink petticoat, and she turned and sped, over sands that rocked like waves beneath her feet, to her dressing-room, and back with an armful of garments and a handkerchief the size of his hand. He folded the handkerchief into a square pad, and ripped something white into strips and bound the foot tightly, issuing his orders as he did so. "Jack, get into your things and run for Dr. Yool, and tell him to go to the house. Tell him there's glass inside that must come out. Gracie, put on your frock and sit here with Jim. I'll get some things on, and then I'll carry him home!" And the Little Lady struggled mistily into her things behind Jim's back, and then sat down alongside him without speaking. "Doesn't hurt a bit," said Jim, through clenched teeth and whitened lips. The Little Lady sniffed and looked at the distant sea. "Tell you it doesn't hurt," said Jim again. The Little Lady made no response. And presently--"Whew!" said Jim, with a frightful twist of the face, trying by instinct the other tack, "ah!--o-o-oh!"--but all to no purpose. The Little Lady's soft heart might be wrung, but at present she could not bring herself to speak to this dreadful sinner. "Now," said Eager, running up. "Stand up, Jim. Put your arms round my neck. Now your feet up, so, and off we go. I must get old Bent to make sandals for you youngsters. We can't have this kind of thing, you know. It'll be ten days before you can use that foot, old man." "Damn!" "Jim!" And the Little Lady fell solemnly into the rear. She would not speak to him for two whole days, though she did not mind sitting within sight of him in the side of a sand-hill, and she silently allowed him to instruct her in the art of making sand waterfalls. But the current of her usual merry chatter was frozen at the fount, and the unconscious Jim could make nothing of it. On the third day, tiring of an abstinence that was quite as irksome to herself as to her victim, she broke the ice by informing him of the painful fact that he was doomed to everlasting punishment. She put it very shortly and concisely. "Jim," she said, "you'll go to hell." "Um?" chirped Jim cheerfully, glad to hear her voice once more, even at such a price. "An' why?" "'Cause you swear." "Ho! Very well! So will HE"--the emphatic use of the third person singular in the boys' vernacular was always understood to stand for Sir Denzil Carron of Carne--"and so will Kennet, and so will Dr. Yool." "I don't care about any of them," said Grace impartially, "unless, perhaps, Dr. Yool. I do rather like him. But it will be such a pity for you." The prospect did not seem to trouble him greatly, perhaps because his views on the subject were not nearly so clearly defined as hers. "Oh, well, I won't if you don't like," he answered cheerfully. "Thank you," said the Little Lady; and from that time, simply to oblige her, and from no great fear of direr consequences, he really did seem to do his best to avoid the use of any words which might offend her. He even went so far as to assume an oversight of his brother's rhetorical flights, and many a pitched battle they had in consequence. These encounters were so much a part of their nature that Eager found it impossible to stop them entirely. They had fought continually since ever they could crawl within arm's length of one another. Where other boys might have argued to ill-temper, these two simply closed without wasting a word, and having settled the momentary dispute, _vi et armis_, were as friendly as ever. They both possessed fiery tempers, and had never seen or dreamt of the necessity of controlling them. But on the other hand, they never bore malice, and the cause of dispute, and the blows that settled it, were forgotten the moment the god of battle had awarded the palm. They were very closely matched, and no great bodily harm came of it, though to the spectators it looked fearsome enough. Bit by bit, utilising and turning to best account their natural powers and proclivities, Eager got hold of them, to the point at all events of inducing their feet into more reasonable upward paths. But as to coming one step nearer to the reading of Sir Denzil's puzzle, he had to acknowledge completest failure. He studied the boys, from his own intense interest in them, as no other had ever had the opportunity of studying them. And he discussed his observation of them with Sir Denzil time and again. But, so far, there were no ultra indications of disposition in either of them so marked as to offer any reasonable basis for deduction. For men without a single common view of life, he and Sir Denzil had become quite friendly. A verbal tussle with the old heathen, in which each spoke his mind without reserve, always braced him up, just as the boys' more primitive method of argument seemed to do them good. The old gentleman always greeted him, over a pinch of snuff, with an expression of regret that he had not yet succeeded in settling the matter out of hand by drowning one of his pupils. "Well, Mr. Eager," he would say, "no progress yet?" "Oh, plenty. We're improving every day." "H'mph If you'd only drown one of them for me----" "I've a better use for them than that." "I doubt it. Ill stock on either side, though I say it." "As the twig is bent----" "Break one off and I'd thank you. Here is possibly a further complication,"--tapping with his snuff-box a small news-sheet he had been reading when Eager came in. "What is that, sir?" "That fool Quixande has got into a mess in Paris--got a sword through his ribs." "Quixande?" queried Eager, not perceiving the relevancy of the matter. "He has no issue--none that can inherit, that is. One of those whelps is his only sister's son and so comes in for the title. Which?" "H'm, yes. It's mighty awkward. I suppose you couldn't make one of them Earl of Quixande and the other Carron of Carne?" "It would be a solution. But which? Which? Such matters are not settled by guesswork." "We can only wait and see." "If Quixande dies we cannot wait--the succession cannot." "For his own sake we'll hope he'll pull through. He may repent of his sins." "Quixande?"--with raised brows, and a shake of the head. "You don't know him." "If I did, I'd try to bring him to his senses." "Waste of time. With these cubs you may be able to do something, though I doubt it. Quixande's past mending." "No man is past mending till he's dead. Perhaps not then----" "Ah!"--with a pinch of snuff and a wave of the hand, "A hopeful creed, but with no more foundation than most others. It would, however, undoubtedly commend itself to Quixande on his death-bed." "A hopeful creed is better than a hopeless one," said Eager, with emphasis. "Undoubtedly, if you admit the necessity of such things." "Thank God, I do." "Well, well! However--what you are doing for those boys should benefit one of them, though it's thrown away upon the other." "And if you never solve the puzzle?" "If one of them dies I accept the other in full. That's the solution." There were times when all Eager's knocking on the great front door was productive of no result whatever. Then he would go round to the back and interview Mrs. Lee, but never with any satisfaction. "Ay?" she would say to his statement, straightening up from her work, arms akimbo, and gazing steadily at him with her dark eyes. "Maybe they're out." But he had never met Sir Denzil out, nor had any of the villagers ever encountered him, and Dr. Yool said brusquely that both the old gentleman and his gentleman were probably lying dead drunk in the upper rooms. Eager never mentioned these abortive visits to Sir Denzil, and there was never anything in his appearance to justify Dr. Yool's assertions. CHAPTER XII MANY MEANS Eager spread his nets very wide for the capture for higher things of these two callow souls cast so carelessly into his hands. Carelessly, that is, on the part of Sir Denzil. For his own part he believed devoutly in the Higher Hand in the great game of life, and never for a moment doubted that here was a work specially designed for him by Providence. He put his whole heart into the matter, as he did into all matters. He felt himself very much in the position of a missionary breaking up new ground, except, indeed, that here were no old beliefs to get rid of. It was absolutely virgin soil, and he felt and rejoiced in the responsibility. Perfect little savages they were in many respects, and their training had to begin at the very beginning. Manners they lacked entirely, and their customs were simply such as they had evolved for themselves in their free-and-easy life on the flats, Their beliefs were summed up in a wholesome fear of Sir Denzil and his representative Mr. Kennet. These two were to them as the gods of the heathen; powers of evil, to be avoided if possible, and if not, then to be propitiated by the assumption of graces--such as unobtrusiveness, and if observed, then of meekness and conformability--which were no more than instantly assumed little masks concealing the true natures within, which true natures found their full vent and expression in the wilds of the sand-hills and the untrammelled freedom of the shore. Old Mrs. Lee was a power of another kind, on the whole benevolent; provident, at all events, and not given to such incomprehensible outbreaks of anger and punishment as were the others at times. They had known no coddling, had run wild with as little on as possible--and in their own haunts with nothing on at all--since the day they could crawl out of the courtyard down to the ribbed sand below. They were hard as nails, and feared nothing, except Sir Denzil and Mr. Kennet. Eager's first and most difficult work was to break them off their evil habits--their natural lust for slaughter and destruction, the perpetual resort to fisticuffs for the settlement of the most trifling dispute, the use of language which conveyed no meaning beyond that of emphasis to their own minds, but which to other ears was terribly revolting. Just as, if he had had a couple of wild colts to take to stable, he would have found it better to lead them than to drive, so he strove to win these two from the miry ways and pitfalls among which a shameful lack of oversight had left them to stray. He forced no bits into their mouths, laid no halters on their touchy heads. He just won their confidence and liking, till they looked up to him, trusted him, finally worshipped him, and followed, unquestioning, where he chose to lead them. And--Providence or no Providence--they could not have fallen into better hands. Charles Eager was one of the newer school, a muscular Christian if ever there was one, rejoicing greatly in his muscularity, and as wise as he was thorough in his Master's work. He had pulled stroke in his boat at Cambridge, and when he went there had looked forward to the sword as his oyster-opener. And so he had given much time to fitting himself adequately for an army career. He would have backed himself to ride, or box, or fence with any man of his time; and he had so unmistakable a bent for mechanics, and was so skilful a hand with lathe and tools, that there could not be a moment's doubt as to which branch nature designed him for. And then, when he had perfected himself for the way he had chosen, a better way opened suddenly before him. Without a sign of the cost, he renounced all he had been looking forward to all his life, and dedicated himself wholeheartedly to the greater work. All that he had acquired, however, with so different an end in view, remained with him, and helped to make him the man he was; and it was into such hands that, by the grace of God, these two wild Carron colts had fallen. A missionary, when he sets out to turn his unruly flock from their old savageries, must, if he understands human nature and his work, provide other and less harmful outlets for the energies resulting from generations of tumult and slaughter. Eager taught his young savages boxing on the most scientific principles, and made the gloves himself. He taught them fencing with basket-hilted sticks, constructed under his own eyes by the old basket-weaver in the village. Prompt appeal to arms was still permitted in settlement of their endless disputes; but the business was regularised, and tended, all unconsciously on the part of the combatants, to education. For their inexhaustible energies he found new and much-appreciated vent in games on the sands. And if these were crude enough performances, compared with their later developments familiar to ourselves, they still had in them those elements of saving grace which all such games teach in the playing--self-control, fair-play, honour And these be mighty things to learn. In the summer they played cricket. The bat and ball Eager provided; the stumps he made himself. He also instructed them in the mysteries of hare-and-hounds, which chimed mightily with their humour, especially when he supplemented it with a course of Fenimore Cooper. They became mighty hunters and notable trackers, their natural instincts and previous training standing them in excellent stead. In the winter the flats rang to their shouts at football and hockey, crudely played, but mightily relished. And always, in and alongside their play and in between, but so deftly administered that it seemed to them but a natural part of the whole, their education proceeded by leaps and bounds. They drank in knowledge unawares, and learned intuitively things that mere teaching is powerless to teach. When he found them they were simply self-centred and selfish little savages--each for himself, and heedless of anything outside his own skin; and their manners and customs were such as naturally fitted their state. As their minds opened to the larger things outside, and they began to be drawn away from themselves, their natural proclivities came into play. Like hardy wild-flowers, their rough outer sheaths began to open to the sun, revealing glimpses of the better things within. And, all unconsciously to herself or to them, little Grace Eager was the sun to whom, in the beginning, their expansion was due. Eager, watching them all with keenest interest, used to say to himself that she was doing as much for them as he, if not more. She was so novel to them, so altogether sweet and charming. She supplied something that had hitherto been a-wanting in their lives, and of whose lack they had not even been aware, until she came into them, and made them conscious of the want by filling it. Now and again at first, and presently almost as a matter of course, the tiger-cubs were invited up to Mrs. Jex's cottage for a homely meal, after some hotly contested game on the sands or some long chase after the tricky two legged hare or astute and elusive Redskin. And, in the beginning, Indian brave who knew no fear, but knew almost everything else that was to be known in his own special line, and cunning hare and vociferous hound, and tireless champion of the bat and hockey-stick, and valiant fighters on all possible occasions, would sit mumchance and awkward, watching the Little Lady, with wide, observant eyes, as she dispensed her simple hospitalities with a grace and sweetness that set her above and apart from anything they had ever known. And then she was so extraordinarily different indoors from what she was on the sands. There, at cricket or hockey, or football, she danced and shrieked with excitement, and was never still for a moment. Here, at the table, she suddenly became many years older, knew just what to do, and did it charmingly,--ordering even the Rev. Charles about, and beaming condescendingly on them all, from the lofty heights of her experience and knowledge of the world as learned from her aunts in London. Painfully aware of deficiency, they began to strive to fit themselves for such occasions, repressed themselves into still greater awkwardness and silence, fought one another afterwards on account of too obvious lapses from what they considered proper behaviour and unkind brotherly comment thereupon, but all the time unconsciously absorbed the new atmosphere and by degrees became able to enjoy it without discomfort. "Jim, my dear boy," she would say, on occasion, "are you comfortable on that chair?" A quick nod from the conscious and obviously uncomfortable Jim. "You shouldn't just nod your head, my dear. You should say, 'Yes, thank you,' or 'Not entirely,'--as the case may be. It's rude just to nod." "Not entirely, then," blurted Jim, with a very red face, and many times less comfortable than before. "I'm sorry, but they're all the same, and if you sit on the sofa you can't reach the table. And if you sit on the floor I can't see you." "I can do, thank you." "Who lives in that cottage we passed to-day, down along the shore by the Mere?" asked Eager, by way of diversion. "Old Seth," from both boys at once, much relieved at being put into a position to answer a question that had nothing to do with themselves. "Old Seth? I've not come across him yet. Old Seth what?" "Old Seth Rimmer. He's a Methody," said Jack. "It's a lonely place to live, away out there. Has he a wife,--any children?" "Mrs. Rimmer's always in bed." "An invalid. I must call and see her, Methody or no Methody." "And there's young Seth and Kattie." "I saw the girl peeping out after you'd passed. She's a nice-looking girl. I shall call and get to know her," said the Little Lady decisively. "We'll go and make their acquaintance to-morrow," said her brother. "What does Mr. Rimmer do? Fishing?" A nod from Jim. "Keeps his boat up in the river, two miles further on." "And the Mere? Any fish there?" "Ducks in winter. We got one once." "Had to lie in the rushes all day," said Jack, with a reminiscent shiver. "It was a good duck," said Jim. And the next afternoon the Rev. Charles set out for the cottage, with Grace skipping about him in search of treasure-trove of beach and sand-hill. It was a stoutly-built little wooden house, standing back in a hollow of the sand-hummocks, and its solitariness was enhanced by reason of the vast and lonely expanse of Wyn Mere, which lay just behind it. The shore of the Mere was thick with reeds and rushes. The long unbroken stretch of water silently mirroring the blue sky, with its margin of rustling reeds, possessed a beauty all its own, but something of sadness and solemnity too. Grace, standing on top of a sand-hill, with a high tide dancing merrily up the flats on the one side and the long silent Mere on the other, put it into words. "How unhappy it looks, Charlie! I like the sea best. It laughs." "It laughs just now, my dear, but sometimes it roars and thunders." "All the same, I like it best. This other looks as if it drowned people." "I don't suppose it ever drowned as many people as the sea, Gracie." "Then it seems as if it thought more of those it has drowned. I wouldn't live here for anything. I'd cut a hole through the sand-hills and let the sea wash it all away." "Better see what Mr. Rimmer thinks of it before you do that." And he laid a restraining hand on her arm as the door of the wooden house opened quietly, and a man came out backwards and stood for a moment with his head bent towards the door as if he were listening. His hair was long and of scanty grizzled gray. He wore a blue jersey and high sea-boots, and carried his sou'wester in his hand. Then he straightened up, clapped on his hat, and strode away round the house towards the Mere. Eager jumped down the sand-hill and ran after him, and caught him before he reached a flat-bottomed skiff drawn up on to the sedgy shore. "Is this Mr. Rimmer?" he asked. "Seth Rimmer, at yore service, sir." And there turned on them a fine old gray face, laced and seamed with weather-lines that told of bitter black nights on the sea, when the spume flew and the salt bit deep. The blue eyes, very deep under the bushy gray brows, were shrewd and kindly; the mouth, half hidden in gray moustache and beard, was set very firmly. "He looked good but hard. But I liked him," was Gracie's comment afterwards. "Yo' be the new curate," he said at once, taking in Eager in a large comprehensive gaze. "Charles Eager, the new curate, Mr. Rimmer. How is your wife to-day? I understand----" "Ay, hoo's bed-rid. We're Wesleyans, but hoo'll be glad to see yo' and th' little lady." And he turned back to the house. "An' what's yore name?"--to Gracie. "Grace Eager." "Yore sister?" "All I have left. There have been many between, but we are the last, and so we're very good friends." "An' so ye should. A fine name yon, Grace Eager. An' what are yore graces, an' what are yo' eager for, missie?" "She's full of all graces and eager for all good, like her big brother. Isn't that it, Gracie?" laughed Charles, to cover her confusion at so pointed a questioning. She nodded and squeezed his hand and skipped by his side, and so they came back to the house. "Someun to see yo', Kattrin," he said, as he opened the door and ushered them in. It was but a small room and the furnishings were of the simplest, but everything was spick-and-span in its ordered brightness. There was a small fire with a kettle on the hob, and in one corner was a bed with a sweet-faced woman in it, propped up with pillows so that she could look out of the window. "Yo're welcome, whoever yo' are," she said. "It's new curate, Mr. Eager, an' 's li'll sister." "Ech, a'm glad to see yo', sir, though we don't trouble church much here. Nivver set eyes on last curate, nivver once." "I apologise for him, Mrs. Rimmer; perhaps he found the long walk through the sand too much for him." "Ay; he wasn't much of a man," said Rimmer quietly. "Yo're a different breed, I'm thinking. Yo're tackling them Carron lads, an' that's a good job. I seen yo' about the sands with 'em." "Yes; they're worth tackling, aren't they?" "Surely; and yo're the man for the job! Now I mun get along or I'll miss tide. Yo'll excuse me, an' if yo'll talk a while with the missus she'll be glad. She dunnot get too many visitors. Good-bye, wife!" And he went out quietly and tramped sturdily away to his work. "He's a right good mon," said his wife fervently. "And he aye bids me good-bye in case he nivver comes back, and he aye says a prayer for me outside the door. It's a bad, bad coast this," she said, with a sigh. "It took his feyther, an' his grandfeyther, and it's aye on his mind that sometime it'll take him too. An' it may be onytime." "He's in better hands than his own, Mrs. Rimmer," said Eager. "Aye, I. know, and so was they, an' it's no good thinking o' death and drownin's till you see 'em. But I seen so many it's not easy to get away from 'em, lying here all alone." "Where's your little girl?" asked Gracie suddenly. "Kattie? She should be in by this. She stops chattin' wi' th' neebors now an' then. It's lonesome here for childer, yo' see. I sometimes wish we was nearer folk, but we've lived here all our lives an' I wouldna like to move now." "And who are your nearest neighbours, Mrs. Rimmer?" asked Eager. "Oh, there's plenty across Mere--Bill o' Jack's, an' Tom o' Bob's o' Jim's, an'----" She stopped and lay listening. "That's her now." And presently a girl's voice lilting a song drew near from the direction of the Mere. The door opened and she came in carrying a pail of milk. "'Ello!" she jerked in her astonishment, and then lapsed into silence. "Where's your manners, Kattie?" from her mother, as she stood staring at the strangers, especially at Gracie. "How are you, Kattie?" said Eager. "I'm the new curate. This is my sister, Gracie. She saw you the other day and wanted to see you again." Kattie put out the tip of a red tongue and smiled in rich confusion. She was a remarkably pretty child, with large, dark-blue eyes, a mane of brown hair tumbling over her shoulders, and the healthy red-brown skin of the dwellers on the flats. Like the boys of Carne, she obviously wore only what she had to wear of necessity. In her shy grace she was like a startled fawn, looking her first on man, and ready to bound away at smallest sign of advance. "Where's yore manners, lass?" said her mother again; and Kattie drew in the tip of her tongue and twisted her little red mouth and stared at Gracie harder than ever. "Suppose you two run away out and make one another's acquaintance," said Eager to Gracie, "and I'll have a chat with Mrs. Rimmer." And the girls slipped out contentedly. "Ech, but you do wear a lot o' clothes!" jerked Kattie, the moment they got outside. "It must be jolly to wear so few," said Gracie enviously. "When I've lived here a bit perhaps I can too. You see I've always been used to wearing a lot." "They're gey pratty, but I'd liever not carry 'em." "Is that your boat? Do you row it all by yourself?" "O' course! I'll show you." And she sped down to the long-prowed shallop from which she had just landed, shoved it off, tumbled in, regardless of wet feet and display of bare leg, and sent the little craft bounding over the smooth dark mirror, her vivid little face sparkling with delight at this opportunity for the display of superior accomplishment. Grade meanwhile danced with desire on the sedgy shore. "Me too, Kattie! Come back and take me too! What a love of a little boat! And you row like a man." "I can scull too," cried Kattie vauntingly, and drew in one oar and slipped the other over the stern and came wobbling back with a manly swing that seemed to Gracie to court disaster. "I like the rowing best," she gasped, as she crawled cautiously in over the projecting prow. "Let me try one." And thereafter they were friends. "I like Kattie," said Grade exuberantly, as she danced along home holding Charlie's hand. "She's a pretty little thing, but she seems very shy." "She's not a bit shy when you know her. And she can row and swim, and once she shot a duck on the Mere. And she knows where they lay their eggs, and . . ." And so, for better or worse, Kattie Rimmer came into the story. CHAPTER XIII MOUNTING For the polishing of gems the dust of gems is necessary. And for the training of boys other boys are essential. Eager cast about for other boys against whom his colts might wear off some of their angles. Some men have a wonderful power of attracting and drawing out all that is best in their fellows. Personal magnetism, we call it, and it is a mighty gift of the gods. Charles Eager had that gift in a very remarkable degree, and with it many others that appealed to the most difficult of all sections of the community. Boys hate being made good. The man who can lift them to higher planes without any unpleasant consciousness thereof on their part is a genius, and more than a genius. We have, some of us, met such in our lives, and we think of them with most affectionate reverence and crown them with glory and honour, though, all too often, the world passes them by with but scant acknowledgment. But diamond-dust alone will polish diamonds. Softer stuff is useless, and the supply of boy-diamond-dust in that neighbourhood was small. So he laid masterful hands on what there was. Just outside Wyvveloe, between that and Wynsloe, lay Knoyle, the residence of Sir George Herapath, the great army contractor. He was a man of sixty-five, tall, gray-bearded, genial, enjoying a well-earned rest from a life of many activities. He had married late, and had one son, George, aged fifteen, and one daughter, Margaret, a year younger. His wife was dead. The firm of Herapath & Handyside, and its trade-mark of interlocked H.'s, was as well known in army circles as the War Department's own private mark. During the Napoleonic wars its business dealings were on a gigantic scale. It fed and clothed and sheltered armies in many lands, and carried out its every undertaking to the letter, cost what it might. The first consideration with the firm of H. and H. was perfect fulfilment of its obligations. None knew better how much depended on its exertions--how helpless the most skilful commander was unless he could count absolutely on his supplies. H. and H. never failed in their duty, and the firm reaped its reward, both in honours and in cash. But to both Herapath and his partner Handyside the honour they cherished most of all was the fact that their name and mark stood everywhere as a guarantee of reliability and fair dealing. Handyside died five years after his partner's baronetcy, and left the bulk of his money to Herapath, having no near relatives of his own. And Sir George, desirous of rest before he grew past the enjoyment of it, took into partnership his right-hand man, Ralph Harben, who had grown up with the firm, strung another H on to the bar of the first big one, which represented himself--so that the mark of the firm came to look something like a badly made hurdle--and left the direction of affairs chiefly in his hands. Eager, in the course of his duties, had called at Knoyle and had met with a congenial welcome. George and Margaret Herapath would be useful to his cubs now that they were licking into shape. His thoughts turned to them at once. There had been another boy with them at church the previous Sunday, he noticed. The more the merrier. He would rope them all in, for games good enough with four are many times as good with eight or more. "Yes, I heard you'd tackled the Carron colts," smiled Sir George. "Bit of a handful, I should say, from all accounts." "I like bits of handfuls," said Eager. "I've got good material to work on. I shall make men of those two." "You'll have done a good work. And how can Knoyle be of service to you, Mr. Eager?" "In heaps of ways. I want your two in our games. Four are really not enough for proper work. Who's the new youngster I saw with you on Sunday?" "That's young Harben, my partner's son. His father is in Spain just now, and his mother's dead, so I've taken him in for a time." "The more the merrier! I wish you had another half-dozen." "H'm! I don't. My two keep me quite lively enough." "I want you to let me break my two in on some of your horses, too. You've got more than you can keep in proper condition, and the old curmudgeon at Carrie flatly refuses to buy them ponies. I've done my best with him, and riding's about due with my two. They can fence and swim and box. They beat me at running. Boating's no good here, and wouldn't be much use to them later, anyway. They're for the army, of course. Your boy, too, I suppose?" "Yes, George is for the army, and young Harben too, I judge, from his talk. Suppose you bring your two up, say, to-morrow, and they can have a fling at the ponies, and----" "And you can form your own judgment of them," said Eager, with a quiet chuckle. "That's all right. They're presentable, or I should not have proposed it, and yours will help to polish them, and that's what I want." "I see. To-morrow morning, then, and they can tumble off the ponies in the paddock to their hearts' content." So--three very excited faces, and three pairs of very eager eyes, as they pressed up the avenue to Knoyle next morning, and keen little noses sniffing anxiously for ponies, for Gracie was not going to miss such a chance, and as for the boys, wild mustangs of the prairies would not have daunted them. Life--what with swimming and fencing and boxing and cricket and hockey and football--had suddenly widened its bounds beyond belief almost, and now, the crowning glory of horses loomed large in front. Picture them in their scanty blue knee-breeches and blue jerseys, no hats, but fine crops of black hair, their eager, handsome faces the colour of the sand, with the hot blood close under the tan, bare legs and homely leather sandals, black eyes with sparks in them; Gracie in a little blue jersey also and a short blue frock, bare-legged and in sandals too, for life on the sands had proved altogether too destructive of stockings; on her streaming hair, and generally hanging by its strings, a sunbonnet originally blue, but now washing out towards white. "There they are!" gasped Gracie, dancing with excitement as usual. "In that field over there----" "And here are Sir George and the others. Remember to salute him, boys; and look him straight in the eye when he speaks to you. He's a jolly old boy." "And, for goodness' sake, don't fight if you can possibly help it!" said Gracie impressively. "I congratulate you on your colts, Mr. Eager," said Sir George, as they followed the youngsters to the paddock. "They're miles ahead of what I expected. I had my misgivings, I confess, but now they are gone. You've done wonders with them already." "Good material, Sir George. But there's plenty still to do. You can't cure the neglect of years in a few months." "If any man could, you could. They're a well-set-up pair, and look as fit as fiddles." "Their free life on the sands has done that for them at all events. If they've missed much, they have also gained much, and, by God's help, I'm going to supply the rest. There are the makings of two fine men there." "You'll do it. Why! What are they up to now?" "Only fighting," laughed Eager. "They rarely dispute in words, always _vi et armis_. Jack! Jim! Stop that! What's the matter now?" as the boys got up off the ground with flushed faces and dancing eyes. "A mighty good-looking pair!" thought Sir George to himself. "And which is which and which is t'other, I couldn't tell to save my life." "I was going to help Gracie over, and he cut in," said Jack. "I wanted to help her over too," grinned Jim. "Sillies!" said Gracie. "I didn't need you. I got through. Oh, what beauties!" as a bay pony and a grey came trotting up to their master and mistress for customary gifts and caresses. "This is mine," said Margaret, kissing the soft dark muzzle. "Dear old Graylock! Want a bit of sugar? There then, old wheedler!" And Graylock tossed his head and savoured his morsel appreciatively, with a mouth that watered visibly for more. "Lend me a bit, Meg," begged her brother. "I forgot the greedy little beggars. You spoil 'em. Here you are, Whitefoot." "Bridles only, at present, Bob," said Sir George, to a stable-boy who had come down laden with gear. "Let the youngsters begin at the beginning. Now you, Jack and Jim--I don't know which of you's which--have a go at them barebacked, and let's see what you're made of." And the boys flung themselves over the ponies with such vehemence that Jim came down headlong on the other side while Graylock danced with dismay; and Jack hung over Whitefoot like a sack, but got his leg over at last, with such a yell of triumph that his startled steed shot from under him and left him in a heap on the grass. But they were both up in a moment and at it again. "Twist yer hand in his mane," instructed Bob, "an' hang on like the divvle. There y'are! Now clip him tight wi' yer knees an' shins. You're aw reet!" And Jim and Graylock went off down the paddock in a series of wild leaps and bounds, while Bob ran after them administering counsel. "Loose yer reins a bit! Don't tickle him wi' yer toes! . . . Stiddy then! Go easy, my lad! Don't fret 'im!"--as Jack and Whitefoot bore down upon him in like fashion. "They'll ride aw reet," he said, as he came back crab-fashion to the lookers-on, with his eyes fixed on the riders. "Stick like cats, they do. And them ponies is enjoying theirselves." "Promising, are they, Bob?" asked Sir George. "They're aw reet. They'll ride," said Bob emphatically. When the horsemen wore round towards the group they were in boastful humour. "I was up first," from Jack. "I was off first," from Jim. "Ay--on ground!" "Nay, on pony! You were sitting on grass." "You fell over t'other side." "I'll fight you!" And in a moment they were off their steeds and locked in fight, to the great scandal of Gracie. "Oh you dreadful boys!" And she danced wildly about them. "Didn't I tell you----" "Stop it, boys!" And Eager laughingly shook them apart. "The old Adam will out," he said to Sir George, who was enjoying them mightily. "They've no lack of pluck. Keep 'em on right lines, Mr. Eager, and you'll make men of them. Now then, who's for next mount? Rafe, my lad, what do you say to a bareback?" "Sooner have a saddle, sir," said young Harben, and sat tight on the paling. "You, missie?" as Gracie danced imploringly before him. "Saddle up, Bob. . . . Well, I'm----!" as the ponies went off down the field again with the boys struggling up into position. "Oh, they'll do all right. I like their spirit." When the ponies were captured, Gracie had her ride under Margaret's care, and expressed herself very plainly on the subject of side-saddles and the advantages of being a boy. And the boys took to saddle and stirrups as they had to the swimming. "They'll ride," was Bob's final and emphatic verdict again. Sir George insisted on their waiting for midday dinner, an experience which some of them enjoyed not at all and would gladly have escaped. Gracie sat between Jack and Jim, and got very little dinner because of her maternal anxieties on their account. By incessant watchfulness on both sides at once she managed to keep them from any very dreadful exhibition of inexperience, but she got very red in the face over it, and rather short in the temper, which perhaps was not to be wondered at considering the state of her appetite and the many tempting dishes she had no time to do justice to. The boys scuffled through somehow, with very wide eyes--to say nothing of mouths--for hitherto untasted delicacies. Mrs. Lee's commissariat tended to the solidly essential, and disdained luxuries for growing lads. Muter Harben made the Little Lady's ears tingle more than once with an Appreciative guffaw at her protégés' solecisms, and if quick indignant glances could have pierced him he would have suffered sorely. As it was, Margaret frowned him back to decency, and George intimated in unmistakable gesture that punishment awaited him in the privacy of the immediate future. But Jack and Jim, the prime causes of all this disturbance, ate on imperturbably, and followed the directions, conveyed by their monitress in brief fierce whispers and energetic side-kicks, to the best of their powers, so long as these imposed no undue restraint on the reduction of two healthy appetites. And more than once Eager caught Sir George's eye resting thoughtfully on the pair, and knew what he was thinking. "I suppose you know them apart?" he asked quietly, one time when Eager caught him watching them. "Oh yes, I know them, but it took me a few days." "A deuced troublesome business! No wonder the old man's gone sour over it. I don't see what he can do." "He can do nothing but wait." "And it's bitter waiting when the sands are running out." On the way home the Little Lady blew away some of the froth of their exultation at their own prowess, by her biting comments on their shortcomings at table. But this new and grand addition to their lengthening list of acquirements overtopped everything else, and they exulted in spite of her. "We stuck on barebacked, anyway," said Jim; "and what does it matter how you eat?" "It matters a great deal if you want to be gentlemen," said Gracie vehemently. "We're going to be soldiers," said Jack. CHAPTER XIV WIDENING WAYS Next day, when the Rev. Charles was putting all his skill into underhand twisters for the overthrow of Jack, who, to Jim's great exasperation, had got the hang of them and was driving them all over the shore, and Gracie was dancing with wild exhortation to her brother to get him out, as it was her innings next--she stopped suddenly with a shout and started off towards the sand-hills. And the others, turning to see what had taken her, found the Knoyle party threading its way among the devious gullies, and presently they all came cantering through the loose sand to the flats. "Morning, Mr. Eager; we've come for a game. Will you have us?" cried Sir George exuberantly. "Rather! It's just what we wanted. You'll play, sir?" "That's what I came for. Renew my youth, and all that kind of thing! See to the horses, Bob. Eh, what?"--at sight of the lad's eager face--"Like to take a hand too? Well, see If you can tether 'em--away from those bents. Bents won't do them any good. Now then, how shall we play?" "Oh, Carne versus Knoyle," said Eager. "All to field, and Margaret goes in for both sides." Knoyle beat Carne that time, thanks to George and Bob. Sir George "renewed his youth, and all that kind of thing." And young Ralph Harben entered vigorous protest every time he was put out, and argued the points till George punched his head for him. After the game the boys were allowed to take the stiffness out of the ponies' legs. And altogether--as the first of many similar ones--that was a memorable day. Eager rejoiced greatly in the success of his planning, for the close contact with these other bright and restless spirits had a wonderful effect on his boys. They toned down and they toned up, and it seemed to him that he could trace improvement in them each day. He had his doubts now and again of the effects of young Harben on his own two. The lad was difficult and had evidently been much spoiled at home. Eager quietly did his best to remedy his more visible defects, and George Herapath seconded him with bodily chastisement whenever occasion offered. Eager and Sir George were sitting resting in the side of a sand-hill one day, and watching the younger folk at a game in which Ralph was perpetually disputatious odd-man-out. It seemed impossible for him to get through any game without some wrangle. Eager made some quiet comment on the matter and Sir George said: "Yes, he's difficult. He's the only child, and his mother spoiled him sadly. When she died his father sent him to a second-rate school, and this is the result. But I hope he'll pull round. We must do what we can for him. Harben is in treaty for the Scarsdale place just beyond Wynsloe, so you'll be able to keep an eye on the boy. Your two are marvels. I never see them squabbling." "Oh, they never squabble. They just fight it out, and no temper in it. They're really capital boxers, and they're coming on in their fencing." "You'll make men of those two yet." "I'll do my best." "And if the old man dies? What will happen then?" "God knows. It's as hard a nut as I ever came across." "That infernal old woman up at Carrie could crack it if she would, I suppose?" "I have no doubt; but she won't speak. And I'm afraid no one would believe her if she did." "Deuced rough on the old man!" And Sir George lapsed into musing, and watched the riddles of Carne as they sped to and fro, as active as panthers and as careless as monkeys of the trouble they represented. One day when they were all hard at it, Gracie suddenly sped from her post, as her manner was, heedless of the shouts of the rest, darted in among the hummocks, and came back dragging the not very reluctant Kettle Rimmer and insisted on her joining the game. And Kattie, nothing loth, succeeded in cloaking her lack of knowledge with such untiring energy that she proved a welcome recruit and was forthwith pressed into the company. For where numbers are few and more are needed, trifling distinctions of class lose their value. She was very quick and bright, too, and soon picked up the rules of the games; and when she was not flying after balls she was watching Margaret and Gracie with worshipful observant eyes, and assimilating from them a new code of manners for her own private use. Gracie's usual behaviour in games, indeed, was that of a pea on a hot shovel. But Margaret, no whit behind her in her zeal for the business on hand, bore herself with something more of the dignity and decorum of a young lady in her fifteenth year--except just on occasion, when, at a tight pinch, everything went overboard and she flung herself into things with the abandon of Gracie and Kattie combined. Eager watched her with great appreciation. He could divine the coming woman in the occasional sweet seriousness of the charming face, and rejoiced in her as he did in all beautiful things. And George Herapath, with much of his father in him, was always a tower of good-humoured common sense and abounding energy. He backed up Eager's efforts in every direction, licked Harben or the tiger-cubs conscientiously, as often as occasion arose, and brought to their play the experience and tone of the public schoolboy up to date. He was at Harrow, and his house was closed on account of an outbreak of scarlet fever, which all except the higher powers counted mighty luck and all to the good. They soon dropped into the way of all bathing together of a morning, before starting their game--all except Sir George, whose sea-bathing days were over, and who preferred cantering over the sands with them, all racing alongside like a pack of many-coloured hounds, shouting aloud in the wild glee of the moment, splashing through the shimmering pools in rainbow showers, tumbling headlong into the tideway, and then in dogged silence breasting fearlessly out to sea, while Sir George rode his big bay into the water after them as far as his discretion would permit. And at times they sped far afield over the countryside, when, if Jack and Jim were hares, they were never caught, and if they were hounds they picked up an almost invisible scent in a way that did credit to their powers and to Mr. Fenimore Cooper. They might be beaten at cricket or hockey, whose finer rules they were always transgressing, but in this wider play none could come near them. It took the new-comers a very long time to distinguish between them; and even when they thought they had got them fixed at last, they were as often wrong as right, for the boys delighted to puzzle them, and even went the length of refusing to answer to their right names and assuming one another's with that sole end in view. "They beat me," laughed Sir George, more than once. "I never know t'other from which, and when I'm quite sure of 'em I'm always wrong." "They do it on purpose," said Gracie. "They're little rascals, but they're as different as different to me. I can't see any likeness in them, except that they're both rather bad at times--but nothing to what they used to be, I assure you, Sir George." "Well, well I Perhaps I'll get to know them in time, my dear; and meanwhile you just wink at me when they're making game of the old man." "I will," said Gracie solemnly. "But they don't really mean any harm, you know. It's just their fun." From his upper windows in the house of Carne that other old man watched them also, with scowling face and twisted heart. The sands were running--running--running, and he was no nearer the solution of his life's puzzle than he had been ten years ago. Farther away if anything, for babies die more easily than lusty, tight-knit, sun-tanned boys who never knew an ailment, and grew stronger every day. But there were keener eyes still, sharpened by a vast craving love for the wakening souls committed to his care, watching them all the time, and eager for every sign of growth and development. Love blinds, they say, and so it may to that which it does not wish to see. But Love is a mighty revealer, too, and Doubt and Dislike attain no revelations but the shadows of themselves. Charles Eager studied those boys with many times the eagerness and acumen that he had ever brought to his books. Here was a living enigma, and he found it fascinating. But the weeks grew into months, and he found himself not one step nearer its solution. In all their moods and humours, in their outstanding virtues and their no less prominent defects, they were one. They had grown up in the equal practice of qualities drawn, on the one side at all events, from the same source. Bodily fear seemed quite outside their ken. They lacked the imagination which pictures possible consequences behind the deed. If they wanted to do a thing, they did not stop to consider what might come of it, but just did it. The consequences when they came were accepted as matters of course. They were generous to a fault. They would, indeed, fight between themselves for the most trifling possessions, but it was from sheer love of fighting. They never kept for the mere sake of having, and most of their belongings they held in common--jointly against the world as they had known it. And this feeling of being two against outsiders had undoubtedly fostered the communal feeling. As their circle widened and others were admitted into it, the feeling extended to them. They possessed little, but what they had all were welcome to. And they were by nature eminently truthful. To their grandfather or Mr. Kennet they might on occasion assume masks which belied their feelings, but that was in the nature of a ruse to mislead an enemy who by gross injustice had forced them into unnatural ways. To them it was no more acting a lie than is the broken fluttering of a bird which thereby draws the trespasser from its nest. They were in a state of perpetual war with the higher powers, and to them all things were fair. Their faults were the natural complements of these better things. They were headstrong, reckless, careless, hot-tempered--defects, after all, which as a rule entail more trouble on their owners than on others, and are therefore regarded by the world with a lenient eye. For many months Eager found no shade of difference in their development. They had started level, and they progressed in equal degree, and progressed marvellously. The virgin soil brought forth an abundant harvest. But then, in spite of all, it was good soil, and ready for the seed. The grim old man at Carne sent now and again for Eager, and received him always, snuff-box in hand, with a cynical, "Well, Mr. Eager, no progress?" "Progress, Sir Denzil? Heaps! We are advancing by leaps and bounds. We are doing splendidly." "You've still got the two of them, I see,"--as though they were puppies Eager was trying to dispose of. "Still got the two, sir, and I couldn't tell you which is the better of them. There are the makings of fine men in both." "Then you're just where you were as to which is which?" "Just where you have been these ten years, sir." "You have seen more of them in ten weeks than I've seen in ten years." "They are developing every day, but so far they run neck to neck. But, candidly, Sir Denzil, I scarcely know what signs one could take as any decisive indication of their descent. Heredity is a ticklish thing to draw any certain inference from. It plays odd tricks, as you know." "I had hoped somewhat from those swimming lessons----" and he snuffed regretfully. Eager laughed joyously at his disappointment. "Why, they swam like ducks the very first day. You really have no idea what fine lads they are, sir. They are lads to be proud of." "Ay--if there was but one." "It's a thousand pities we can't find the right way out of the muddle without thinking of such things." "We cannot," said the old man grimly. CHAPTER XV DIVERGING LINES As time went on, however, Eager's careful oversight of the boys began to note slight points of divergence in the lines of their characteristics, which had so far run absolutely side by side. Jack, for instance, began to develop a somewhat tentative kind of self-control. His brain seemed to become more active. At times he even attempted to subject Jim to discipline for lapses from his own view of the right way of things. And Jim took him on right joyously; and the pitched battles, which Eager had been striving to relegate to the background, were renewed with vehemence, within the strict limits of the new rules thereto ordained. Gracie was distressed at this falling away. But Eager bade her be of good cheer, and watched developments with interest. Meanwhile, the boys muscles and skill in self-defence grew mightily. There was no doubt about it, Jack was harvesting his grain the quicker of the two--so far as could be seen, at all events. The difference between them when instruction was to the fore was somewhat marked. Jack gave his mind to it and took it in, evinced a desire to get to the bottom of things, even asked questions at times on points that were not clear to him. Jim, on the other hand, would sit gazing at the fount of wisdom with wide black eyes which presently wandered off after a seagull or a shadow, with a very visible inclination towards such things--or towards anything actively alive--rather than towards the passivity entailed by the pursuit of abstract knowledge. Then again, Jack succeeded at times in forcing himself to sit quite still for whole minutes on end, while Jim, after a certain limited number of seconds, was on the wriggle to be up and doing. And the moment he was loosed, the quiescence of seconds had to be atoned for by many minutes of joyous activity. They were, in fact, beginning to take the lines of the good scholar and the bad. And yet Eager confessed to himself a very warm heart for careless, happy-go-lucky Jim. "The other looks like making the deeper mark," he said to himself. "But I can't help loving old Jim. He's all one could wish except in the brain. Maybe it will come!" As to any deductions to be based upon these growing differences between the boys, he could find no sound footing. "Jack seems undoubtedly the more able," he would reason it out, "but what does that point to? Is it the high result of two blue-blooded strains, or the enriching of a blue blood with a dash of stronger red? Which would the stronger blend run to--activity of mind or activity of body?" The latter, he was inclined to think, but found it impossible to pronounce upon with anything like certainty, and realised that every other indication would inevitably lead to the same result. The riddle of Carne would never be read thus. Time and Providence might cut the knot and give to Carne its rightful heir. Pure reason, or the questionable affirmation of interested parties, never would. From that point of view he saw his commission from Sir Denzil doomed to failure. But that, after all, he said to himself, with a bracing shake, was, from his own point of view, of minor consequence. The great thing was to make men of his boys and fit them for the battle of life to the best of his powers and theirs. CHAPTER XVI A CUT AT THE COIL Twice, during the autumn, it seemed as though the riddle would be solved, or at all events the knot cut. George Hempath and young Harben had gone off to school, but the reduced company still took its fill of the freedom of the sands. Sir George and Margaret rarely failed, and play and work progressed apace. Boating on that coast was all toil and little pleasure. With a tide that ran out a full mile, the care of a boat, unless for strictly business purposes, would have been a burden. Old Seth Rimmer and his fellows kept their craft in the estuaries up Wytham way and at Wynsloe, where, with knowledge of the ever-shifting banks and much labour, it was possible to get out to sea in most states of the tide. But Eager, desirous of an all-round education for his cubs, managed to teach them rowing in Kattie Rimmer's shallop on the Mere, to Kattie's great delight, since there she shone at first alone. And it was there they made the acquaintance of Kattie's brother, young Seth, a great loose-limbed giant of nineteen or so, who helped his father at the fishing at times, and at times went ventures of his own on less respectable lines. A good-humoured giant, however, who would lie asprawl on a sand-hummock by the Mere-side, and laugh loud and long at new-beginners' first clumsy attempts at rowing, and more than once waded waist-deep into the water to set right-side-up some unfortunate whose ill-applied vigour had capsized the crank little craft. Some of young Seth's doings were a sore discomfort and mortification to the older folk in the little wooden house. But he took his own way outside with dogged nonchalance, bore himself well towards them except on these sore points of his own private concerns, and worshipped Kattie. Old Seth, you see, had always ordered his little household on the strictest--not to say straitest--lines of right and wrong. Young Seth, when he grew too big for bodily coercion, kicked over the lines and took his own way, in spite of all his father and mother could do to prevent him. And his way led at times through strange waters and in strange company. He was away sometimes for days on end, and then, whether the little house lay basking in the sunshine or shaking in the gale, his mother would lie full of fears and prayers, and his father was quieter than ever in the boat, and Kattie, but half-comprehending the matter, would feel the gloom his absences cast and would question him volubly when he returned, but never got anything for her pains. He would do anything for her or for any of them--except give up the ways he had chosen. When the south-wester screamed over the flats for days at a time it set the ribbed sands humming with its steady persistence. Games were impossible then, and Eager's ready wit devised a means of turning the screamer to account. He turned into Bob Ratchett's shed one day and said: "Bob, I want some wheels--two big ones four feet across, and two about a foot smaller, and the tires of all must be a foot wide." "My gosh, them's wheels! What'n yo' want 'em for?" grinned Bob admiringly. "I'm going to make a boat--" "Aw then, passon!--a boat now!" "To run on the sands." "Aw!" gasped Bob, and eyed "passon" doubtfully. "You can make them?" "Aw! I can mek 'em aw reet, but----" "All right, Bob. You set to work, and I'll see to the rest." "Passon's" boat became a great joke in the village. But bit by bit he worked it out, got his materials into shape, and with his own hands and the assistance, in their various degrees, of the boys and the excited oversight of Gracie, fitted it together into a somewhat nightmare resemblance to the skeleton of a boat. Jack stuck pretty steadily to the novel work. Jim and Gracie fluttered about it, questioning, suggesting, doubting, went off for a game, came back, danced about, hindering more than helping, but always convinced in their own minds that but for them that boat would never have been built. The two large wheels, rather wide apart, supported it abeam forward, and between them he stepped a stout little mast carrying jib and mainsail. The smaller wheels astern moved on a stout pin and acted as rudder, actuated by a. long wooden tiller. A rough wooden frame abaft the mast offered precarious accommodation for passengers. And when at last, after many days, it was finished, the villagers crowded round it, and joked and laughed themselves purple in the face over the oddest and most unlikely craft that coast had ever seen. Then willing hands took the ropes, and dragged it out of the village and through the gullies of the sand-hills with mighty labours, and so, at last, to the edge of the flats not far from Carne. And there Eager climbed in by himself, with not a few fears that the doubts and laughter of the village might find their justification in him. There was a strong wind blowing with a steady hum right on to the flats from the south-west. Eager hauled up his sails, lay down in the meagre cockpit, tiller in hand, and the scoffers started him off with a run. They looked for him to come to a stop when they did; but instead, to their never-dying amazement, the wind gripped the sails, the clumsy-looking boat sped on, faster and faster, bumping over the hard-ribbed sands, rushing through the wind-rippled pools, and they stood gaping. In less than five minutes it was at the bend of the coast where it turns to the north-east, a good three miles away, and then, marvel of marvels for such a craft, just as they expected it to disappear round the corner, it ran up into the wind, came round on the other tack with a fine sweep and without a pause, and was rushing back towards them before their gaping mouths had closed. "Passon's" boat was a huge success, it raised him mightily in their opinions and inclined them to give ear even to his suggestions for the abolition of stinks, and to the boys and the rest it gave a new zest to life. Day after day, whenever the wind served, they were at it, and looked forward to the gray windy days as they had never done before. Sir George had been away when the boat was launched, but he rode over the first morning after he got home, and after watching it for a time ventured on board himself, with Eager at the helm. "Man!" he said, as he tumbled out after the run--blown and breathless and considerably shaken up--"that's wonderful! You ought to have been an engineer." "So I am," laughed Eager, "and on a larger scale than most." From the windows of Carne, Sir Denzil watched the novel craft careering wildly over the flats, and snuffed more hopefully. "A sufficiently dangerous-looking toy, Kennet. It seems to ate that it might quite well kill one or more of them if it upset at that speed. Let us hope for the best!" And he and Kennet watched the new goings-on with interest. Incidentally, the sand-boat one day came very near to solving the riddle of Carne on the lines of Sir Denzil's highest hopes. There was something in the wild headlong motion that appealed with irresistible power to Jim's half-tamed nature. The mad bumping rush, with now one huge wheel barely skimming the ground, now the other; the hoarse dash through the pools, when, if the sun shone, you sat for a moment in a whirling rainbow of flying drops the keen zest and delicious risks of the turn; the novel sense of power in the lordship of the helm; these things thrilled him through and through, and he could not get too much of them. He made himself the devoted slave of the sand-boat--spent his spare time in anointing its axles with all the fat he could coax, or otherwise procure, from Mrs. Lee, till the great wheels almost ran of their own accord, scraped the long tiller till it was as smooth as a sceptre--handled the ropes till they were as flexible almost as silk. It was he who insisted on naming the boat _Gracie_--"because it jumped about so," but in reality, of course, because the word Gracie represented to him the brightest and best that life had yet brought him. They had all tried their hands at names. Sir George--_The Flying Dutchman_, because it certainly flew and was undoubtedly broad in the beam; Margaret--_The Sylph_, because it was so tubby; Gracie--_The Sand-fly_, because it flew over the sand; Jack, for abstruse reasons of his own--_Chingachgook_; Eager was quite content to leave it to them. But no matter what the others decided on, Jim always called it _Gracie_--to the real Gracie's immense satisfaction; and as he talked Gracie ten times as much as all the rest put together, _Gracie_ it finally became. When wind and weather put the Gracie out of action she lay under the walls of Carne, with folded wings and docked tail--for Jim always carried away the tiller into the house, for love of the very feel of it, and partly perhaps in token of proprietorship. It stood in a corner where he could always see it, and slept by his bedside. No one, however, ever thought of meddling with the sand-boat. In the first place, she belonged to Mr. Eager, and they held "passon" in highest esteem. And, in the second place, Carne was a dangerous place to wander round at night. Mr. Kennet had a gun, with which he was no great shot, indeed, but even the wildest bullet may find unexpected billet in the dark. It happened, one afternoon in the late autumn, that Eager was away on the confines of his wide sheepfold, about his Master's business. It had been wet and blusterous all day, and the boys were desultorily employed on their books in a corner of the kitchen; Jim with the _Gracie's_ polished tiller twisting fondly in his hand, as a devoted lover toys with a ribbon from his mistress's dress; Jack somewhat absorbed in the doings of Themistocles and Xerxes at Salamis, in a great volume which he had abstracted from the library the day before. The polished tiller wriggled more and more restlessly in Jim's hand, as though it longed to be up and doing. He got up at last and strolled out just to have a look at the rest of the _Gracie_. Jack was too busy sinking Persian galleys in Salamis Bay to pay any heed to anything nearer home. Jim found the wind blowing half a gale. It swept round the house with a scream, and seemed to meet again full on the _Gracie_, who quivered and throbbed as though longing to be off. The jib had been wrapped round the forestay, and the wind, working at it as though of one mind with him, had loosened the clew, and it was thrashing to and fro in desperate excitement. He climbed aboard, fitted the tiller, and sat in vast enjoyment. Why, it would only need a pull at a rope here and there, and he believed she would be off. The rain had hardened the soft sand, and there was a good slope down to the ribbed flats below. He had always longed for a run all by himself, and he knew the ropes and how to steer her as well as Mr. Eager did. In sheer self-defence he captured the thrashing sheet and twisted it round a cleat. The jib untoggled itself from the stay, bellied out full, and the boat began to move slowly down the slope. The joy of it sent the blood up into Jim's head and set it spinning. He would have a run--just a little run--all by himself, just to prove to himself that he could do it. The boat went rocking down the slope. He hauled at the halyard in a frenzy, and the mainsail went jumping up. He made it fast, grabbed his beloved tiller, and the _Gracie_, with a roll and a shake, bounded away up the flats. Faster and faster she went, the ribbed sands and the wind-whipped pools seemed to sweep along to meet her and fly beneath her all-devouring wheels, till Jim's head was spinning faster even than they. He yelled and waved his arms above his head, till the tiller banging him in the ribs nearly knocked him overboard and recalled him to his duties. He was at the bend in the coast before he knew It. He threw his weight on to the tiller to bring her round on the curve which would allow her head to fall off on the other tack, but fooled it somehow, and instead she flew off at a tangent straight for the sea. "Ecod!" said a watcher--for other purposes--in the sand-hills. "'Oo's gooin' reet to stick-sands!"--and started at a run after the _Gracie_. Jim always stoutly maintained that if he had only had room enough he would have got her round all right. But space and time were wanting. All in a moment the solid ground seemed to vanish from below the whirling wheels. One wheel sank down into comparative space, the other spun on horizontally; the _Gracie's_ nose went down out of sight into a squirming mass of slimy sand, and Jim was flung head over heels into the midst of it. He got his head up with his mouth full of watery sand which half choked him. Before he had coughed it out, fear and the clammy sand gripped him together. It clung to him like thick treacle. His feet and legs were bound and weighted--he could not move them. And when his arms got into it the deadly sand clasped them tightly. It was up to his chest, like cold dead giant arms folding him tighter and tighter in a last embrace, or the merciless coils of a boa-constrictor. Presently it would have him by the throat, and the stuff would run into his mouth and choke him, and he would die and they would never find him. He tried to shout, with little hope of any one hearing; but it was all he could do. The clammy death was at his throat, and the pressure on his chest was so great that his shout was of the feeblest. Another minute and the riddle of Carne would have been solved. But feeble as was his shout, it was answered. The runner on the sands came panting up, and the sight of his anxious face was to Jim as the face of an angel out of heaven--and a great deal more, for Jim had never troubled much about angels. "Help--Seth!"--he bubbled, through the sandy scum. "Ay, ay, sir!" panted young Seth, and jumped on to the half-submerged _Gracie_, whipped out his knife from its sheath at his back, and sliced the stays of the mast and had it out in a twinkling. "Lay holt!"--and he shoved it towards the disappearing Jim. "And hang on tight, if it teks yore skin off! That's it. Twist rope round yo'!" And he dug his heels deep into the firm sand beyond, and laid himself almost flat as he hauled at his end of the mast. The sweat broke in beads on his forehead, and rolled down his red face like tears, before the sands would let go their prey. But, inch by inch, he gained on them, while Jim gave up his legs for lost, so tightly did the sands hold on to them. Inch by inch he was drawn back to life, joints cracking, sinews straining. It seemed impossible to him that he should come out whole. But there--his neck was clear, his chest, his body, his knees, and then, with a "swook" from the "stick-sands" that sounded like a disappointed curse, the rest of him came out and he lay spent on the solid earth beyond. He remembered no more of the matter, but learned afterwards how young Seth, after thriftily staking the mast in the sand and lashing the _Gracie_ to it with a length of rope to prevent her sinking out of sight--had taken him over his shoulder, not quite sure whether he was dead or alive, but face downwards, so that if he were alive some of the sand and water might run out of him, and had set off with him so, for Carne. CHAPTER XVII ALMOST SOLVED Jack, when presently he had seen the little affair at Salamis to a satisfactory conclusion, missed Jim and went out in search of him. He poked about the courtyard without finding him, and only when he got outside, and saw that the _Gracie_ was gone, did it occur to him that Jim had gone with her. Then in the distance he saw young Seth Rimmer coming heavily over the sands with something over his shoulder, and he ran to meet him. From his windows Sir Denzil had watched the sand-boat go racing wildly up the flats, and had wondered at its solitary occupant. He could see by the size of him that it was one of the boys, but could not tell which. No matter which: if the thing would only come to grief and make an end of either of them, what an ending of trouble! What a mighty relief! Then his way would be clear. And as he mused upon it, he saw the distant boat go over, and his bitter old heart quickened a beat or two with grim hope. Then he saw the runner on the sands, and knew that something serious was amiss, and his hopes grew. And when, after what seemed a long, long time, one came running heavily towards Carne, with a load upon his shoulder, he believed his wish was realised. He went down the stairs and into the kitchen, and spoke to old Mrs. Lee for the first time in ten years. "One of the boys is drowned. Young Rimmer is bringing home his body." And he eyed the old woman like a hawk, with an evil light of hope in his eye. "Naay!" said she, not to be trapped. "Old fool!" he said to himself, but kept an unmoved face and opened his snuff-box. Young Seth came labouring into the courtyard, with Jim on his shoulder and Jack at his heels. Sir Denzil never looked at them. He had eyes for nothing but old Mrs. Lee's face, which was hard-set and the colour of gray stone. "What's happen't, Seth Rimmer?" she croaked as he came, peering through half-closed eyes at him and his burden. "Sand-boat ran i' stick-sand. Nigh got 'im." "Is hoo gone?"--as Seth laid the limp body on the table. "Nay, I dunno' think hoo con be dead; but it wur sore wark getting' 'im out--nigh pooed 'im i' two--an' hoo swallowed a lot o' stuff." "Hoo'll do," she said, after a quick examination. "Yo' leave 'im to me." And she "shooed" them all out of the kitchen and proceeded to maltreat Jim tenderly back to life. "H'm!" said Sir Denzil disappointedly, as he climbed the stairs again--"a good chance missed! D--d fools all! . . . I wonder if Lady Susan's mother would have kept as quiet a face! . . . Well . . . The deuce take one of them! . . . Which doesn't matter." Young Seth waited till the tide washed up over the quicksand, and then with assistance from the village dragged the _Gracie_ back to life and trundled her forlornly home. And Sir Denzil sent him out a guinea by Mr. Kennet--not for saving Jim's life, but for bringing back the means whereby one or other of his grandsons might still possibly come to a sudden end. Jim, for the first time since he began to remember things, lay in bed for three whole days, but, thanks to Mrs. Lee's anointings and rubbings, suffered no further ill-effects from his adventure--except, indeed, many a horrible nightmare, in which he was perpetually sinking down into the clinging sands, with his hands and feet fast bound and the scum running into his mouth; from which he would awake with a howl which always woke Jack with a start, and the ensuing scrimmage had in it all the joy of new life. Eager, when he hurried up to see Jim and hear all about it, exacted a promise from them both never to sail the _Gracie_ single-handed again, and was satisfied the promise would be kept. Sir Denzil, hearing he was there, sent for him, and received him as usual. "Well, Mr. Eager, you came near to solving the puzzle for us." "I can't tell you how sorry I am, sir----" "Yes, 'twas a good chance missed. If that fool Rimmer had only let Providence work out its own ends----" "Thank God, he was on the spot, or I'd never have forgiven myself. Providence will see to the matter in its own time and in its own way, Sir Denzil, and neither you nor I can help or thwart it." "I'm not so sure of that. If I had my way now----" "Providence always wins," said Eager, with a shake of the head and a cheerful smile. "If we blind bats had our own way, what a muddle we would make of things. You would surely regret it in the end, sir." CHAPTER XVIII ALMOST SOLVED AGAIN During that winter two events happened, much alike in their general features, apparently quite disconnected, and yet not at all improbably resulting the one from the other. Either happening might well have solved the problem of Carne. Jack, as we have seen, had developed a certain taste for information. He could lose himself completely in the doings of Hannibal or Alexander, and found the mighty realities of history--or what were accounted as such--more to his taste than the most thrilling imaginings of the story-tellers. Jim found them good also--as retailed to him by Jack--and would sit by the hour, with open mouth and eyes and ears, taking them all in at second-hand. But sit down to one of the big books, and worry them all out for himself, he would not. And so it came that more than once when Jack was over head and ears in some delightfully bloody action of long ago, Jim would ramble off by himself in search of amusement more to his taste, until such time as the sponge, having filled itself full, should be ready to be squeezed. That was how he came to be strolling along the beach one lowering windy afternoon, seeking desultorily in the lip of the tide for anything the waves might have thrown up. It was always an interesting pursuit, for you never knew what you might light on. In former times Jack had been as keen a treasure-hunter as himself, but now he was digging it out elsewhere and otherwise. They had never found anything of value, though many a thing of mighty interest was brought ashore by the waves. A girl's wooden doll, and a boy's wooden horse, for instance, had nothing very remarkable about them; but found within a dozen yards of each other on the beach after a storm, they set even boys not used to very deep thinking, thinking deeply. Coco-nuts and oranges, and a dead sheep, and an oar, and a ship's grating--that was about as much as they ever came across, except once, when it was the awful body of a dead black man, and then they ran home, with their heads twisting fearfully over their shoulders, as fast as their legs could carry them; and saw the hideous thick white lips of him for many a night afterwards. But though you sought in vain for years, there was always the chance of coming upon a casket of jewels sooner or later; and if you never actually found it, the possibility of it was delightfully attractive. Jim ambled on, kicking asunder lumps of seaweed which might conceal treasure, stooping now and again to pick up and examine some find more closely, and so came to the bend in the coast out of sight of Carne. And there he stopped suddenly, like a pointing dog. Away along the shore, and as close in as the long shoal of the sands would permit, was a large fishing-smack. Between her and the beach a boat was plying, and when it grounded a string of men was rapidly passing its contents up into the sand-hills. Jim guessed what that might mean. His ephemeral reading in books of adventure told him these must be smugglers, and he had unconsciously gathered from unknown sources the fact that out beyond there lay the isle of Man, a place given up to freebooters and such-like gentry, though he had never happened to come across any so near home before. A matter therefore to be cautiously inquired into on the most approved Fenimore Cooper lines. So he slipped in among the sand-hills and threaded a devious path parallel with the sea, now and again crawling like a snake up a hummock, and peering through the wire-grass to ascertain his position and make sure that the boat had not gone off.. That was his only anxiety, that she would get away before he had the chance of a nearer view. He was delighted with his adventure. Here was treasure-trove better than all the tantalising possibilities of the beach. Here was something real and new to set against Jack's musty, but still exciting, stories of old Greeks and Romans. He felt rich. The short day was drawing in. The gray of the dusk was in his favour. He wriggled up a soft bank on his stomach, and found himself with a fair view of what was going on. He sank flat among the wire-grass and watched, and was Robinson Crusoe, and Deerslayer; and Chingachgook, and many others, all in one. A growl of rough voices down below, the "slaithe" of spades in the soft sand, and he saw little barrels and neat little corded packages being rapidly buried, each in a little hole by itself, and evidently according to some recognised plan. The boat had probably made another trip to the smack, for barrels and packages came pouring in and were deftly put out of sight. The light was so dim that he could not recognise any of the busy workers, and their occasional growls gave him no clue. He was wondering vaguely who they might be, when a heavy hand descended on the back of his neck and lifted him up like a kicking rabbit. "Dom yo' I What d' yo' want a-spyin' here for?" His captor dragged him down into the centre of operations, and Jim found himself inside a wall of scowling, hairy faces. "Now then, who are yo', and what'n yo' want here?" The long rough fingers reached well round his throat, and he was almost black in the face, and sparks and things were beginning to dance before his eyes. He clutched at the big hand and tried to pull it away. "I'm Jim Carron," he gasped. "Yo' wunnot be Jim Carron long, then. Dig a hole there big enow to take him," he ordered--and Jim saw himself lying in it, alongside the little barrels and packages. "I meant no harm. I only wanted to see," he urged sturdily. "Yo' seen too much. I' th' sand yo'll see nowt an' yo'll talk none." "I won't in any case. I promise you." "We'se see to that, my lad. Yo'll be safest i' th' sand, and so 'ill we." And Jim, glancing scare-eyed up at the wall of rough face; would have been mightily glad to be back in the warm kitchen at Carne with Jack and his old Greeks and Romans. He looked very small and helpless among them. Some of them had little lads at home, no doubt; but there was much at stake, and it would never do to leave him free to talk. On the other hand, running goods free of duty was one thing, and killing a boy was another, and there arose a growling controversy among them as to what they should do with him. It was ended suddenly by one wresting him masterfully from his original captor, and dragging him by the scruff of the neck towards the boat. It was emptied of its last load and ready to return for another. His new keeper tossed him in, tumbled in after him with three others, and pulled out to the smack. CHAPTER XIX WHERE'S JIM? Jack, having lived through an unusually exciting time in the neighbourhood of Carthage, came back to himself in the kitchen at Carne and the first thought of Jim he had had for over an hour. "Hello! Where's old Jim?" he asked. "I d'n know. Yo'd better seek him or he'll be into some mischief. I nivver did see sich lads." And Jack strolled out to look for Jim. He was in none of his usual places, and Jack stood gazing vaguely along the shore, wondering where he could have got to. He might have gone to Mr. Eager's. It was not usual with them of an afternoon, for then Mr. Eager was busy with his parish affairs. But Gracie was always an attraction--the warmest bit of colour in their lives--and she made them welcome no matter when they came. As he turned to trot away inland, with a last look along the shore, a fishing-smack beat out from behind the distant bend and went thrashing out to sea with the waves flying white over her bows. "Glad I'm not there, anyway," said Jack, and galloped away among the hummocks towards Wyvveloe. "Oh, Jack, I _am_ so glad to see you. I've got so tired of myself. Mrs. Jex has been showing me how to make crumpets, and you shall have one as soon as Charles comes in. If they're not very good you mustn't say so, because they're the first I've made, you see. What? Jim? No, he's not been here. What a troublesome boy he is!--always getting himself drowned or lost. Dear, dear, dear! What with you two, and Charles, and the vicar falling ill again--my hair will go quite white, I expect! And there's that Margaret never been near me all day, and if it hadn't been for Mrs. Jex and the crumpets I don't know what I would have done. . . . Thank you, Mrs. Jex, I'll come at once; but we must keep them hot for Charles, they do lie so heavy on your stomach when they're cold. He can't be long, Jack. You sit down there and look at that book." And the Little Lady went off to butter her crumpets, while Jack, at the end of his tether as regards Jim and his possible whereabouts, lay down contentedly on the hearthrug and lost himself in the book. When Eager came in at last, tired with a long round among outlying parishioners, he was surprised to find the boy there and still more surprised to learn why he had come. "Jim's a jimsa! He's always getting himself lost," was Gracie's contribution to the discussion, but it did not help much. "Where can he have got to, Jack?" asked Eager, with a touch of anxiety. "When did you see him last?" "I was reading in the kitchen, and when I looked up he'd gone. I looked in all the places I could think of, and then I came here." And that did not help much, either. "Well, I must have a bite. I'm famished. And then we'll have another look. Maybe he's at home by this time. He wouldn't be likely to go to Knoyle, would he?" Jack shook his head very decidedly. "He wouldn't go alone." "Seth Rimmer's?" "I d'n know. He might." "We'll call at Carne and then go along to Rimmer's. Oh-ho! hot buttered crumpets and coffee! And the crumpets made by a master-hand, unless I'm very much mistaken!" For Gracie had dumped them down before him herself with an air of triumphant achievement, and now stood waiting his first bite with visible anxiety. "Excellent!" said the Rev. Charles, smacking his lips. "If there's one thing Mrs. Jex does better than another, where all is well done, it's hot buttered crumpets." "They're not at all a bit heavy?" "Heavy? Light as snowflakes--hot buttered snowflakes! That's what they are. How do you find them, Jack?" "Fine!" "I _am_ glad. I was afraid they'd turn out a bit----" "You don't mean to tell me you made them!" "Yes, I did. All myself--with Mrs. Jex just looking on, you know!" "Well! Two more, please, just like the last! Best crumpets I ever tasted in my life!" And so they were--because Gracie made them; and the Rev. Charles would have pledged himself to that though they had choked him and given him indigestion for life. He had a pretty bad night of it--but that might have been the coffee,--but most likely it was Jim. For presently they all set off in the riotous wind, Gracie skipping joyfully in the pride of accomplishment, and went first to Carne, hopeful of finding Jim there. But Mrs. Lee greeted their inquiry with a tart: "'Oo's none here. Havena set eyes on him sin'---- Didn' yo' go out tegither?"--to Jack. "No, I d'n know when he went." "Where can th' lad ha' gotten to now? 'Oo's aye gett'n' i' mischief o' some kind." "We'll go along to Seth Rimmer's, Mrs. Lee. He may have gone down there," said Eager. "'Oo mowt," she admitted unhopefully. And they set off in the windy darkness, with the roar of the sea and the long white gleam of the surf on one side, and on the other the fantastic hummocks of the sand-hills, which looked strangely desolate by night and capable of holding any mystery or worse. Eager had wanted the children to wait at Carne till he returned, but they would not hear of it. Gracie was enjoying the spice of adventure. Jack wanted to find Jim. Eager himself was beginning to feel anxious, though he would not let the others see it. "If he is not here--where?" he asked himself, as they ploughed through the sand and the crackling seaweed. And he had to confess that he did not know where to look next. The grim desolation of the sand-hills made him shiver to think of. Suppose the boy had damaged himself in some way and was lying there waiting for help. A thousand boys might lie there unfound till help was useless. A glimmer in the distant darkness, and presently they were at Rimmer's cottage. Kattie opened to them--both the door and her big blue eyes--and stood staring. "Hello, Kattie! Is Jim here?" asked Eager cheerfully. "Jim? No, Mr. Eager." "Who's it, 'Kattie?" asked her mother anxiously, from her bed; for over the lonely cottage hung the perpetual fear of ill-tidings. "It's only us, Mrs. Rimmer." And they stepped inside. "Ech! Mr. Eager, and the little lady, and----" "We're looking for Jim, and were hoping he might have come along here." "Jim?" said Mrs. Rimmer, looking steadfastly at Jack. "I nivver con tell one from t'other; but none o' them's been here to-day." "No? I wonder where the boy can have got to. Is Seth about? Maybe he could help us." "Seth's away," said Mrs. Rimmer briefly; and Eager did not ask her where. For "Seth's away" was an understood formula, and meant that young Seth was off on one of his expeditions, and the less said about it the better. "I don't quite know where to look next," said Eager anxiously. "Can you suggest anything, Kattie?" But Kattie shook her mane of hair and stared back at them nonplussed, and presently said: "Jim knows his way; he couldn' get lost." "I'm just afraid he may have got hurt somewhere--twisted his ankle, or something of that kind, and be lying out in the sand-hills; and it's as black as pitch outside, and going to be a bad night." "Puir lad, I hope not," said Mrs. Rimmer, with added concern in her face. "'Twill be a bad night for them that's on th' sea." Her face, in its setting of puckered white nightcap, looked very frail and anxious. "But they're aw in His hands, passon." "And they couldn't be in better, Mrs. Rimmer," he said, more cheerfully than he felt. "Ay, I know; but I wish my man were home. Whene'er th' wind howls like that, I aye think of them that's gone and them that has yet to go." "Not one of them goes without His knowing. Your thoughts are prayers, and the prayers of a good woman avail much." And he pressed the thin white hand, and Gracie kissed her and Kattie, and they went out into the night. The wind hummed across the flats till their heads hummed in unison. More than once the drive of it carried them off their course, and brought them up against the ghostly hummocks, where the long, thin wire-grass swirled and swished with the sound of scythes. The grim desolation beyond struck a chill to Eager's heart, as he imagined Jim lying out there, calling in vain for help against the strident howl of the gale. There was just the possibility that he had got home during their absence, however; so, in anxious silence, they made for Carne. "No, I hanna seen nowt of him," said Mrs. Lee, and stood glowering at them with set, pinched face. "I had better see Sir Denzil. Shall I go up? You wait here with Jack, Gracie." And he went off along the stone-flagged passage, and climbed the big staircase, and knocked on the door leading to Sir Denzil's rooms. Mr. Kennet opened to him at last, with so much surprise that he was, for the moment, unable to recognise the unexpected visitor, and stood staring blankly at him. "I want to see Sir Denzil, Kennet--Mr. Eager. One of the boys is missing----" "Eh?--Ah!--Missing?--Tell him. Will you wait a moment, sir?" And Eager concluded from his manner that Mr. Kennet had been enjoying himself, and hoped that it might not be, in this case, like man like master. Sir Denzil, however, received him with most formal politeness. "You bring me good news, Mr. Eager?" he asked, snuffing very elegantly. "Who is it is a-missing?" "We can't find Jim, Sir Denzil." "Ah--Jim! Let me see--Jim! Now, which is Jim?" "Jim is the hero of the sand-boat----" "Ah--and is the boat gone again?" "No, sir. They both pledged themselves not to go out in her alone again." "Ah--pity! Great pity! I rather counted upon that monstrosity to solve our difficulty. However, Jim is missing!" And he tapped his snuff-box thoughtfully. "And what do you infer from that, Mr. Eager?" "I'm afraid he may have gone off into the sand-hills and possibly got hurt. We've been down to Seth Rimmer's----" "Ah--Rimmer! That was, if I remember rightly, the young dolt who bungled the matter so sadly last time. Well?" "He has not been there. Jack was reading in the kitchen----" "Jack? Ah--yes. That's the other one." "And Jim was with him. Jim wandered out, and we cannot find any trace of him." "Hm! . . . Ah! . . ." And the grim old head nodded thoughtfully over another pinch of snuff. "Well, I don't really see what we can do to-night, Mr. Eager. If, as you suggest, he is lying hurt somewhere in the sand-hills, it would take an army to find him, even in the daytime. We must wait and see. If we don't find him"--hopefully--"if he is gone for good, I shall feel myself under deepest obligation to him or to whoever is concerned in the matter. It leaves us only one boy to deal with--the wrong one, of course--but still, only one." "Why the wrong one, sir?" "If the other has been purposely removed, as is possible, it is, of course, in order to foist upon us the one who has no right to the position. There could be no other reason. You follow me?" "I follow your reasoning, of course; but at present we have not the slightest reason to suppose he has been purposely removed. He may be lying in the sand-hills unable to get home." "In which case he will have a very bad night," said Sir Denzil, as a fury of wind and rain broke against the windowpanes--"a very bad night." "Is there nothing we can do?" "There's only one thing I can think of." "Yes?" "Keep an eye on that old witch's face downstairs. You may learn something from it if you catch her unawares." Eager slept little that night for thinking of the missing boy. His anxious mind travelled many roads, but never touched the right one. Soon after daybreak he was on his way to Knoyle, but returned disappointed, and went on to Carne with a faint hope in him still that Jim might have returned during the night. "Any news of him, Mrs. Lee?" he asked anxiously, through the kitchen door. "Noa," said the old lady stolidly. "We none seen nowt on him." And her face was as unmoved as a gargoyle, and the gleam of her little dark eyes struck on his like the first touch of an opponent's foil. "What on earth can have taken the boy? I've been up to Knoyle, but they know nothing of him there." "Ay!" "I'll turn out all the men I can get, and we'll rake over the sand-hills." "Ay!" As he turned to go, Jack came trotting in. "I d'n know what's come of him," he said; "I've been everywhere I can think of." "I'm going to get all the help I can, and we'll search through the sand-hills, Jack." "I'll come too," said Jack. And they went away together. CHAPTER XX A NARROW SQUEAK Once aboard the smack, Jim was shoved into a small black dog-hole of a cabin forward and the door slid to and bolted. And there, all alone in the dark, he presently passed a very evil time. In due course he heard the rest of the crew come aboard. Then the anchor was pulled up, and then his head began to swim in sympathy with the heaving boat. Like most boys he had at times had visions of a seafaring life, swinging impartially between that and a military as the only two lives worth living. But the night he spent on that smack cured him for ever of the sea. It was a black night, with a stiff west wind working round into a south-west gale. They had hoped to get under the lee of the Island before the full of it caught them, but it meant strenuous beating close-hauled, and progress was slow. Before they were half-way across, about midnight, the gale was on them, and they turned tail and ran for their lives, with the great seas roaring past them and like to come in over the stern every moment. Jim knew nothing of it all. He was sick to death, and bruised almost to a jelly with bumping to and fro in that dirty black hole. While they beat up against the wind, the crashing of the seas against the bows, with less than an inch of wood between him and them, deafened and terrified him. It seemed impossible that any mere timber could long withstand so terrific a pounding. Each moment he feared to see the strakes rive open and let the ocean in. But very soon he was past caring what happened. He had never been so utterly miserable in all his life. When they turned and ran, the crash of the waves against the outside of his dog-hole lessened somewhat, but the up-and-down motion increased so that the roof and the floor alternately seemed bent on banging him to pieces. And at times they plunged down, down, down, with the water bubbling and hissing all about them till he believed they were going down for good, and felt no regret about it. How long he spent in that awful hole he did not know. Ages of uttermost misery it seemed to him. But, of a sudden, there came an end. The boat, racing over the great rollers with a scrap of foresail to give her steerage way, brought up abruptly on a bank. The mast snapped like a carrot, the roaring white waves leaped over her, dragged her back, flung her up again, worried her as vicious dogs a wounded rat. The men in her clung for their lives against the thrashing of the mighty waves, and then, not knowing at all where the storm had carried them, but sure of land of some kind from the bumping of the boat, they scrambled one by one over the bows and fought their way through the tear of the surf to the shore. All but one. He hung tight to the stump of the mast till the others had gone, each for himself and intent only on saving each his own life. Then the last man, swinging by one arm from the stump of the mast, caught at the bolt of the dog-hole and worked it back, and reached in a groping arm and dragged out Jim, limp and senseless from his final bruising when the boat struck. "My sakes! Be yo' dead, Mester Jim?" he asked hoarsely, holding the lad firmly with one arm and the mast with the other. But the sharp flavour of the gale acted like a tonic. The limp body stretched and wriggled and gripped the arm that held it. "Aw reet?" shouted the hoarse voice in his ear, and when Jim tried to reply the gale drove the words back into his throat. The boat was still tumbling heavily in the surf. All about them was howling darkness, faintly lightened by the rushing sheets of foam. Jim felt himself dragged to the side, and then they were wrestling, waist deep, with the terrible backward rush of the surf. His feet were swept from under him, but an iron hand gripped his arm and anchored him till he felt the sand again. Then a thundering wave swirled them on, and they were able to crawl up a steep, hard bank of sand on their hands and knees. They lay there panting, while the gale howled and the white waves gnashed at them like wild beasts ravening for their prey. And Jim felt cleaner and better than he had done since he boarded the smack. He turned to his rescuer and laid hold of his arm. "Who is it?" he shouted. "Me--Seth," came the hoarse reply into his ear, and he had never in his life felt so glad of a friendly voice, though he would not have known it was young Seth's voice if he had not said so. For their position was terrifying enough. It was still too dark to see where they were, except that they were on a bank, with the roar and shriek of the gale all about them. Young Seth stood up to see, if he could, what had become of the others. But he was down flat again in a moment. "I connot see nowt," he shouted. "Are we safe here, Seth?"--as a vicious white arm came reaching up the slope at them. "Tide's goin' down." So they lay and waited, and it was good for Jim that night that his life on the flats had hardened him somewhat to the weather. He was soaked to the bones, and the spindrift stung like a whip. But he was so utterly spent with his previous sickness that his heavy eyes closed, and he dozed into horrible nightmares and woke each time with a start and a sob. And then he found himself warmer, and thought the gale had slackened; but it was young Seth's burly body lying between him and the wind, and he was drawn up close into young Seth's arms, and there he went fast asleep. He woke at last into a sober gray light and a great stillness. The wind had dropped and the sea had fallen back behind its distant barriers. When he stretched and sat up he could see nothing but sand--endless stretches of brown sea-sand, with the dull gleam of water here and there. He got on to his feet and felt his bones creak as if they wanted oiling, and young Seth stood up too and kicked his legs and arms about to take the kinks out. "Where are we, Seth?" asked Jim, with a gasp. "I dunnot know. We ran like the divvle last neet. Mebbe when th' sun comes out we'll see." "Land's over yonder, anyway," he said presently. "But it's a divvle of a way and mos'ly stick-sands, I reck'n." The clouded eastern sky thinned and lightened somewhat, the sands began to glimmer, and the streaks of water gleamed like bands of steel. "We mun go," said Seth. "Sun's sick yet wi' last neet's storm. Yo' keep close to me." And they set off on the perilous journey. For a moment, as they crossed the ridge of their own sand-bank, which stood higher than its neighbours, they caught distant glimpse of yellow sand-hills very far away. Then they were threading cautiously across a wide lower level, seamed with pools and runlets, and could see nothing but the brown sea-sand. And Seth's eyes were everywhere on the look-out for "stick-sands," of which he went in mortal terror. Where the banks humped up with long rounded limbs as though giants were buried below, he would run at speed; but in the hollows between their progress was slow, because "You nivver knows," said Seth, and tried each foot before he trusted it. In one wide hollow they came on a mast sticking straight up out of the sand--like a gravestone, Jim thought--and gave it wide berth. And twice they came on swiftly flowing channels which rose to Jim's waist, and it was in the neighbourhood of these that Seth exercised the greatest caution. "They works under t' sand, here and there, you nivver knows where, an' it's that makes the stick-sands," he said, and breathed freely only when they got on to solid brown ridges again. So, step by step, they drew nearer to the yellow sand-hills, which looked so like those he was accustomed to that Jim's spirits rose. "Is that home, Seth?" he asked. "Ech, lad, no. We're many a mile from home, but we'll git there sometime." It was when that toilsome journey was over, and the sun had come out, and they were lying spent in a hollow of the yellow sand-hills, that Seth turned to Jim and said weightily: "Yo' mun promise me, Mester Jim, to forget aw that happened last neet. I dun my best for yo'; an' yo' mun promise that." "I'm afraid I can't ever forget it, Seth," said Jim solemnly, "and some of it I don't ever want to forget. But I'll promise you I'll never tell about the little barrels and things, or about you, never, as long as I live." "Well," said Seth, after ruminating on this. "That'll do if yo'll stick to it." "I'll bite my tongue out before I'll say a word." "Aw reet. Yo' see, I wur on the boat when they brought yo' aboard, but I couldn' ha' done owt with aw that lot about. 'Twere foolish to fall into their honds." About midday they came on a fisherman's hut, back among the sand-hills, and got some bread and fish, freely given when Seth explained matters--so far as he deemed necessary; and they lay on a pile of strong-smelling nets and slept longer than Seth had intended. Then, with vague directions towards a distant high-road, they set out again. "'Twere Morecambe Bay we ran aground in," said Seth, "an' they wouldn' hardly believe as we'd come across th' flats. Reg'lar suckers, they say, an' swallowed a moight o' men in their time." "And when shall we get home, Seth?" "It's a long road, but we'll git there's soon as we can," said Seth, with the weight of the journey upon him. CHAPTER XXI A WARM WELCOME For two days Eager raked over the sand-hills, from morning till night, with all the men he could press into the service, and all the ardour he could rouse in them. In long, undulating lines, rising and falling over the hummocks like the long sea-rollers, they scoured the wastes till they were satisfied that no Jim was there. Each night Sir Denzil met him, when he came upstairs to report, with a repressed eagerness which gave way to cynical satisfaction the moment he saw his face. "So!" he would say, with a gratified nod, as he helped himself to snuff with studied elegance. "No result, Mr. Eager. I really begin to think we must give him up. You are simply wasting your time and that of all your--er--friends." "Supposing, after all, the poor lad should be lying, unable to move, in some hollow----" "Let us hope that his sufferings would be over long before this!" "It is too horrible to think of. I cannot sleep at night for the thought of it." "Ah, I am sorry. You should cultivate a spirit of equanimity--as I do. If he is found--well! If he is not found, I am bound to say--better! The problem that has puzzled us these ten years is then solved--in a way, of course, though, as I think I have explained myself to you before, not in the right way. Still we have got only one boy to deal with, and we must make the best of him. I have been considering the idea of a public school. You would endorse that, I presume?" "Undoubtedly--for both of them, if we can only find Jim." "We are considering the one we have. Now, which school would you advise--Rugby, Harrow, Eton? There's a new place just opened at Marlborough. I see----" "Harrow," said Eager decisively. "They are both meant for the army, of course?" "You will speak in the plural still," said Sir Denzil, with a smile. "I cannot bring myself to think of Jim as dead and gone." "Well, well! Let us hope you have more foundation for your higher beliefs, Mr. Eager. Meanwhile, and to lose no time, I will write to my lawyer in London to have this boy entered at Harrow. What delay will it entail?" "None, I should say. The numbers are low there just now, but Vaughan will soon pull things round, and meanwhile they will stand the better chance." "They--they--they!" said Sir Denzil, eyeing him quizzically. "You really still hope, then?" "I shall hope until it is impossible to hope any longer. Have you considered the idea of his having been kidnapped, Sir Denzil?" "It has occurred to me, of course. But why should any one kidnap him?" "If it should be so--to leave the other in full possession, of course. But we have no grounds to go upon. I have made inquiries as to all the gipsies who have been within ten miles of us lately. They are all here yet, and know nothing of the boy." "H'm!" said Sir Denzil thoughtfully. "If it should be that--as you say, it would prove beyond doubt that the boy we have is the wrong one. Gad!" he said presently, "I'm beginning to have a hankering after the other. However----" Sir George Herapath had seconded all Eager's efforts to discover the missing boy. He and Margaret had ridden with the other searchers each day, and in addition had sought out every gipsy camp in the neighbourhood and made rigorous inquisition as to its doings and membership. Sir George was favourably known to the nomads as a strict but clement justice of the peace so long as they kept within the law, and they satisfied him that they had had no hand in this matter. He and Margaret were to and fro constantly between Knoyle and Wyvveloe, eager for news, or downcastly bringing none, and when Eager himself was not there it was a very crushed and sober little lady who received them with a sadness greater even than their own. "It is quite beyond me, Sir George," you would have heard her say, with a gloomy shake of the head. "What can have become of him I can't think. And we do miss him so dreadfully. I always liked old Jim, but I never liked him so much as I do now. It's just breaking Charles's heart." "It's beyond me too, Gracie," said Sir George, with a worried pinch of the brows. "Where _can_ the boy be? I'm really beginning to be afraid we've seen the last of him." "Charles says we must go on hoping for the best," said the Little Lady forlornly. "But it is not easy when you've nothing to go on." And to them, talking so, on the afternoon of the fourth day of the search, came in Eager, very weary both of mind and body, and anything but an embodiment of the hope he enjoined on others. "Nothing," he said dejectedly. "And I do not know what to do next. I'm beginning----" And then the Little Lady's eyes, which had wandered past him from sheer dread of looking on his hopelessness, opened wider than ever they had done before. "Charles! Charles!" she shrieked, pointing past him down the path. "Jim!" And she began to dance and scream in a very allowable fit of hysterics. Eager thought it was that--that her overwrought feelings had broken down, and it was to her that he sprang. But the others had turned at her words, and had run out of the cottage, and now they came in dragging--as though having got him they would never let him go again--a very lean and dirty and draggled, but decidedly happy, Jim. Gracie broke from her brother and rushed at him with a whole-hearted "Oh, Jim! Jim!" and flung her arms round his neck and kissed him many times. And Jim, grinning joyously through his dirt, seemed to find it good, but presently wiped off the kisses with the back of his grimy hand. "Dear lad, where have you been?" cried Eager, all his weariness gone in the joy of recovery. "We have been near breaking all our hearts over you. Thank God, you are back again! . . . Now, tell us!" And Jim summed up his adventures in very few words. "I was on the shore. Some men carried me off in a ship. We were wrecked at a place called Morecambe, and I've come home as quick as I could." "Who were the men? Did you know them?" asked Sir George sternly. "I can't tell you, sir." And then, looking at Eager, as though he would understand. "It was a promise, a very solemn promise"--and Eager nodded. "You see I was locked up in a little cabin when the ship was wrecked, and I should have been drowned in there----" "And they let you out on your promising not to tell on them," said Eager. Jim nodded. "A promise extorted under such conditions is not binding," said Sir George brusquely. "I want those men. Come, my boy, you must tell us all you know." And Eager watched him anxiously. "I cannot tell, sir. I promised." And nothing would move him from this. Sir George, with much warmth, explained to him that no one was safe if such things were permitted to pass unpunished, said that it was his bounden duty to tell all he knew. But to all he simply shook his head and said, "I promised, sir." And Eager, much as he would have liked to lay hands on the rascals, could not but rejoice in the boy's staunchness. And Sir George gave it up at last, and rode away with Margaret, baffled and outwardly very angry. But as they rode up the avenue at Knoyle, he said: "Eager has done well with those boys. They'll turn out men." Jim was very hungry. They fed him, and then Eager went off with him to break the news to Sir Denzil, and the villagers flocked out and cheered them as they went. "Well, yo're back!" was Mrs. Lee's greeting when they came into the kitchen at Carne. And Jim, in the joy of his return, ran up and kissed her, but her face was like that of a graven image. Jack jumped up with a glad shout, and "Hello, Jim! Where you been?" and circled round and round the wanderer with endless questions. Sir Denzil's reception of him was characteristic. "Well, I'm ----! So you've turned up again." And he eyed his grandson, over a pinch of snuff, as though he were some new and offensive reptile. "What is the meaning of this, sir?" And his hankering after the boy whom, in his innermost mind, he had come to think of as his legitimate heir, and his thwarted satisfaction at what he had hoped was in any case the cutting of his Gordian knot, and a certain anxiety in the matter, which he had very successfully concealed from every one else--all these in combination resulted in an explosion. He listened blackly to such explanation as Jim vouchsafed, peremptorily demanded more, and the boy refused. "You will tell me all you know," said the old man sternly--hoping through fuller knowledge to arrive, perchance, at some clue to the great problem behind. "I promised, sir!" said Jim. "Hang your promise, sir! I absolve you from any such promise. You will tell me all you know." But Jim set his lips stolidly and would not say another word. "You won't? Then, by----, I'll teach you to do what you're told." And laying hold of the boy by the neck of his blue guernsey, he caught up his ebony stick and rained savage blows on the quivering little back before Eager could attempt rescue. "Stop, sir! Stop!" cried Eager, in great distress at this outbreak, and caught at the flailing arm. "---- you, sir! Keep off, or I'll thrash you too!" shouted the furious old man, and turned and threatened the interrupter with the heavy silver knob. "You are forgetting yourself, Sir Denzil," said Eager hotly. "The boy has given his solemn promise in return for his life. Would you have him break it?" And he caught the descending stick with a hand that ached for days afterwards, twisted it deftly out of the trembling old hand, and held it in safe keeping. "Kennet!" shouted Sir Denzil, "throw this ---- parson out!" And Kennet came from an adjoining room and looked doubtfully at Eager. "Kennet will think several times before he tries it," said Eager quietly, swinging the stick in his hand. And then Eager, eyeing the old man keenly, saw that the fit had passed and reason had resumed her sway. "Your stick, sir!" and he handed it to him with a bow. "Your servant, sir!" and the stick was flung into a corner, and a shaking hand dived down into a deep-flapped pocket after its necessary snuff-box. "Kennet, leave us! You've been drinking. And you, boy--damme, but you're a good plucked one! Of the right stock, surely. Go down and get something to eat--and here's a guinea for you." And Jim, who had never seen a guinea in his life, gripped it tight in his dirty paw as a remarkable curiosity, and went out agape, with squirming shoulders. The old white hand shook so much that the snuff went all awry, and brown-powdered the waxen face in quite a humorous fashion. "Mr. Eager, I apologise--and that is not my habit. But you must acknowledge that the provocation was great." "Not if you had considered the matter. Would you have a Carron break his pledged word?" "Ay!" said the old man, following his own train of thought, "a true Carron! Surely that is our man! . . . Well, what do you advise next?" "Send them both to Harrow, and trust the rest to Providence." And after a brooding silence, punctuated with more than one thoughtful pinch, "We will try Harrow, anyway," said the oracle, and Eager shook hands with him and went downstairs well satisfied. CHAPTER XXII WHERE'S JACK? With all diffidence I mention a fact. Whether it had any bearing on a later happening I do not know. Mr. Kennet, as we know, indulged occasionally in strong waters. The result, as a rule, was only an increased surliness of demeanour of which no one took much notice. On one such occasion, however, shortly after Jim's return, Kennet, trespassing on Mrs. Lee's domain on some message of his master's, got to words with the old lady, and, rankling perhaps under some sharper reproof than usual from above, snarled at her like a toothless old dog: "Old witch! foisting your ill-gotten brat on us by kidnapping t'other!" At which Mrs. Lee snatched at her broom, and Mr. Kennet beat a retreat more hasty than dignified. Mr. Eager did his utmost during these last months of the year to prepare the boys for their approaching translation. "It's my old school, boys. See you do me credit there," he would urge on them. "In the games you'll do all right. Just pick up their ways, and never lose your tempers. You'll find the lessons tough at first, but I shall trust to you to do your best. You'll miss the flats and the sand-hills, of course, but you'll soon find compensations in the playing-fields." They came to look forward with something like eagerness to the new prospect. It would be a tremendous change in their lives, and the call of the unknown works in the blood of the young like the spring. But they could only stand a certain amount of book-grinding; and the flats and sand-hills, once the autumn gales were past, were full of enticement, and they ranged them, in the company of Eager and Gracie, with all the relish of approaching separation. When George Herapath and Ralph Harben came home for the holidays, hare-and-hounds became the order of the day, and many a tough chase they had, and went far afield. And so it came to pass that one fatal day, Jack, being the hare, led them away through the sedgy lands round Wyn Mere, and played the game so well that he disappeared completely. The course of events that followed was so similar to those in Jim's case that repetition would be wearisome. Sir Denzil and Sir George Herapath were equally furious and disturbed, but showed it in different ways. Eager, as before, was sadly upset and strained himself to breaking-point in his efforts to discover the missing one. Once more the sand-hills were scoured, and this time, since the boy had gone in that direction, the Mere was dragged as far as it was possible to do so, but its vast extent precluded any certainty as to results. And the days passed, and Jack was gone as completely as if he had been carried up into heaven. "Well, Mr. Eager, what do you make of it this time!" asked Sir Denzil, one night when Eager called at Carne with the usual report. "I don't know what to make of it," said Eager dejectedly. "I have thought about it till my head spins." "Your ideas would interest me." "When Jim was kidnapped you felt sure that that pointed to him as what you call the 'right one.' Is it possible that has become known to those interested, and this has been done to point you back to Jack?" "You mean that old witch downstairs. . . . She is capable of anything, of course, and you don't need to look at her twice to see the gipsy blood in her. . . . On the other hand, she may have been cunning enough to anticipate the view you have just expressed. She may have had this boy Jack carried off for the sole purpose of prejudicing the other in our eyes. Do you follow me?" "You mean as I put it just now--that one would expect them to kidnap our man to leave theirs in possession." "Go a step farther, Mr. Eager. Suppose they have in some way learned that, in consequence of Jim's carrying-off, I am inclined to think him the rightful heir. They may, as you say, have carried off the other simply to point me away from Jim and so confuse the issue. But it is just possible they are not so simple as all that, and have reasoned thus--'When Jim disappeared Sir Denzil considered that as proof that he was the rightful heir. If we now carry off Jack, that is just what Sir Denzil would expect us to do, and he will probably stick the tighter to Jim in consequence.' If that is their reasoning, then Jack is our man and not Jim. You follow me?" "It's a terrible tangle," said Eager wearily, with his head in his hands. "It seems to me you can argue any way from anything that happens, and only make matters worse." "Exactly!" said Sir Denzil, over a pinch of snuff. "And so we come back to my point. You must treat both exactly alike and leave the issue to Providence." "It looks like it," said Sir Denzil, and forbore to argue the matter theologically. "If the other comes back we shall have two strings to our bow, which is one too many for practical purposes. If he doesn't, we'll stick to the one we have, right man or wrong, and be hanged to them!" Seth Rimmer, and young Seth, who had only lately returned home after an unusually long absence, were tireless in their search for the missing boy in their own neighbourhood, in or about the Mere. After a day's hard work dragging the great hooks to and fro across the bottom of the Mere, old Seth would shake his head gravely as he looked back over the silent black water. "Naught less than draining it dry will ever tell us all it holds," he would say. "From the look of it there's a moight of wickedness hid down there." Katie too was indefatigable, and she and Jim and George Herapath and Harben hunted high and low round the Mere, but found no smallest trace of Jack. They had all been planning an unusually festive Christmas, but it passed in anxiety and gloom, and the time came round for Jim to go away to school. But going along with Jack was one thing, and going all alone a very different thing indeed, and he jibbed at it strongly. Sir Denzil, however, having made up his mind, was not the man to stand any nonsense. He prevailed on Eager, as being more conversant with such matters, to see to the boy's outfit, and finally to take him up to Harrow himself. And so, in due course, Jim, still very downcast at his parting with Gracie and Mrs. Lee and Carne and the flats and sand-hills, found himself sitting with wide, startled eyes and firmly shut mouth, opposite Mr. Eager, in one of the new railway carriages, whirling across incredible ranges of country at a Providence-tempting speed which seemed to him like to end in catastrophe at any moment. They went from Liverpool to Birmingham, both of which towns paralysed the little ranger of flats and sand-hills; from Birmingham to London, the enormity of which crushed him completely: spent two days showing him the greater sights, which his overburdened brain could in no wise appreciate; and finally landed him, fairly stodged with wonders, in his master's house at Harrow, which seemed to him, after his recent experiences, a haven of peace and restfulness. Eager was an old school and college chum of the housemaster, and spent a day of reminiscent enjoyment with him. He imparted to his friend enough of the boy's curious history to secure his lasting interest in him, and next day said good-bye to Jim and carried the memory of his melancholy dazed black eyes all the way back to Wyvveloe with him. And Gracie's first words as she rushed at him and flung her arms round his neck were, "Jack's back!" And the Rev. Charles sat down with a gasp. "Really and truly, Gracie?" "Really and truly! Yesterday--all rags and bruises and as dirty as a pig." "And wherever has he been all this time?" "Dear knows! He doesn't, except that it was with some men--gipsies--who carried him away and beat him most of the time. He's all black and blue, except his face, and that was dirty brown, and one of his eyes was blackened; one of the men nearly knocked it out." "Well, well, well! It's an uncommonly strange world, child! "Yes. How's old Jim?" "He was all right when I left him, but anything may happen to those boys, apparently, without the slightest warning. Now, if you'll give me something to eat I'll go along and hear what Jack has got to say for himself." Jack, however, had very little information to give that could be turned to any account. It was at the far side of the Mere that he had come upon a couple of men crouching under a sand-hill, as though they were on the look out for somebody. They had collared him, tied a stick in his mouth, and carried him away--where, he had no idea--a very long way, till they came up with a party on the road. There he was placed in one of the travelling caravans, fed from time to time, and not allowed out for many days. He had tried to escape more than once and been soundly thrashed for it. His back--well, there it was, and it made Eager almost ill to think of what those terrible weals must have meant to the boy. Then, after a long lime, another chance came, when all the men were lying drunk one night and some of the women too. He had crept out, and ran and ran straight on till his legs wouldn't carry him another step. A farmer's wife had taken pity on him at sight of his back and helped him on his road. And through her, others. He knew where he wanted to get to, and so, bit by bit, mostly on his own feet, but with an occasional lift in a friendly cart, he had reached home. "And what do you say to all that, Mr. Eager?" asked Sir Denzil. "I say, first, that I am most devoutly thankful that he has come back to us. What may be behind it all is altogether beyond me. If he is their boy would they treat him so cruelly?" "To gain their ends they would stick at nothing. I see no daylight in the matter." "You had no chance of seeing how the old woman received him, I suppose, sir?" "All we know is that when Kennet went downstairs he found the boy sitting in the kitchen, eating as though he had not seen food for a week. Not a word beyond that and what he tells us. The problem is precisely where it was when those damned women came in that first morning each with a child on her arm." BOOK III CHAPTER XXIII BREAKING IN Smaller matters must give way to greater. You have seen how that great problem of Carne came about, and how it perpetuated itself in the persons of Jack and Jim Carron, without any apparent likelihood of satisfactory solution, unless by the final intervention of the Great Solver of all doubts and difficulties. To arrive at the end of our story within anything like reasonable limits, we must again take flying leaps across the years, and touch with no more than the tip of a toe such outstanding points as call for special notice. Harrow was the most tremendous change their lives had so far experienced. Mr. Eager had indeed prepared them for it to the best of his power. But the change, when they plunged into it--first Jim and then Jack--went far beyond their widest imaginings. With their fellows they shook down, in time, into satisfactory fellowship. But the rules of the school, written and unwritten, from above and from below, were for a long time terribly irksome and almost past bearing. They were something like tiger-cubs transferred suddenly from their native freedom to the strict rounds of the circus-ring. They were expected to understand and conform to matters which were so taken for granted that explanations were deemed superfluous. And they suffered many things that first term in stubborn silence, mask and cloak for the shy pride which would sooner bite its tongue through than ask the question which would make its ignorance manifest. The milling-ground between the school and the racquet-courts knew them well, and drank of their blood, and proved the rough nursery of many a lasting friendship. Jim used laughingly to say at home that he had seen the colour of the blood of every fellow he cared a twopenny snap for, on that trampled plot of grass by the old courts. If the colour was good, and the manner of its display in accordance with his ideas, good feeling invariably followed, and he soon had heaps of friends. That was doubtless because he had nothing whatever of the swot in him. He delivered himself over, heart and soul, to the active enjoyments of life, and found no lack of like temper and much to his mind. Jack developed along somewhat wider and deeper lines. He had no great craving for knowledge simply as knowledge. But concerning things that interested him he was insatiable, and slogged away at them with as great a gusto as Jim did at his games. Jack's ideas of a correct school curriculum, being based entirely on his own leanings, necessarily clashed at times with those of the higher powers, and both he and Jim passed under the birch of the genial Vaughan with the utmost regularity and decorum. Neither, of course, ever uttered a word under these inflictions. Jack went tingling back to his own private preoccupation of the moment; and Jim went raging off to the playing-fields. "It's not what he does," he would fume to his chums, "but the way he does it. If he'd get mad I wouldn't mind, but he's always as nice and smooth as a hairdresser, and talks as if it was a favour he was doing you." "Oily old beast!" would be the return comment, and then to the game with extra vim to make up for time lost in the swishing. Jim's greatest fight was an epic in the school for many a year after he had left. "Ah!" said the privileged ones--whether they had actually been present in the body on that historic occasion or not--"but you should have seen the slog between Carron and Chissleton! That _was_ a fight!" It was the usual episode of the big bully, whom most public-schoolboys run up against sooner or later, and Chissleton was three years older and a good head taller than Jim. But Jim had the long years of the flats, and all the benefit of Mr. Eager's scientific fisticuffs, behind him. They fought ten rounds, each of which left Jim on the grass, his face a jelly daubed with blood, and his eyes so nearly closed up that it was only when the bulky Chissleton was clear against the sky that he could see him at all. But bulk tells both ways, and loses its wind chasing a small boy about even a circumscribed ring, and knocking him flat ten times only to find him dancing about next round, as gamely as ever, though somewhat dilapidated and unpleasant to look upon. So Jim wore the big one down by degrees, and in the eleventh round his time came. He hurled himself on the dim bulk between him and the sky with such headlong fury that both went down with a crash. But Jim was up in a moment daubing more blood over his face with the backs of his fists, and the big one lay still till long after the pæans of the small boys had died away into an interested silence. "But didn't it hurt dreadfully, Jim?" asked Gracie, long afterwards, with pitifully twisted face. "Sho! I d'n know. It was the very best fight I ever had." The Little Lady found the days without the boys long and slow, in spite of her close friendship with Margaret Herapath. Meg was everything a girl could possibly be. She was sweet, she was lovely, she was clever, she was a darling dear, she was splendid. She was an angel, she was a duck. She was Lady Margaret, she was dear old Meggums. And never a day passed but she was at the cottage or Gracie was over at Knoyle. They rode and walked and bathed and read together. They slept together at times, and talked half through the night because the days were not long enough for the innumerable confidences that had to pass between them. And Eager rejoiced in their close communion, for he had never met any girl whose friendship he would have so desired for Gracie. And he went about his duties, storming and persuading, fighting and tending, with new fires in his heart which shone out of his eyes, and his people all acknowledged that he was "a rare good un," even when he was scarifying them about manure-heaps and stinks, which they suffered as tolerantly as they did his vehemence, and as though such a thing as typhus had never been known in the land. And what times they all had when the holidays came round! A little shyness, of course, at first, while the various parties took stock of the changes in one another. For Gracie was growing so tall--"quite the young lady," as Mrs. Jex said; and such a change from the fellows at school, as Jack and Jim acknowledged to themselves. Girls--as girls--were somewhat looked down upon at school, you know. But this was Gracie, and quite a different thing altogether. When the first shyness of these meetings wore off she was apt to be somewhat overwhelmed by their effusive worship. They were her slaves, hers most absolutely, and their only difficulty was to find adequate means for the expression of their devotion. For their first home-coming, each of them, unknown to the other, had saved from the wiles of the tuck-shop such meagre portion of pocket-money as strength of will insisted on, and brought her a present; Jack, a small volume of Plutarch's Lives, the reading of which gave himself great satisfaction; and Jim, a pocket-handkerchief with red and blue spots, which seemed to him the very height of fashion, and almost too good for ordinary use by any one but a princess--or Gracie. "You _dear_ boys!" said the Little Lady, and opened Plutarch and sparkled--although for Plutarch, simply as Plutarch, she had no overpowering admiration; and put the red and blue spots to her little brown nose in the most delicate and ladylike manner imaginable. "But you really shouldn't, you know!" And they both vowed internally that they would do it again next time and every time, and each time still better. And, so far, the fact that they were two, and that there was only one Gracie, occasioned them no trouble whatever. Each time they came home Sir Denzil and Eager looked cautiously for any new developments pointing to the solution of the puzzle, and found none. Developments there were in plenty, but not one from which they could deduce any inference of weight. Was Jim more dashing and heedless and headstrong than ever?--all these came to him from his father. Was Jack developing a taste for study, of a kind, and along certain very definite lines of his own choosing?--could that be cast up at him as an un-Carronlike weakness due to the Sandys strain, or should it not rather be credited to the strengthening admixture of red Lee blood? Those were the broader lines of divergence between the two, and the most striking to the outward observer, but it must not be supposed therefrom that Jack had foresworn his birthright of the active life. He revelled in the freedom of the flats as fully as ever, rode and bathed and ran, and held his own in cricket and hockey; but, at the same time, the habit of thought had visibly grown upon him, and it made him seem the older of the two. Time wrought its personal changes in them all, but brought no great variation from these earlier characteristics. Gracie grew more beautiful in every way each time the boys came home; Jack more deliberative; Jim remained light-hearted and joyously careless as ever, enjoying each day to its fullest, and troubling not at all about the morrow. His devotion to the playing-fields gave him by degrees somewhat of an advantage over Jack in the matter of physique and general good looks. His healthy, browned face, sparkling black eyes, and the fine supple grace of his strong and well-knit body were at all times good to look upon. Charles Eager, who had a searchingly appreciative eye for the beauties of God's handiwork in all its expressions, when he sped across the sands behind the corded muscles playing so exquisitely beneath the firm white flesh, or lay in the warm sand and watched the rise and fall of the wide, deep chest on which the salt drops from the tumbled mop of black hair rolled like diamonds, while up above the clean-cut nostrils went in and out like those of a hunted stag, said to himself that here was the making of en unusually fine man. He doubted if Jim's brain would carry him as far as Jack's, but all the same he could not but rejoice in him exceedingly. "Here," he mused, "is heart and body. And there is heart and brain,"--for at heart these two were very much alike still, open-handed, generous, and, by nature and Eager's own good training, clean and wholesome,--"which will go farthest?" And, following his train of thought to the point of speech, one day when he and Jim were alone, he said: "God has blessed you with a wonderfully fine body, lad. Where is it going to take you?" "Into the thick of the fighting, I hope, if ever there is any more fighting," said Jim, with a hopeful laugh. "One fights with brains as well as with brawn"--with an intentional touch of the spur to see what would come of it. "Oh, Jack's got the brains--and the brawn too," he added quickly, lest he should seem to imply any pre-eminence on his own part in that respect. "He'll die a general. I'll maybe kick out captain--if I'm not a sergeant-major,"--with another merry laugh. "I'd sooner fight in the front line any day than order them from the rear." "God save us from the horrors of another war," said Eager fervently. "I can just remember Waterloo. Every friend we had was in mourning, and sorrow was over the land." "And there is another Napoleon in the saddle," said Jim. "Ay; a menace to the world at large! An ambitious man, and somewhat unscrupulous, I fear. To keep himself in the saddle he may set the war-horse prancing." "I'm for the cavalry myself," said Jim, and Eager smiled at the characteristic irrelevancy. "I shall try for Sandhurst. Jack's for Woolwich." "Even Sandhurst will need some grinding up." "Oh, I'll grind when the time comes "--somewhat dolefully. "You can get crammers who know the game and are up to all the twists and turns. If I can only crawl through and get the chance of some fighting, I'll show them!" CHAPTER XXIV AN UNEXPECTED GUEST One afternoon, in one of their winter holidays, Gracie and the two boys had been down along the shore to visit Mrs. Rimmer and Kattie, especially Kattie. They were tramping home along the crackling causeway of dried seaweed and the jetsam in which of old they had sought for treasure, and chattering merrily as they went. "Kattie's getting as pretty as a--as a----" stumbled Jim after a comparison equal to the subject. "Wild-rose," suggested Gracie. "Sweet-pea," said Jack. "I was thinking of something with wings," said Jim, "but I don't quite know----" "Peacock," said Jack. "No, nor a seagull. Their eyes are cold, and Kattie's aren't." "You think she'll fly away?" laughed Gracie. "You think she looks flighty? That was the red ribbons in her hair. She must have expected you, Jim." "They were very pretty, but I liked her best with it all flying loose as it used to be." "She's getting too big for that, but she certainly has a taste for colours." "Well, why shouldn't she, if they make her look pretty?" "Oh, she can have all the ribbons she wants, as far as I am concerned. I only hope----" And then they were aware suddenly of the rapid beat of horses' feet on the firm brown sand below, and turned, supposing it might be Sir George or Margaret Herapath. But it was a stranger, a tall and imposing figure of a man on a great brown horse, and behind him rode another, evidently a servant, for he carried a valise strapped on to the crupper of his saddle. Both wore long military cloaks and foreign-looking caps. In the half-light of the waning afternoon, and the rarity of strangers in that part of the world, there was something of the sinister about the new-comer, something which evoked a feeling of discomfort in the chatterers and reduced them to silent staring, as the riders went by at a hand-gallop. "Who can they be?" said Gracie, as they stood gazing after them. "Foreigners," said Jack decisively. "French, I should say, from the cut of their jibs. A French officer and his servant." "What are they wanting here, I'd like to know," said Jim, still staring absorbedly. "He's a fine-looking man anyway, and he knows how to ride." "His eyes were like gimlets," said Gracie. "They went right through me. I thought he was going to speak to us." "Wish he had," said Jim. "That's just the kind of man I'd like to have a talk with." They were to drink tea with Gracie, and she had made a great provision of special cakes for them with her own hands. So they turned off into the sand-hills and made their way to Wyvveloe. Eager came out of a cottage as they passed down the street, and they all went on together. "Oh, Charles," burst out the Little Lady, as she filled the cups, "we saw two such curious men on the shore as we were coming home----" "Ah!"--for he always enjoyed her exuberance in the telling of her news. "Two heads each?--or was it smugglers now, or real bold buccaneers?" "Jack thinks, by the cut of their jibs, they were Frenchmen, one an officer and the other his servant." "Oh?"--with a sudden startled interest. "Frenchmen, eh? And what made you think they were Frenchmen, Jack, my boy?" "They looked like it to me. They had long soldiers' cloaks on, and their caps were not English----" "And they had rattling good horses, both of them," struck in the future cavalryman. "And where were they going?" "We didn't ask. We only stared, and they stared back. They were galloping along the shore towards Carne," said Jack. "I We don't often see Frenchmen up this way nowadays." And thereafter he was not quite so briskly merry as usual, as though the Frenchmen were weighing on him. And truly an odd and discomforting idea had flashed unreasonably across his mind as they spoke, and it stuck there and worried him. They were gathered round the fire, and Jim was gleefully picturing to the shuddering Gracie, in fullest red detail, the great fight with Chissleton. And Gracie had just gasped, "But didn't it hurt dreadfully, Jim?" And Jim had just replied, with the carelessness of the hardened warrior, "Sho! I din know. It was the very best fight I ever had";--when a knock came on the cottage door, and Eager jumped up, almost as though he had been expecting it, and went out. It was Mr. Kennet stood there, and when the light of the lamp in the passage fell on his face it seemed longer and more portentous even than usual. It was Kennet whom Eager's foreboding thought had feared to see. And his words occasioned him no surprise. "Sir Denzil wants the boys, Mr. Eager, and he says will you please to come too." "Very well, Kennet." And if Mr. Kennet had expected to be questioned on the matter he was disappointed. "Will you wait for us?" "I've a message into the village, sir. I'll come on as soon as I've done it." And in the darkness beyond, a horse jerked its head and rattled its gear. "Come along, boys. Your grandfather has sent for you. I'll go along with you." And they were threading their way--with eyes a little less capable than of old of seeing in the dark, by reason of disuse and study--through the sand-hills towards Carne. The boys speculated briskly as to the reason for this unusual summons. A couple of years earlier they would have been racking their brains as to which of their numerous peccadilloes had come to light, and bracing their hearts and backs to the punishment. But they were getting too big now for anything of that kind--except of course at school, where flogging was a part of the curriculum. Eager guessed what was toward, but offered them no light on the subject. "Yo're to go up," said Mrs. Lee to the boys, as they entered the kitchen. "Will yo' please stop here, sir till he wants yo'." And It seemed to Eager that the grim old face was pinched tighter than ever in repression of some overpowering emotion. The boys stumbled wonderingly upstairs, knocked on Sir Denzil's door, and were bidden to enter. Their grandfather was sitting half turned away from the table, on which were the remains of a meal and several bottles of wine. Before the fire, with his back against the mantelpiece, stood a tall, dark man in a very becoming undress uniform, his hands in his trousers' pockets, a large cigar in his mouth. Sparks shot into his keen black eyes as they leaped eagerly at the boys, devouring them wholesale in one hungry gaze, then travelling rapidly back and forth in assimilation of details. A foreigner without doubt, said the boys to themselves, as they stared back with interest at the dark, handsome face with its sweeping black moustache and pointed beard. Sir Denzil tapped his snuff-box and snuffed aloofly. "Gad, sir, but I think they do me credit!" said the stranger at last, In a voice that sounded somewhat harsh and nasal to ears accustomed to the soft, round tones of the north. "That's as it may be," said Sir Denzil drily. "Credit where credit is due." "_Sang-d'-Dieu!_ you will allow me a finger in the pie, at all events, sir!" "That much, perhaps!"--with a shrug. "That proverbial finger as a rule points more to marring than to making." "And you've no idea which is which?" And he eyed the boys so keenly that they grew uncomfortable. "Not the slightest! Have you?" "I like them both. I'm proud of them both. But it certainly complicates matters having two of them. Suppose you keep one and I take one? How would that do? I'll wager mine goes higher than yours." "Suppose you put it to them!" The boys had been following this curious discussion with certainly more intelligence than might have been displayed by two puppies whose future was in question, but with only a very dim idea of what some of it might mean. They had at times, of late, come to discuss themselves and their immediate concerns--as to which was the elder, and as to what their father and mother had been like, when they had died, and so on. In the earlier days they had never troubled their heads about such matters. But the exigencies of school life had awakened a desire for more definite information towards the settlement of vexed questions. And so their holidays had been punctuated with attempts at the solution of these weighty problems, and the piercing of the cloud of ignorance in which they had been perfectly happy. And the unsatisfactory results of their inquiries had only served to quicken their thirst for knowledge. Old Mrs. Lee gave them nothing for their pains, and her manner was eminently discouraging. "Which was the elder? She'd have thought any fool could tell they were twins! Their mother?--dead, years ago. Their father?--dead too, she hoped, and best thing for him!" Their only other possible source of information was Mr. Eager. Sir Denzil and Kennet were of course out of the question. And Mr. Eager had so far only told them that of his own actual knowledge he knew as little as they did, and advised them to wait and trouble themselves as little as possible about the matter. He could not even say definitely if their father was dead. He had lived abroad for many years, and had not been heard of for a very long time. Eager, of course, foresaw that, sooner or later, the whole puzzling matter would have to be explained to them, unless the solution came otherwise, in which case it might never need to be explained at all. But in the meantime no good could come of unprofitable discussion, and there were parts of it best left alone. And so, when this handsome stranger dawned suddenly upon them, in such familiar discussion of themselves with their grandfather, their first "Who is it?" speedily gave place to "Can it be?" and then to "Is it?"--on Jack's part, at all events, and he stared at the dark man in the foreign uniform with keenest interest and a glimmering of understanding. Jim stared quite as hard, but with smaller perception. "Well?" said the stranger, his white teeth gleaming through the heavy black moustache. "What do you make of it? Who am I?" "Can you be our father?" jerked Jack; and Jim jumped at the unaccustomed word. "Clever boy that knows his own father--or thinks he does--especially when he's never set eyes on him! How would you like to come back to France with me, youngster?" "To France?" gasped Jack. "Into the army. I have influence. I can push you on." "The French army?" And Jack shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think--I--quite understand. Are you an Englishman, sir? "A Carron of Carne." "And in the French army?" "As it happens. You don't approve of that?" Jack shook his head. Jim, with his wide, excited eyes and parted lips, was a study in emotions--amazement, excitement, puzzlement, admiration mixed with disapproval--all these and more worked ingenuously in his open boyish face and made it look younger than Jack's, which was knitted thoughtfully. "If it came to that I should probably claim exemption from serving against England, though, _mon Dieu!_ it's little enough I have to thank her for, and it would be to my hurt. Sometime you will understand it all. And you?" he asked Jim, so unexpectedly that he jumped again. "You feel the same? A couple of years at St. Cyr, and then say, a sub-lieutenancy in my own cuirassiers, and all my influence behind you. As a personal friend of the Emperor, Colonel Caron de Carne is not by any means powerless, I can assure you." But Jim wagged his head decisively. He did not understand how this mysterious, but undoubtedly fine-looking father came to be apparently both a Frenchman and an Englishman, but he himself was an Englishman, and an Englishman he would remain. "So! Then I go back the richer than I came only in the knowledge of you, but I would gladly have had one of you back with me." "Go now, boys," said Sir Denzil, "and tell Mr. Eager I would be glad of a word with him." And wrenching their eyes from this phenomenal father, whose advances evoked no slightest response within them, they got out of the door somehow and ran down to the kitchen. "Sir Denzil wants you to go up, Mr. Eager," began Jack. "Our father's up there," broke in Jim. But Mr. Eager had already heard the strange news from Mrs. Lee, and went up at once, full anxious on his own account to see what manner of man this unexpectedly-returned father might be, and rigorously endeavouring to preserve an open mind concerning him until he had something more to go upon than Mrs. Lee's curt but emphatic, "He's a divvle if ever there was one." "Ah, Mr. Eager, this is my son Denzil, father of your boys," said the old man briefly, and helped himself to snuff and leaned back in his chair and watched them. "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Eager,"--and a strong brown hand shot out to meet him. "Sir Denzil tells me that whatever good is in those boys is of your implanting. I thank you. You have done a good work there." "They are fine lads," said Eager quietly. "It would have been an eternal pity if they had run to seed. We are making men of them." "I have been trying to induce one of them to go back to France with me----" "Which one?" "Either. I don't know one from t'other yet. I could make much of either, and it would solve the difficulty you are in here." "And they?" "They won't hear of it." "I should have been surprised if they had." "I suppose so. And yet I could promise one or both a very much greater career than they are ever likely to realise here." Eager shook his head. "They have been brought up as English lads; you could hardly expect them to change sides like that, even for possibilities which I don't suppose they understand or appreciate." "It's a pity, all the same. There will be many opportunities over there----" "The Empire is peace----" interjected Eager, with a smile. "The Empire"--with a shrug--"is my very good friend Louis Napoleon, and peace just so long as it is to his interest to keep it. But"--with a knowing nod--"he has studied his people and he knows how to handle them. I'll wager you I'm a general inside five years--unless he or I come to an end before that." "I would sooner they died English subalterns than lived to be French generals." "It's throwing away a mighty chance for one of them." "Their own country will offer them all the chances they need." "How?" asked the Colonel quickly. "You think England will join us in case of necessity?" "I know nothing about that. I mean simply that our boys will do their duty whatever call is made upon them; and no man can do more than that." "Peace offers few opportunities of advancement,"--with a regretful shake of the head. "But your minds all seem made up. It is a great chance thrown away, but I judge it is no use urging the matter----" "Not the very slightest. To put the matter plainly, Captain Carron----" "Colonel, with your permission!" "You have forfeited all right to dictate as to those boys' future. Legally, perhaps----" "_Merci!_ I shall not invoke the aid of the law, Mr. Eager." "It would clear the way here if you took one of them off our hands," said Sir Denzil; "but I agree with Mr. Eager, one Frenchman in the family is quite enough. You will have to go back empty-handed, Denzil." "I am glad to have seen those boys, anyway. We may meet again, some time, Mr. Eager. In the meantime, my grateful thanks for all you have done for them!" And next morning he took leave of his sons, and galloped off along the sands the way he had come, and the boys stood looking after him with very mixed feelings, and when he was out of sight looked down at the guineas he had left in their hands and thought kindly of him. CHAPTER XXV REVELATION AND SPECULATION Charles Eager pondered the matter deeply, and was ready for the boys when they tackled him the next morning. He knew, as soon as he saw them, that they had been discussing matters during the night and were intent on information. "Mr. Eager," said Jack, "Will you tell us about our father? Why is he in the French army?" Eager told them briefly that part of the story. "And do you consider he did right to go away like that?" was the next question. "Under the circumstances I should say he did. At all events it was Sir Denzil's wish that he should go, and he could judge better then than we can now." "And we two were born after he'd left?" "So I am told." "Well now, even in twins isn't one generally the older of the two. Which of us is the elder?" "That I don't know. I believe there is some doubt about it, and so we look upon you both as on exactly the same level." "Suppose Sir Denzil should die, and our father should die--we don't want them to, you understand, but one can't help wondering--which of us would be Sir Denzil?" "That is a matter that has exercised your grandfather's mind since ever you were born, my boy, and I'm afraid we can arrive no nearer to the answer. We can only wait." "It'll be jolly awkward," protested Jim. "Very awkward. Some arrangement will have to be come to, of course; but exactly what, is not for me to say. Your grandfather can divide his estate between you, and as to the title----" "We could take it turn about," suggested Jim. "Or you may both win such new honours for yourselves that it will be of small account." "Yes, that's an idea," said Jack thoughtfully. And after a pause, "And you can tell us nothing about our mother, Mr. Eager?" "No. You were ten years old, you know, when we met for the first time and you stole all my clothes. What a couple of absolute little savages you were!" "We had jolly good times----" "We've had better since," said Jack. "If you hadn't come to live here we might have been savages all our lives." "You must do me all the credit you can. At one time I had hoped to become a soldier myself." "Jolly good thing for us you didn't," said Jim. "But haven't you been sorry for it ever since, Mr. Eager?" "There are higher things even than soldiering," smiled Eager. "If I can help to make two good soldiers instead of one, then England is the gainer." "We'll jolly well do our best," said Jim. And so they had arrived at a portion of the problem of their house, and bore it lightly. And as to the grim remainder--"It would only uselessly darken both their lives," said Eager to himself. "We must leave it to time, and that is only another name for God's providence." CHAPTER XXVI JIM'S TIGHT PLACE Jack had set his heart on Woolwich. In due course he took the entrance examinations without difficulty, and passed into the Royal Military School with flying colours. Woolwich, however, was quite beyond Jim, and, besides, his heart was set on horses. He would be a cavalryman or nothing. But even for Sandhurst there was an examination to pass--an examination of a kind, but quite enough to give him the tremors, and sink his heart into his boots whenever he thought of it. Examinations always had been abomination to Jim and always got the better of him. He argued eloquently that pluck, and a firm seat, and a long reach would make a better cavalryman than all the decimal fractions and French and Latin that could be rammed into him. But the authorities had their own ideas on the subject. So to an army-tutor he went in due course, a notable crammer in the Midlands, who knew every likely twist and turn of the ordinary run of examiners, and had got more incapables into the service than any man of his time, and charged accordingly. And there, for six solid months, Jim was fed up like a prize turkey, on the absolutely necessary minimum of knowledge required for a pass, and grew mentally dyspeptic with the indigestible chunks of learning which he got off by heart, till his brain reeled and went on rolling them ponderously over and over even in his sleep. Fortunately he started with a good constitution, and there was hunting three days a week, or such a surfeit of knowledge might have proved too much for him. There were half a dozen more in the same condition; and the sight of those seven gallant hard-riders, poring with woebegone faces and tangled brains over tasks which in these days any fifth-form secondary-schoolboy would laugh at, tickled the soul of their tutor, Mr. Dodsley, almost out of its usual expression of benign and earnest sympathy at times. They represented, however, a very handsome living with comparatively easy work, and he did his whole duty by them according to his lights. The shadow of the coming death-struggle cast a gloom over the little community for weeks before the fatal day, and all seven decided, in case of the failure they anticipated, to enlist in the ranks, where their brains could have well-merited rest. Jim never said very much about that exam., but he did disclose the facts to Mr. Eager, and chuckled himself almost into convulsions; whenever he thought over it and the awful months of preparation that had preceded it. "There was a jolly decent-looking old cock of a colonel at the table when I went in," he said. "And my throat was dry, and my knees were knocking together so that I was afraid he'd see 'em. He looked at my name on the paper and then at me. "'James Denzil Carron?' he said. 'Any relation of my old friend Denzil Carron of--what-the-deuce-and-all was it now?' "'Carne," I chittered. "'That's it! Carron of Carne, of course. What are you to him, boy?' "'Son, sir.' "Denzil Carron's son! God bless my soul, you don't say so! And is your father alive still?' "'Yes, sir.' "'You don't say so! God bless my soul! Denzil Carrell alive! Why, it must be twenty years since I set eyes on him! Will you tell him, when you see him, that his old friend, Jack Pole, was asking after him?' And then," said Jim, "I suppose he saw me going white at prospect of the exam., for he just said, 'Oh, hang the exam.! You can ride?' "'Anything, sir.' "'And fence?' "'Yes, sir. And box and swim, and I can run the mile in four minutes and fifteen seconds.' "'God God bless my soul, I wish I could! You'll do, my boy! Pass on, and prove yourself as brave a man as your father!' And I just wished I'd known it was going to be like that. It would have saved me a good few headaches and a mighty lot of trouble. However, perhaps it'll all come in useful, some day--that is, if I remember any of it." Jack did well at Woolwich. He passed out third of his batch, and in due course received his commission as second lieutenant in the Royal Engineers. Jim made but a poor show in head-work, but showed himself such an excellent comrade, and such a master of all the brawnier parts of the profession, that it would have needed harder hearts than the ruling powers possessed to set any undue stumbling-blocks in his way. To his mighty satisfaction, he was gazetted cornet to the 8th Regiment of Hussars, just a year after Jack got through. CHAPTER XXVII TWO TO ONE None of them ever forgot the last holiday they all spent together before the great dispersal. Some of them looked back upon it in the after-days with most poignant feelings--of longing and regret. For nothing was ever to be again as it had been--and not with them only, but throughout the land. It was as though all the circumstances and forces of life had been quietly working up to a point through all these years--as though all that had gone before had been but preparation for what was to come--as though the time had come for the Higher Powers to say, as sensible parents sooner or later say to their children, "We have done our best for you--we have fitted you for the fight; now you are become men and women, work out your own destinies!" It was amazing to Charles Eager--feeling himself as young as ever--to find all his youngsters suddenly grown up, suddenly become, if not capable of managing their own affairs, at all events filled with that conviction, and fully intent on doing so. And, so far, the strange story of their actual relationship had not been made known to the boys. Eager had discussed the matter with Sir Denzil many times, but the old man, not unreasonably, maintained the position that, unless and until events forced the disclosure, there was no need to trouble their minds with it. And Eager, knowing them so well, could not but agree that it would be a mighty upsetting for them. While they were working hard, in their various degrees, for their examinations, It was, of course, out of the question. And when the matter was mooted again, Sir Denzil said quietly: "Let it lie, Eager. If it has to come out, it will come out; but if anything should deprive us of one of them before it does come out, there is no need for the other to carry a millstone round his neck all his life." The old man had mellowed somewhat with the years. The problem as to which was his legitimate heir, and the possibility of unconsciously perpetuating the line through the bar sinister, still troubled him at times; but the boys themselves, in their ripening and development, had done more than anything else to alter his feelings towards them. Well-born or ill-born, they were fine bits of humanity. He had come to tolerate them with a degree of appreciation, to regard them with something almost akin to a form of affection, atrophied, indeed, by long disuse, and disguised still behind a certain cynicism of speech and manner and the very elegant handling of his jewelled snuff-box, whenever they met. When they were at Carne for holidays, they had their own apartments, and, for a sitting-room, the long, oak-panelled parlour, looking north and west over the flats and the sea; and here they were at last enabled to entertain their friends, and repay some of the hospitalities of the earlier years. At times Sir Denzil would send for them to his own rooms, and they came almost to enjoy his acid questionings and pungent comments on life as they saw it. Behind his cynical aloofness they were not slow to perceive a keen interest in the newer order of things, and they talked freely of all and sundry--their friends, and their friends' friends, and all the doings of the day. It was very many years since the old man had been in London. He felt himself completely out of things, and had no desire to return; but still he liked to hear about them. And at times, by way of return, when the boys had their friends in, he would, with the punctilious courtesy of his day, send Mr. Kennet to request their permission to join them, and then march in, almost on Kennet's heels, looking, in his wig and long-skirted coat and ruffles and snuff-box, a veritable relic of past days. Jack, in the plenitude of his present-day knowledge, and the power it gave him of affording interesting information to the recluse, discoursed with him almost on terms of equality. Jim, on the other hand, though he could rattle along in the jolliest and most amusing way imaginable with his chosen ones, still found the old gentleman's rapier-like little speeches and veiled allusions somewhat beyond him, and so, as a rule, left most of the talking to him and Jack. But the first time the boys both came down in their uniforms, modestly veiling their pride under a large assumption of nonchalance, but in reality swelling internally like a pair of young peacocks, they carried all before them. They looked so big, so grand, so masterful, that it took some time even for the Little Lady to fit them into their proper places in their own estimation and in hers. And as for their grandfather, it took an immense amount both of time and snuff and sapient head-nodding before he could get accustomed to them, and then he was quite as proud of them as they were of themselves. "By gad, sir!" he said to Eager, in an unusual outburst of suppressed vehemence, "you were right and I was wrong. We can't afford to lose either of them, though what you're going to do about it all, when the time comes, is beyond me. Jack, there, talks like a book, like all the books that ever were, and knows everything there is to know in the world"--Jack had been delivering himself of some of his newest ideas on fortification--"but what can you make of that? It may only be the higher product of a coarser strain. I'm not sure that the other isn't more in the line. I'm inclined to think he'll make his mark if he gets the chance that suits him." "They both will, sir. Take my word for it. We shall all, I hope, live to be proud of them both. And as to the other matter, maybe they'll cut so deep, and go so far, that after all it will become of secondary importance." "That," said Sir Denzil, with a steady look at him over an elegantly delayed pinch of snuff, "is quite impossible. They can attain to no position comparable with the succession to Carne." And Gracie? With what feelings did she regard these brilliantly-arrayed young warriors? She had for them a most wholesome, whole-hearted, and comprehensive affection, and she bestowed it in absolutely equal measure upon them both. She had grown up in closest companionship with them. She could not imagine life without them or either of them: it would have been life without its core and colour. And, so far, they stood together in her heart, and no occasion had arisen for discrimination between them. When, indeed, Jim had disappeared for a time, and seemed lost to them, life had seemed black and blank for lack of him, and Jack could not by any means make up for him. But when Jack in turn disappeared life was equally shadowed for her, and Jim was no comfort whatever. She, rejoicing in them equally, had no thought or wish but that things should go on just as they were. But in the boys other feelings began unconsciously to push up through the crumbling crust of youth. They were nearing manhood. The Little Lady was no longer a child. She had grown--tall and wonderfully beautiful in face and figure. They had met other girls, but never had either of them met any one to compare with Grace Eager. And they met her afresh, each time they came home, with new wonder and vague new hopes and wishes. It was the party which Sir George Herapath gave in the autumn that brought matters to a head. Neither of the boys had seen Grace in evening dress before. Indeed, it was her first, and the result of much deep consideration and planning on the part of herself and Margaret Herapath. When it was finished and tried on in full for the first time, old Mrs. Jex, admitted to a private view, clasped her hands and the tears ran down her face as she murmured, "An angel from heaven! Never in all my born days have I set eyes on anything half so pretty!"--though really it was only white muslin with pale-blue ribbons here and there. But it showed a good deal of her soft white arms and neck, and they dazzled even Mrs. Jex. As for the boys--it was as though the most marvellous bud the world had ever seen had suddenly burst its sheath and blossomed into a splendid white flower. When she came into the big drawing-room at Knoyle that night, with Eager close behind, his intent face all alight with pride in her, and perhaps with anticipation for himself, she created quite a sensation, and found it delightful. She came in like a lily and a rose and Eve's fairest daughter all in one; and our boys gazed at her spell-bound, startled, electrified as though by a galvanic shock. And deep down in the consciousness of each was a strange, wonderful, peaceful joy, a sudden endowment, and an almost overpowering yearning. In the self-same moment each knew that in all the world there was no other woman for him than Grace Eager. And, vaguely, behind that, was the fear that the other was feeling the same. And she? She enjoyed to the full the novel sensation of the effect she produced upon them, and was just the same Gracie as of old--almost. She sailed up to them and dropped a most becoming curtsey, and rose from it all agleam and aglow with merry laughter at their visible undoing. "Well, boys, what's the matter with you?" she rippled merrily. "You!" gasped Jim. "Me? What's the matter with me? I'm all right. Don't you like me like this? Meg and I made it between us." Didn't they like her like that? Why----! "You see," said Jack, "we've never seen you like this before, and you've taken us by surprise." "Oh, well, get over it as quickly as you can, and then you may ask me to dance with you." "I don't think I'll ever get over it, but I'll ask you now," said Jim. Which was not bad for him. And Jack felt the first little stab of jealousy he had ever experienced towards Jim, at his having got in first. "I'd like every dance," laughed Jim happily, "but----" "Quite right, old Jim Crow! Mustn't be greedy! You first, because you spoke first, then Jack----" "Then me again," persisted Jim. "We'll see. Is that Ralph Harben? How he's grown! His whiskers and moustache make him look quite a man." And Jim decided instantly on the speedy cultivation of facial adornments. "Oh, he's coming! And there's Meg." And she flitted away to Margaret, who was talking to Charles Eager, and so for the moment upset Master Harben's plans for her capture. With no little distaste the boys had suffered instruction in the art of dancing, as a necessary part of the education of a gentleman. Now they fervently thanked God for it. To have to stand with their backs to the wall while every Tom, Dick, or Ralph whirled past in the dance with Gracie, would have been quite past the bearing. They felt new sensations under their waistcoats even when George Herapath had her in charge, though there was not a fellow on earth they liked better, or had more confidence in, than old George, now a dashing lieutenant in the Royal Dragoons, and quite a man of the world. As for Ralph Harben--well, if either of them could have picked a reasonable quarrel with him, and had it out in the garden, unbeknown to any but themselves, Master Ralph would have undergone much tribulation. They danced with Gracie many times that night, and grew more and more intoxicated with happiness such as neither had ever tasted before or even dreamed of. And yet, below and behind it all, pushed down and hustled into dark corners of the heart and mind, was that other new feeling which, though it was foreign to them, they instinctively strove to keep out of sight. Over the incidents of that party we need not linger. There were many fair girls and fine boys there, but they do not come into our story. They all enjoyed themselves immensely, and Sir George, beaming genially, enjoyed them all as much as they enjoyed, themselves. Margaret moved among them like a queen lily, and the boys were somewhat overpowered by her stately beauty. But Charles Eager seemed to find his satisfaction in it, and his eyes followed her with vast enjoyment whenever he was not dancing with her, for he danced as well as he jumped or boxed. When Mr. Harben--Sir George's active partner in the business, and Ralph's father--chaffed him jovially on the matter, he replied cheerfully that David danced before the ark, and he didn't see why he shouldn't do likewise. And when Harben would have tackled him further as to the ark, he averred that arks were as various as the men who danced before them, and had no limitations whatever in the matter of size, shape, or material--that some men were arks of God and more women--that when he came across such he bowed before them, or, as the case might be, danced with them, and he sped off to claim Margaret for the next round, leaving his adversary submerged under the avalanche of his eloquence. That night was, for the younger folk, all enjoyment, tinged indeed with those other vague feelings I have named, but quickened and intensified, before they separated, by news from the outer world which strung all their nerves as tight as fiddlestrings and swept them with many emotions. For, coming upon Sir George and his partner conversing earnestly in a quiet corner one time, Eager, with his eyes on Margaret and Ralph Harben circling round the room, asked--casually, and by way of exhibiting detachment from any special interest in that other particular matter--"Well, Mr. Harben, what's the news from the East?" And the two older men stopped talking and looked at him. It was Sir George who answered him, soberly: "Grave news, Mr. Eager. Harben was just telling me that the fleet is to enter the Black Sea, and that at headquarters they entertain no doubt as to the result." "You mean war?" asked Eager, with a start. "War without a doubt, Mr. Eager," said Harben, involuntarily rubbing his hands together. For he was a contractor, you must remember; and whatever of misery and loss war entails upon others, for contractors it means business and profit. "We are to fight Russia on behalf of Turkey?" "Russian aggression must be checked," said Harben. "Her ambition knows no bounds. We go hand-in-hand with France, of course." "H'm! My own feeling would be that it is more for the aggrandisement of Louis Napoleon than for the checking of Russia that we are going to fight." "Who's going to fight?" asked Lieutenant George, catching the word. And then of course it was out. For, once more, whatever of misery and loss war entails upon others, to the fighting man in embryo it means only glory and the chances of promotion. It was the following day that the disturbances nearer home began. Jack lay awake most of the morning after he got to bed, thinking soberly, with rapturous intervals when Gracie's laughing face floated in the smaller darkness of his tired eyes, and envying Jim, who slept at intervals like a sheep-dog after a day on the hills. But at times even Jim's heavy breathing stopped and he lay quite still, and then he too was thinking--which was an unusual thing for him to do in the night--though not perhaps so deeply as Jack. They both felt like boiled owls in the morning, and lay late. It was close on midday when Jack, after several pipes and a splitting yawn, said, "Let's go up along,"--which always meant north along the flats--"my blood's thickening." And they went off together along the hard-ribbed sand, with the sea and the sky like bars of lead on one side and the stark corpses of the sand-hills, with the wire-grass sticking up out of them like the quills of porcupines, on the other. They walked a good two miles without a word, both thinking the same things and both fearing to start the ball rolling. "We've got to talk it out, Jim," said Jack at last. Jim grunted gloomily. "What are you thinking of it?" "Same as you, I s'pose." "It mustn't part us, old Jim." Jim snorted. Under extreme urgency he was at times slow of expression in words. "Gracie has become a woman, the most beautiful woman in all the world"--with rapture, as though the mere proclamation of the fact afforded him mighty joy, which it did. "And we are men . . . and--and we've got to face it like men." And Jim grunted again. He was surging with emotions, but he couldn't put them into words like Jack. "I would give my life for her," said Jack. "I'd give ten lives if I had 'em." "She can only have one of us, and only one of us can have her." Which was obvious enough. "And it all lies with her. We only want what she wants." "I only want her," groaned Jim. "Of course. So do I. But we neither of us want her unless she wants us," reasoned Jack. "I do. She's made me feel sillier than ever I felt in all my life before. All I know is that I want her." Jack nodded. "I know. I've been thinking of it all night." "So've I," growled Jim. And Jack refrained from telling him how he had envied him his powers of sleep. "It seems to me the best thing we can do is to write and tell her what we're feeling." Jim snorted dissentingly. Letter-writing was not his strong point, and Jack understood. "Well, you see, we can't very well go together and tell her. But if we write she can have both our letters at the same time, and then she can decide. I'm sure it's the only way to settle it. Can you think of anything better?" But Jim had no suggestions to offer. All he knew was that his whole nature craved Gracie, and he could not imagine life without her. In the earlier times, when, as generally happened, they both wanted a thing which only one of them could have, they always fought for it, and to the victor remained the spoils. But in those days the spoils were of no great account, and the pleasure of the fight was all in all. This was a very different matter. The prize was life's highest crown and happiness for one of them, and no personal strife could win it. It was a matter beyond the power of either to influence now. It was outside them. They could ask, but they could not take. Forcefulness could do much in the bending and shaping of life, but here force was powerless. And it was then, as he brooded over the whole matter, that one of life's great lessons was borne in upon Jim Carron--that the dead hand of the past still works in the moulding of the present and the future, that what has gone is still a mighty factor in what is and what is to come. He groaned in the spirit over his own deficiencies, the lost opportunities, the times wasted, which, turned to fuller account, might now have served him so well. If only he could have known that all the past was making towards this mighty issue, how differently he would have utilised it. For, submitting himself to most unusual self-examination, and searching into things with eyes sharpened by unusual stress, he could not but acknowledge that, compared with Jack, he made but a poor show. Jack was clever. He had a head and knew how to use it. He would go far and make a great name for himself. Whereas he himself had nothing to offer but a true heart and a lusty arm, and Jack had these also in addition to his greater qualifications. How could any girl hesitate for a moment between them? His chances, he feared, were small, and he felt very downcast and broken as he sat, that same afternoon, chewing the end of his pen and thoughtfully spitting out the bits, in an agonising effort after unusual expression such as should be worthy of the occasion. His window gave on to the northern flats, and, as he savoured the penholder, in his mind's eye he saw again the wonderful little figure of Gracie in her scarlet bathing-gown, with her hair astream, and her face agleam, and her little white feet going like drumsticks, as they had seen her that very first morning long ago. And, since then, how she had become a part of their very lives! And then his thoughts leaped on to the previous night, and his pulses quickened at the marvel of her beauty: her face--little Gracie's face, and yet so different; her lovely white neck and arms. He had seen them so often before in little Gracie. But this was different, all quite different. She was no longer a child, and he was no longer a boy. She was a woman, a beautiful woman, _the_ woman, and he was a man, and every good thing in him craved her as its very highest good. God! How could he let any other man take her from him? Even Jack---- He spat out his penholder, and kicked over his chair, as he got up and began to pace the room, with clenched hands and pinched face. CHAPTER XXVIII THE LINE OF CLEAVAGE "Dearest Grace, "We two are in trouble, and you are the unconscious cause of it. We have suddenly discovered that we have all grown up, and things can never be quite the same between us all as they have been. Jim is writing to you also, and you will get both our letters at the same time. We both love you, Gracie, with our whole hearts. If you can care enough for either of us it is for you to say which. For myself I cannot begin to tell you all you are to me. You are everything to me--everything. I cannot, dare not imagine life without you in it, Gracie. Can you care enough for me to make me the happiest man in all the world? "Ever yours devotedly, "John Denzil Carron." "Gracie Dear, "It is horrid to have to ask if you care for me more than you do for old Jack. But it has come to that, and we cannot help ourselves. I want you more than I ever wanted anything in all my life. You are more to me than life itself or anything it can ever give me. I know I am not half good enough for you, and I wish I had made more of myself now. But I do not think any one could ever care for you as I do. "God bless you, dear, whatever you decide. "Please excuse the writing, etc., and believe me, "Yours ever, "Jim," When Mrs. Jex brought in these two letters, as they lingered lazily over the tea-table, Grace laughed merrily. "What are those boys up to now? It must be some unusually good joke to set old Jim writing letters." But her brother's face lacked its usual quick response. He had been very thoughtful all day, sombre almost; and when Grace had chaffed him lightly as to his exertions of the previous night, instead of tackling her in kind, he had said quietly: "Yes, you see, we old people don't take things so lightly as you youngsters." "You are thinking of this war?" "Yes--partly." "And----?" "Oh--lots of things." "Margaret?"--with a twinkle. "Oh, Margaret of course. I thought I had never seen her look more charming." "She is always charming. Charlie, I wish----" and she hung fire lest in the mere touching she might damage. "And what do you wish, child?" "I wish you'd marry her. She's the sweetest thing that ever was." "You have a most excellent taste, my child." "It's in the family. Meg's taste is equally good"--with a meaning glance at him, but he was looking thoughtfully into his teacup. "And you really think we shall be dragged into war, Charlie?" "Mr. Harben seemed to think it certain." "I don't think I like Mr. Harben very much. I caught sight of his face while you were all talking in the corner, and I thought he must have heard some good news." "He was probably thinking at the moment only of his own particular aspect of the matter. War means business for contractors, you know." "Sir George didn't look that way." "He hasn't very much to do with the firm now, I believe. Besides, one would expect him to take wider views than Harben. He is a bigger man in every way." Then Mrs. Jex came in with the letters, and Gracie wondered merrily what joke the boys were up to. But Eager, who had not failed to notice their unconcealed enthralment the night before, pursed his lips for a moment as though he doubted if the contents of those letters would prove altogether humorous. "I thought they'd have been round, but I expect they've been in bed all day." And she ripped open Jim's letter, which happened to be uppermost, with an anticipatory smile. Eager saw the smile fade, as the sunshine fails off the side of a hill on an April day, and give place to a look of perplexity and a slight knitting of the placid brow. She picked up Jack's letter, and tore it open, and read it quickly. Then, with a catch in her breath and a startled look in her eyes, she jerked: "Charlie--what do they mean? Are they in fun----" "Shall I read them, dear?" She threw the letters over to him, and sat, with parted lips and wondering--and rather scared--face, looking into the fire, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "This is not fun, Grace dear," her brother said gravely at last. It had taken him a terrible long time to read those very short letters, but he read so much more in them than was actually written. "It is sober earnest, and a very grave matter." "But I don't want---- Oh!--I wish they hadn't"--with passionate fervour. "Why can't they let things go on as they are? We have been so happy----" "Yes. . . . But time works its changes. They are no longer boys----" A wriggle of dissent from Grace. "----Although they may seem so to us. And you are no longer a little girl----" "Oh! I feel like a speck of dust, Charlie; and I don't, don't, don't want----" "I know, dear; but it is too late. You may feel a little girl to-day. Last night you were an exquisitely beautiful woman--and this is the result." Grace put her hands up to her face and began to cry softly. For there, in the dancing flames, she had seen in a flash what it all must mean--severances, heart-aches, trouble generally. And they had all been so happy. Eager wisely let her have her cry out. When, at last, she mopped up her eyes, and sat looking pensively into the fire again, he said quietly: "Let us face the matter, dear! They are dear, good lads, and they are doing you the greatest honour in their power. There being two of them, of course"--and it came home to him that here were he and Gracie up against the problem of Carne also--"makes things very trying, both for them and for you. You like them both, I know----" "I've always liked them both, and I don't like either of them one bit better than the other." "Is there any one else you like as well as either of them?" "No, of course not. I've never cared for any one as I have for Jack and Jim--except you, of course. Oh! what am I to do, Charlie?" "As far as I can see, there is only one thing to be done at present, and that is--wait." "Can you make them wait? Oh, do! Some time, perhaps----" "If this war comes, they will have to go into it. They may neither of them come back." "Oh, Charlie! . . . That is too terrible to think of----" "War is terrible without a doubt, dear. It cuts the knot of many a life." "My poor boys! But how can I possibly tell them?" "I think, perhaps, you had better leave it all to me, dear. I will just explain to each of them quietly how this has taken you by surprise, and that you feel towards the one just as you do towards the other, and that, for the time being, they must let matters rest there." "Things will never be the same among us again." "Not quite the same, perhaps; but there is no reason why your friendship should suffer." "If they will see it that way----" "They will have to see it that way. They ought, by rights, to have spoken to me first. And if they had I could have saved you all this. I must scold them well for that." "The dear boys!" And presently, since he could imagine from their letters the state of the boys' feelings, and such were better got on to reasonable lines as soon as possible, he set off in the chill twilight for Carne. And Gracie sat looking into the fire, her mind ranging freely in these new pastures--troubled not a little at this sudden break in the brotherly-sisterly ties which had hitherto bound them, with quick mental side-glances now and then at the strange new possibilities, and not entirely without a touch of that exaltation with which every girl learns that to one man she is the whole end and aim of life. The trouble was that here were two men holding her in that supreme estimation, and that, so far, in her very heart of hearts, she found it impossible to say that she loved one better than the other. And at times the white brow knitted perplexedly at the absurdity of it, while the sweet, mobile mouth below twisted to keep from actual smiles as she thought of it all. But, naturally, the first result of the whole matter was that her mind dwelt incessantly and penetratingly on her boyfriends who had suddenly become her lovers, and she regarded them from quite new points of view. And she knew that she was right, and that they never could be all quite the same to one another as they had been hitherto. Long before Charles got back she was feeling quite aged and worn with overmuch thinking. CHAPTER XXIX GRACIE'S DILEMMA "One on 'em's up in his room, but I dunnot know which," grunted old Mrs. Lee, in answer to Eager's request for the boys, either or both, and he went up at once. A tap on Jim's door received no answer. Jack's opened to him at once. "Mr. Eager!" And there was a hungry look in the boy's eyes. "Hard at work, old chap?"--at sight of a number of books spread out on the table. "I thought this was holidays with you." "I tried, but I couldn't get down to it." "Where's Jim?" "He's off down along--couldn't it still. Have you brought us any word from Gracie?"--very anxiously. "Well, I've come to have a talk with you about that." And the Rev. Charles pulled out his pipe and began to fill it. "You ought to have spoken to me first, you know----" "Oh?--didn't know--not used to that kind of thing, you know." "I suppose not. Still, that is the proper way to go about it." "What does Gracie say?" asked Jack impatiently. "I've come to ask you both, Jack, to let the matter lie for a time." And Jack's foot beat an impatient tattoo. "You see, Gracie had no idea whatever of this, and it has knocked the wind out of her. You can't imagine how upset she is. First, she thought you were joking. Then she had a good cry, and now I've left her staring into the fire, fearing you can never all be friends again as you always have been." "Why, of course we can!" "I told her so, but she says things can never be the same." "We don't want them the same." "No, I know. But you see, Jack, Gracie has not been thinking of you two in that way; and in the way she has always thought of you, as her dearest friends, she likes the one of you just as much as the other." Jack grunted. "After this it will be impossible for her to regard you simply as friends. But you must give her time----" "Is there any one else?" growled Jack. "There is no one else. I asked her." "And--how--long----" "To name a time, I should say a year." "A great deal may happen in a year. We may all be dead." "The chances are that this will be a year of great happenings," said Eager gravely. "The issues are in God's hands. May He grant us all a safe deliverance!" "You really think it will be war?" asked the boy quickly. "I fear so!" Jack sat gazing steadily into the fire and limned coming glories in the dancing flames. "A year's a terrible long time to wait when you feel like a starving dog. But if there's a war . . . yes--that would make it pass quicker." "Have you said anything to your grandfather about this matter?" "How could we till we knew which----" Eager nodded. "Best leave it so at present. How soon will Jim be back? I'd like to have a word with him too." "I don't know. He's a good deal worked up." "I'll go along and meet him." "I'll come too?" "No. Better let me see him by himself. You can talk it over together afterwards. I hope this won't make any difference between you two, Jack." "One of us has got to put up with disappointment some time," said Jack steadily. "But we'll just have to stand it." Eager tramped away along the rim of the tidal sand, well pleased with Jack's reasonable acceptance of the situation. Jim, he felt sure, would be no less sensible, and matters would run on smoothly; and so Time, the great Solver of Problems, would be given the opportunity of working out this one also. Deeply pondering the whole matter, and letting his thoughts wander back along the years, he tramped on almost forgetful of the actual reason for his coming. It was not till a gleam of light amid the sand-hills on his left told him he had got to Seth Rimmer's cottage, that he knew how far he had come. Jim might have called there, so he rapped on the door and went in. "Ech, Mr. Eager! It's good o' you to come and see an owd woman like this," said Mrs. Rimmer from the bed. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Rimmer. You're one of the ones that it does one good to see." "It's very good o' yo'." "But I came really to look for Jim Carron. They told me he had come down this way, and I thought he might have called in to see you." "No. I havena seen owt of him." "And you're all alone? Where's everybody?" "Th' mester's at his work--God keep him; it's a bad, black night!--and Seth--he's away." "And where's my friend Kattie? She ought not to leave you all alone like this." "Ech, I'm used to it. 'Oo's always slipping out. I dunnot know who----" she began, with a quite unusual fretfulness, which showed him she had been worrying over it. And then the door opened and Kattie came in, ruffled somewhat with the south-west wind, which had whipped the colour into her face. With a bit of cherry ribbon at her throat, and another bit in her hair, and her eyes sparkling in the lamplight, she looked uncommonly pretty. "How they all grow up!" thought Eager to himself. "Here's another who will set the village boys by the ears; and it seems no time since she was a child running about with scarce a rag to her back!" "Mr. Eager?" said Kattie in surprise. "I came to find Jim Carron, Kattie. I suppose you haven't seen him about anywhere?" "I saw some one walking up along," said Kattie, "but it was too dark to see who it was." "Jim, I'll be bound. Good night, Mrs. Rimmer! Good night, Kattie! I'll be in again in a day or two." And he set off in haste the way he had come. A few minutes' quick walking showed him a dim figure strolling along the higher causeway of dried seaweed and drift, and kicking it up disconsolately at times, just as he used to do as a boy when seeking treasure. "That you, Jim?" And the figure stopped. "Hello!--what--you, Mr. Eager?" "Just me. I came to look for you. Kattie told me you'd come on----" "Kattie?" "Well, she said she'd seen some one pass, and I guessed it was you. I've been in having a talk with Jack, my boy, and I wanted to see you too." And he linked arms and went on. "Yes?" "About your letter to Gracie." And Eager felt the boy's arm jump inside his own. "It was a tremendous surprise to her, you know. She had never thought of either of you in that way, and it knocked her all of a heap. Now I want you all to let matters rest as they are for a year, Jim----" "A year! Good Lord!" "I know how you feel, lad, but it is absolutely the only thing to be done. You've been like brothers to her, you know. You are both very dear to her; but when you ask her suddenly to choose between you, she cannot. I couldn't myself. You are both dearer to me than any one in the world . . . almost . . . after Gracie, . . . but if you put me in a comer and bade me, at risk of my life, say which of you I liked best--well, I couldn't do it. And that's just her position." "I'm afraid . . . I don't suppose I stand much chance . . . against old Jack. . . . He's a much finer fellow. . . . But, oh, Mr. Eager . . . I can't tell you how I feel about her. . . . If it could make her happy I'd be ready to lie right down here and die this minute." And Eager pressed the jerking arm inside his own understandingly. "I believe you would, my boy. But it wouldn't make for Gracie's happiness at all to have you lie down and die. You must both live to do good work in the world and make us all proud of you. And the work looks like coming, Jim, and quickly." "You mean this war they're talking about?" "Yes. I'm afraid there's no doubt it's coming, and war is a terrible thing." "It'll give one the chance of showing what's in one, anyway." "Some one has to pay for such chances." "I suppose so . . . . unless one pays oneself. . . . I don't know that I particularly want to kill any one, but I suppose one forgets all that in the thick of it. . . . Anyway, if it comes to fighting I think I can do that . . . if I haven't got much of a head for books and things." "I believe you will do your duty, whatever it is, my boy, and no man can do more." "Well?" asked Gracie eagerly, when Eager got home again. "Did you see them? Quick, Charlie! Tell me!" "Yes, I saw them. Jack at home--trying to work. Jim down along--couldn't sit still." "The poor boys!" "They are very much in earnest, but I have got them to see the reasonableness of waiting--for a year at least." "I'm glad. I don't know how I can ever choose between them, Charlie." "Don't trouble about it, dear. Things have a way of working themselves out if you leave them to themselves." "I wonder!" she said wearily. CHAPTER XXX NEVER THE SAME AGAIN "Things can never be the same again," was the doleful refrain of all Gracie's thoughts as she tossed and tumbled that night, very weary but far too troubled to sleep. And at Carne there were two more in like case. "Seen Mr. Eager?" asked Jack when Jim came in. "Yes," nodded Jim, and nothing more passed between them on the subject. But here too things could never be quite the same again, for, good friends as ever though they might remain in all outward seeming, neither could rid his mind of the fact that the other desired beyond every other thing in life the prize on which his own heart was set. And that ever-recurring thought tended, no matter how they might try to withstand it, to division. Similarity of aim, when there is but one prize, inevitably produces rivalry, and rivalry scission. They strove against it. "Jim, old boy, this mustn't divide us," said Jack next day, when both were feeling somewhat mouldy. "Course not," growled Jim, but all the same the cloud was over them. Eager had asked them to come in to tea that afternoon, so that he might be with them all at this first meeting and help to round awkward corners. But they all three felt somewhat gauche and ill at ease at first, as was only natural. For Gracie's face, swept by conscious blushes, was lovelier than ever, and set both their hearts jumping the moment she came into the room. And it is no easy matter for a girl to appear at her ease in the company of two love-sick young men who know all about each other's feelings and hers. They were both inclined to gaze furtively at her with melancholy in their eyes, and for the time being the old gay camaraderie was gone; and at times, when she caught them at it, it was all she could do to keep from hysterical laughter, while all the time she felt like crying to think that they would never all be the same again. But Eager exerted himself to the utmost to charm away the shadows, gave them some of the humours of his sharp-witted parishioners, and finally got them on to the outlook in the East, which set them talking and left Grace in comparative comfort as a listener. Jack gave them eye-openers in the matter of new guns and projectiles. Jim asserted with knowledge that if the cavalry got their chance they would give a mighty good account of themselves. Eager expressed the hope that the Government would awake to the fact that the whole matter was obviously promoted by the French Emperor for his own personal aggrandisement, and would not allow England to be made his willing instrument. The boys knew little of the political aspect of the case, but hoped, if it came to fighting, that they would be in it. And Grace sat quietly and listened, and wondered what the coming year would hold for them all. So by degrees the stiffness of their new estate wore off, and before the boys left they were all talking together almost as of old, but not quite. Still she went to bed that night somewhat comforted, and slept so soundly as almost to make up for the night before. "What's the matter with those boys?" asked Sir Denzil of Eager next day, when they met for the discussion of certain arrangements respecting the boys' allowances. "Are they sick? Any typhus about?" And there was actually a touch of anxiety in his voice. "No, sir, they are not sick bodily. They're in love." "The deuce! With whom?" "Gracie." "What--both of them?"--suspending his pinch of snuff in mid-air to gaze in astonishment at Eager. "Yes, both of them." "So!"--snuffing very deliberately, and then nodding thoughtfully. "So the puzzle of Carne hits you too. And what does Miss Gracie say about it?" "She is very much upset. They had all been such good friends, you see, that she had never regarded them in that light." "And you?" "I have persuaded them to let matters remain on the old footing, as far as that is possible, for at least a year. By that time----" "Yes, this next year may bring many changes," said the old gentleman musingly; and presently, "Well, I'm glad they have shown so much sense, Mr. Eager--and you too. I have the highest possible opinion of Miss Gracie. Now as to the money. They cannot live on their pay, of course. What do you suggest?" "Not too much. Jim will be at somewhat more expense than Jack, but it would not do to discriminate. I should say a couple of hundred each in addition to their pay. It won't leave them much of a margin for frivolities, and that is just as well." "Very well. I will instruct my lawyers to that effect. Three hundred and fifty or four hundred a year would not have gone far with us in my day, but no doubt things have changed. Do your best to keep them from high play. It generally ends one way, as you know." "I have no reason to believe they are, either of them, given to it. Of course----" "They've not tasted their freedom yet. It's bound to be in their blood. Put them on their guard, Mr. Eager. We don't want them milksops, but put them on their guard. It will come with more weight from you than from me." "There is no fear of them turning out milksops, Sir Denzil. They are as fine a pair of lads as Carne has ever seen, I'll be bound, and they'll do us all credit yet. I'll talk to them about the gaming. Jack is too keen on his work, I think. Jim----" "Ay, Jim's a Carron, right side or wrong. You'll find he'll run to the green cloth like a mole to the water." "I'll see that he goes with his eyes open, anyway. I don't think he'll put us to shame. Jim's no great hand at his books, but he's got heaps of common sense, and he's true as steel." "All that no doubt," said the old gentleman, with a dry smile. "But you'll find that boys will be boys to the length of their tether. When they've exhausted the possibilities of foolishness they become men--sometimes," with a touch of the old bitterness. CHAPTER XXXI DESERET New men--and women--new manners and customs, to say nothing of costumes. The accession of the young Queen cut a deep cleft between the old times and the new. But human nature at the root is very much the same in all ages, no matter what its outward appearance and behaviour. The wild excesses of the Regency days had given place to the ordered decorum of a Maiden Court. The young Queen's happy choice of a consort confirmed it in its new and healthy courses. But, placid to the point of dullness though the surface of the stream appeared, down below there were still the old rocks and shoals, and now and again resultant eddies and bubbles reminded the older folk of the doings of other days. Now--as at all times, but undoubtedly more so than during the two preceding reigns--to those who believed in study and hard work as a means of personal advancement, the way was open. And now still, as at all times, but especially in those latter times, to those who craved the pleasures of the table, whether covered with a white cloth or a green, or simply bare mahogany, the way was no less open to those who knew. Jack, down at Chatham, was much too busy with his books, and such practical application of them as could be had there, to give a thought to the more frivolous side of things. Jim, cast into what was to him the whirl of London--though his grandfather would have viewed it scornfully over a depreciatory pinch of snuff, with something of the feelings of an old lion turned out to amuse himself in a kitchen garden--Jim found this new free life of the metropolis very delightful and somewhat intoxicating. Harrow had been a vast enlargement on Carne. London was a mightier enfranchisement than Harrow. But first of all he was a soldier, very proud of his particular branch of the service, and bent on fitting himself for it to the best of his limited powers. In the first flush of his boyish enthusiasm he worked hard. His horsemanship was above the average; his swordsmanship, by dint of application and constant practice, excellent; and he slogged away at his drill and a knowledge of the handling of men as he had never slogged at anything before. He bade fair to become a very efficient cavalryman, and meanwhile found life good and enjoyed himself exceedingly. His wide-eyed appreciation of this expansive new life appealed to his fellows as does the unbounded delight of a pretty country cousin to a dweller in the metropolis. They found fresh flavour in things through his enjoyment of them, and laid themselves out to open his eyes still wider. His enthusiasm for their common profession was in itself a novelty. They decided that all work and no play would, in his case, result in but a dull boy, as it would have done in their own if they had given it the chance; and so, whenever opportunity offered--and they made it their business to see that it was not lacking--they carried him off among the eddies and whirlpools of society and insisted on his enjoying himself. But, indeed, no great insistence was necessary. Jim found life supremely delightful, and savoured it with all the headlong vehemence of his nature. He had never dreamed there were so many good fellows in the world, such multitudes of pretty girls, such endless excitements of so many different kinds. Life was good; and Jack, deep in his studies at Chatham, And Charles Eager, busy among his simple folk up north, alike wagged their heads doubtfully over the hasty scrawls which reached them from time to time with exuberant but sketchy accounts of his doings, always winding up with promises of fuller details which never arrived. Gracie enjoyed his enjoyment of life to the full, and wept with amusement over his attempts at description of the people he met, and never suffered any slightest feeling of loss in him, for he wound up every letter to her with the statement that, on his honour, he had not yet met a girl who could hold a candle to her, and that he did not believe there was one in the whole world, and that if there was he had no wish to meet her, and so he remained--hers most devotedly, hers most gratefully, hers only, hers till death, and so on, and so on--Jim. As to Sir Denzil, who received a dutiful letter now and again and got all Eager's news in addition, he only smiled over all these carryings-on, and said the lad must have his fling, and it sounded all very tame and flat compared with the doings of his young days. And If the boy came a cropper in money matters he would be inclined to look upon it as the clearest indication they had yet had as to his birth, for there never had been a genuine Carron who had not made the money fly when he got the chance. None of which subversive doctrine did Eager transmit to the exuberant one in London, lest it should but serve to grease the wheels and quicken the pace towards catastrophe; and he earnestly begged, and solemnly warned, Sir Denzil to keep his deplorable sentiments to himself, lest worse should come of it. And to Charles Eager, deeply as he detested the thought of war, it seemed that, from the purely personal point of view, as regarded Jim and his fellows in like case, a taste of the strenuous life of camp and field would be more wholesome than this frivolous whirl of London. Jim, in his joyous flights, met many a strange adventure. He had gone one night with some of his fellows--Charlie Denham, second lieutenant in his own regiment, and some others--to a house in St. James's Street, where Chance still flourished vigorously in spite of Act 8 & 9 Vict. c. 109, and stood watching the play, with his eyes nearly falling out of his head at the magnitude and apparent recklessness of it all. It was a curious room--the walls hung with heavy draperies, no sign of a window anywhere about it; and it had a feeling and atmosphere of its own, one to which fresh air and sweetness and the light of day were entirely foreign. It was furnished with many easy chairs and couches, and softly illuminated by shaded gas pendants which threw a brilliant light on to the tables, but left all beyond in tempered twilight. The entrance too had struck Jim as still more remarkable. A small, mean door in a narrow side-street yielded silently to the Open Sesame of certain signal-taps and revealed a very narrow circular staircase, apparently in the wall of the house. At every fifteen or twenty steps upwards was another stout door, which opened only to the prearranged signal, and there were three such doors before they arrived at first a cloak-room, then a richly appointed buffet, and finally the gaming-room. If the descent to hell is proverbially easy, the ascent to this particular antechamber was rendered as difficult as possible, to any except the initiated, and he was presently to learn the reason why. There was a solid group round each of the tables, and some of the players occasionally gave vent to their feelings in an exultant exclamation--more frequently in a muttered objurgation; but for the most part gain or loss was accepted with equal equanimity, and Jim wondered vaguely as to the depths of the purses that could lose hundreds of guineas on the chance of the moment, and could go on losing, and still show no sign. His wonder and attention settled presently on the most prominent player at the table, an outstanding figure by reason of his striking personal appearance and the size and steady persistence of his stakes. He might have been any age from sixty to eighty; looking at him again, Jim was not sure but what he might be a hundred. His hair was quite white, but being trimmed rather short carried with it no impression of venerableness. The face below was equally colourless, without seam or wrinkle, perfectly shaped, like a beautiful white cameo and almost as immobile. His eyes were dark and still keen. At the moment they were intent upon the game and Jim watched him fascinated. He was playing evidently on some system of his own and following it out with deepest interest, though nothing but his eyes betrayed it. His slim white hand quietly placed note after note on certain numbers, and replaced them with ever-increasing amounts as time after time the croupier raked them away. Now and again a few came fluttering back, but for the most part they tumbled into the bank with the rest. But, whether they came or went, not a muscle moved in the beautiful white face, and the stakes went on increasing with mathematical precision. Many of the others had stopped their spasmodic punting in order to give their whole attention to his play. Their occasional guineas had come to savour of impudence alongside this formidable campaign. Jim watched breathlessly, with a tightening of the chest, though the outcome was nothing to him, and wondered how long it could go on. The man must be made of money. He knew too little of the game to follow it with understanding, but he watched the calm white face with intensest interest, and out of the corners of his eyes saw the slim white hand quietly dropping small fortunes up and down the table and replacing them with larger ones as they disappeared. Then a murmur from the onlookers told him of some change in the tun of luck, but the white face showed no sign. And suddenly the group round the table began to disintegrate. "What is it?" jerked Jim to his neighbour. "He's broken the bank. Wish I had half his nerve and luck and about a quarter of his money." "Who is he?" "Don't you know? Lord Deseret. Gad, he must have taken ten thousand pounds to-night!" "Come along, Carron," said one of his friends. "All the fun's over, but it was jolly well worth seeing." And as Jim turned he found himself face to face with Lord Deseret, who stood quietly tapping one hand with a bundle of bank-notes, folded lengthwise as though they were so many pipe-spills. "Carron?" he said gently. "Which of you is Carron?" "I am Jim Carron, sir--at your service." And the keen kindly eyes dwelt pleasantly on him and seemed to go right through him. "_Jim_ Carron?" said the old man, and tapped him on the arm with the wedge of bank-notes, and indicated an adjacent sofa and his desire for his company there. "And why not Denzil? It always has been Denzil, hasn't it?" "Well, you see, there are two of us, sir, and we are both Denzil, so we are also Jack and Jim to prevent mistakes." "Two of you, are there?"--with a slight knitting of the smooth white brow, on which all the wildest fluctuations of the tables had not produced the faintest ripple of emotion. "Two of you, eh? And which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy? Which is to be Carron of Carne when the time comes?" "Ah, now! that is more that I can tell you, sir. We are a pair of unfortunate twins, and no one knows which is the elder." "Twins, eh?" And even to Jim's unpractised eye there was a look of surprise on the calm white face. "That is somewhat awkward for the succession, isn't it? Which is the better man?" "Oh--Jack, miles away. He's got a head on him. He's at Chatham in the Engineers. I'm in the Hussars." "There may be work even for the Hussars before long. There certainly will be for the Engineers. You're all looking forward to it, I suppose?" "Very much so, sir. You think there's no doubt about it?" "None, I fear, my boy. It will bring loss to many, gain to a few, but the gain rarely equals the loss. Do you play?" he asked abruptly. "Very little. It's all quite new to me. I've hardly found my feet yet." "This kind of thing," he said, flipping the bank-notes, "is all very well if you can afford it. Take my advice and keep clear of it." Jim laughed, as much as to say, "Your example and your good fortune belie your words, sir." "I can afford it, you see," said Lord Deseret, in reply to the boy's unspoken thought. "When you are as old as I am, and if you have wasted your life as I have," he said impressively, "you may come to play as the only excitement left to you. But I hope you will have more sense and make better use of your time. Will you come and see me?" "I would very much like to, sir, if I may." "You are occupied in the mornings, of course." And he pulled out a gold pencil-case and scribbled an address on the back of the outermost bank-note, and handed it to Jim. "Any afternoon about five, you will find me at home." "But----" stammered Jim, much embarrassed by the bank-note. "Put it in your pocket, my boy. You will find some use for it, unless things are very much changed since my young days. Your father's son--and your grandfather's grandson for the matter of that--need feel no compunction about accepting a trifling present from so old a friend of theirs. You cannot in any case put it to a worse use than I would. I shall look for you, then, within a day or two." And with a final admonitory tap of the sheaf of notes and a kindly nod, he left Jim standing in a vast amazement. Lord Deseret had gone out by the door leading to the buffet and staircase. He was back on the instant with his hat and cloak on, just as a sharp whistle from some concealed tube behind the hangings cleft the air, and, in the sudden silence that befell, Jim heard the sound of thunderous blows from the lower regions. Lord Deseret looked quickly round and beckoned to him. "The police," he said quietly. "Get your things and keep close to me. It would never do for you to be caught here. There is plenty of time. Those doors will keep them busy for a good quarter of an hour or more. Now, Stepan!" And a burly man, who had suddenly appeared, pulled back the heavy curtains from a corner and opened a narrow slit of a door, and they passed through to another staircase, which led up and up until, through a trap-door, they came out on to the roof. They passed on over many roofs, with little ladders leading up and down over the party-walls, and finally down through another trap, and so through a public-house into a distant street. "A thing we are always subject to," said Lord Deseret gently, "and so we provide for it. Don't forget to come and see me. Good night!" "You're in luck's way, old man," said his friend Denham. "Deseret is a man worth knowing. Let's go and have something to eat." And they all went over to Merlin's and had a tremendous supper, for which they allowed Jim to pay because he was in luck's way and had made the acquaintance of Lord Deseret. And many such supper-bills would have made but a very trifling hole in Lord Deseret's bank-note. CHAPTER XXXII THE LADY WITH THE FAN Perhaps it was that heavy supper, and its concomitants, that tended to fog Jim's recollection of something in his talk with Lord Deseret which had struck a jarring note in his brain at the time, and had suggested itself to him as odd and a thing to be most decidedly looked into when opportunity offered. The feeling of it was with him next day, but he could not get back to the fact or the words which had given rise to it. Something the old man had said had caused him a momentary surprise and discomfort, and then had come the abiding surprise, from which the momentary discomfort had worn off, of that enormous bank-note, and after that the hasty exit over the roofs and the tumultuous supper at Merlin's, with much merriment and wine and smoke. It was not easy to get back through all that fog to the actual words of a casual conversation. But there certainly was something. What, in Heaven's name, was it, that it should haunt him in this fashion? And then, as he did his best for the tenth time, in his thick-headed, blundering way, to cover the ground again step by step, it suddenly flashed upon him. "And which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?" That was it! "Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?" the old man had asked quite casually, as though expecting a perfectly commonplace answer. Were they not, then, both Lady Susan Sandys's boys? To be suddenly confronted with a question such as that--to come upon even the suggestion of a flaw in the fundamental facts of one's life, is a facer indeed. What _could_ the old boy mean? There was no sign of decrepitude about him. That he was in fullest possession of very unusual powers of brain and nerve, his prowess at the tables had shown. What could he mean? Twin brothers must surely have the same mother. And yet from Lord Deseret's question, and the way he put it, and the searching look of the kindly keen eyes, one might have supposed that he knew, and every one else knew, something to the contrary. To one of Jim's simple nature, there was only one thing to be done, and that was to go to Lord Deseret and ask him plainly what he meant. He had already written to Jack, conveying to him his half of the unexpected windfall, before he had succeeded in getting back to the root of the trouble. And he had simply told him how he had met Lord Deseret, an old friend of their father's, and how he had broken the bank at roulette and had insisted on making him a present, which was obviously given to them both, and so he had the pleasure of enclosing his half herewith; and Lord Deseret was an exceedingly jolly old cock, and the finest-looking old boy he had ever seen, and the way he followed up that bank till it broke was a sight, and he, Jim, was half inclined to buy himself another horse, as the mare he had was a bit shy and skittish in the traffic, though no doubt she would get used to it in time. It was after five before he found out what he wanted to ask Lord Deseret, and so the matter had to stand over till next day, rankling meanwhile in his mind in most unaccustomed fashion, and exercising that somewhat lethargic member much beyond its wont. That night Denham and the rest were bound for Covent Garden to see Madame Beteta in her Spanish dances. Vittoria Beteta had burst upon the town a month or two before and taken it by storm. She claimed to be Spanish, but her dances were undoubtedly more so than her speech. She had a smattering of her alleged native language, and of French and Italian, and, for a foreigner, a quite unusual command of the difficult English tongue. Whatever her actual nationality, however, she danced superbly and was extraordinarily good-looking, and knew how to make the most of herself in every way. Her age was uncertain, like all the rest. She looked eighteen, but, as she had been dancing for years in most of the capitals of Europe, she was probably more. What was certain was that she had witching black eyes, and raven black hair, and a superb figure, and danced divinely, and drew all the world to watch her. Jim was charmed, like all the others. He had never seen anything so exquisitely, so seductively graceful. He gazed, with wide eyes and parted lips, till the others smiled at his absorption. "There's your new catch beckoning to you, Carron," said Denham suddenly, but he had to dig him lustily in the ribs before he could distract his attention from the dancer. "Here, I say! Stop it!" jerked Jim, unconsciously fending the assault with his elbow, while he still hung on to the Beteta's twinkling feet with all the zest that was in him. "There's Lord Deseret waving to you--in the stage-box, man." And Jim, following his indication, saw Lord Deseret, in a box abutting right on to the stage, waving his hand and beckoning to him. "You have the luck," sighed Denham. "He wants you in his box. Wonder if he has room for two little ones." "Come on and try." And Jim jumped up. "Wait till the dance is over or you'll get howled at, man." And Denham dragged him down again, until the outburst of applause announced the end of the figure and they were able to get round to Lord Deseret's box. He received them cordially, and as he had the box all to himself Charlie had no reason to feel himself superfluous. "Yes, she is very 'harming and dances remarkably well," said Lord Deseret. "It was I induced her to come over here. I saw her in Vienna two years ago, and advised her then to add London to her laurels. Would you like to meet her? We could go round after the next dance. She will have a short rest then." "Oh, I would," jerked Jim. And so presently he found himself, with Lord Deseret and Charlie Denham, who could hardly stand for inflation, in Mme Beteta's dressing-room. She was lying on a couch, swathed in a crimson silk wrap and fanning herself gently with a huge feather fan, over which the great black eyes shone like lamps. "Señora," said Lord Deseret in Spanish, with the suspicion of a smile in the corners of his eyes, "may I be allowed the pleasure of introducing to you some young friends of mine?" And she struck at him playfully with the plume of feathers, disclosing for a moment a laughing mouth and a set of fine white teeth. And Jim thought she looked hardly as young as her eyes and her feet would have led one to suppose. "Do you understand Spanish?" she asked of Jim, in English. "No, I'm sorry to say----" "Then you see, milord, it is not _comme il faut_ to speak it where it is not understood." And she laughed again. "I stand corrected, madame. We will not speak our native tongue. This is my young friend, James Carron." And Jim, gazing with all his heart at the wonderful dancer, got a vivid impression of a rich dark Southern face, and a pair of great liquid black eyes glowing upon him through the tantalising undulations of the great dusky fan, which wafted to and fro with the methodic regularity of a metronome. "And this is Lord Charles Denham. Both gallant Hussars, and both aching to show the colour of their blood against your friends of St. Petersburg." "Ah, the horror!" she said gently. "But you do not look bloodthirsty, Mr. Carron." And the great black eyes seemed to look Jim through and through. "I don't think I am really, you know. But if there is to be fighting one looks for chances, of course." "And the chance always of death," she said gravely. "One takes that, of course." "But it is always the next man who is going to be killed, madame," struck in Charlie. "Oneself is always immune. Lord Deseret was at Waterloo, yet here he is, very much alive and as sound as a bell." "He had the good fortune. May you both have as good!" "They were anxious to express to you their admiration of your dancing, madame," said Lord Deseret. "But we seem to have fallen upon more solemn subjects." "I have never seen anything like it," said Jim. "It is exquisite beyond words, a veritable dream," said the more gifted Charlie. "Ah, well, it seems to please people, and so it is a pleasure to me also. You are from--where, Mr. Carron?" "From the north--from Carne,--the Carrons of Carrie, you know." The dusky plume wafted noiselessly to and fro in front of her face, and its pace did not vary by the fraction of a hair's breadth. Over it, and through it, the great black eyes rested on his face in curiously thoughtful inquisition. Suddenly, with an almost invisible jerk of the head, she beckoned him to closer converse, and holding the fan as a screen invited him inside it, so to speak. "Do you play?" she asked gently. "Very little," he said in surprise. "I have only my pay and an allowance, you see." "That is right. He"--nodding towards Lord Deseret--"is not a good example for young men in that respect." "He has been very kind to me. And he warns me strongly against it." "All the same he does not set a good example. Will you come and see me?" "I would be delighted if I may." "Come and breakfast with me to-morrow at twelve. I shall be alone." She gave him an address in South Audley Street, and then dismissed them all with, "Now you must go. Here is my dresser, and I have but ten minutes more." And they made their adieux and bowed themselves out. "Is Madame English?" asked Denham, as they seated themselves in the box again. "Originally, I think so. But she has lived much abroad and has become to some extent cosmopolitan. She certainly is not Spanish, or if she is she has most unaccountably forgotten her native tongue," said Lord Deseret, with his hovering smile. "She dances in Spanish, anyway," said Charlie exuberantly. "And that is all that concerns us at the moment." CHAPTER XXXIII A STIRRING OF MUD It is an old saying, founded on very correct observation, that long-continued calm breaks up in storm. And the same holds good of life, individual and national. Too long a calm leads at times to somewhat of deterioration--at all events to a laxing of the fibres and an indolent reliance on the continuance of things as they are; and that, in a world whose essence is growth and change, is not without its dangers. And--proverbially again--a storm always clears the air. It seemed to Jim Carron that, of a sudden, the accumulated storms of all the long quiet years burst upon him. He had intended seeing Lord Deseret at the first possible moment and questioning him as to that very curious remark of his. But he could not broach such a matter at the theatre and in company, and his lordship had driven off to some other appointment the moment the curtain fell. So, at twelve next day, having scrambled through his morning's duties with a quite unusually preoccupied mind, he presented himself at Mme Beteta's lodgings and was taken upstairs to her apartments. She welcomed him graciously, and they sat down at once to the table. He thought she looked decidedly older in the daylight, but it was only in the texture of her face, devoid now of any artificial assistance, and slightly lined in places. The two great plaits of black hair showed no silver threads. The luminous black eyes were still bright. The sinewy form the dancer was full of exquisite grace. "Now tell me about yourself," demanded madame, as they sipped their final coffee, and the maid retired. "I don't think there's anything to tell," said Jim, with his open boyish smile. "We have lived all our lives at Carne--Jack and I--until we went to Harrow, and then he went to Woolwich and I came to London." "Jack is your brother?" "Yes; we're twins. He's the clever one. That's why he's at Chatham now--in the Engineers. It was all I could do to scramble into the Hussars." And he laughed reminiscently at the scramble, and then told her about it. "And which of you is the elder? Even in twins one of you must come first." "That's funny now. Lord Deseret was asking me that the first time we met, and I couldn't tell him. We've really never troubled about it, you see, or thought about it at all until a very short time ago. I suppose it was the fellows at school wanting to know which was the elder that set us thinking about it. We asked old Mrs. Lee--she keeps house for us at Carne, you know--and Mr. Eager----" "Who is Mr. Eager?" "Oh, he's a splendid fellow. He's curate at Wyvveloe, and he's done everything for us, he and Gracie "--and madame noted the softened inflection as he said the word. "And who is Gracie?" "Mr. Eager's sister. They call her 'the Little Lady' in Wyvveloe." "Is she pretty?" "Oh, she's lovely, and as good and sweet as can be." "You're in love with her, I suppose." "Yes, I am," said Jim, colouring up, "and I'm not ashamed of it." "And what about Jack?" "He's in love with her, too." "That's rather awkward, isn't it? What does Miss Gracie say to it all?" "Oh, she was terribly upset. You see she had never thought of us like that. It was after the dance at Sir George Herapath's that we found it out----" "She had a low dress on, I suppose--bare arms and shoulders, and you had never seen her so before." "Yes," he said, surprised at such acumen, "I suppose that was it. We all used to bathe together and run about the sands. But that night she seemed to grow up all of a sudden--and so did we." "And what does her brother say to it--and your grandfather?" "We're to say nothing more about it for a year. You see, this war is coming on and you never can tell----" "War is horror," she said, with a shudder. "I have seen fighting in Spain and in the streets of Paris. It is terrible. You may neither of you come back alive. If only one comes, then, I suppose----" "Yes, that would settle it all." "And you do not remember your mother?" she asked, after a pause. "We never knew her," he said thoughtfully, bethinking him suddenly of Lord Deseret and that curious saying of his. "She died when we were born, and nobody has told us about her. Old Mrs. Lee must remember her, but she would never tell us, and Sir Denzil--well, you can't ask him about anything--at least, not to get any good from it." "He has been good to you both?" "Oh yes, in his way. But if it hadn't been for Mr. Eager----. We were growing up just little savages, running wild In the sand-hills, you know. And then he came, and it has made all the difference in the world to us." "You owe him much, then?" "Everything! Him and Gracie." In his boyish Impulsiveness, having been led on to talk about himself, he was half tempted to consult her about the matter that was troubling his mind in connection with Lord Deseret. But how should this half-foreign woman know anything about such matters. It was not likely that she had ever heard tell of Lady Susan Sandys. How should she? And so he lapsed into a brown study, thinking over it all. He was aroused from it by another leading question from madame. "And your father? Is he alive? Can he not help to solve your difficulty?" "Well--you must think us a queer lot--we never saw our father till a short time ago. He has been living in France. We thought he was dead. He killed a man in a gaming quarrel long ago and had to live abroad, and he's been there ever since."? "Truly, as you say, you are an odd family. Will you bring your brother to see me sometime?" "I'm sure he would like it, but he's not often in town. You see, he has the brains and he's putting them to use. I'll bring him, though, the first time he's up." It was not till afterwards that her interest in him and his struck him as somewhat unusual, and then he had other things to think about. That same afternoon he went to Park Lane, and found Deseret House and asked for Lord Deseret. "Now, this is good of you," was his lordship's greeting--"to look up an old man when all the world is young and calling to you." "I wanted to ask you something, sir, if I may." "Say on, my boy. Anything I can tell you is very much at your service." "When you were speaking about Jack and me the other night, you said something which has been puzzling me ever since. You asked, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'" "Yes--well?" asked the old man, with a glint of surprise in the keen dark eyes, which rested on the boy's ingenuous face. "Was Lady Susan Sandys our mother, sir?" "Good heavens, boy, do you mean to say you don't know who your own mother was?" "We don't know anything sir. That was the first time I had ever heard her name." "Good God!" And there was no doubt about the vast surprise in the calm white face now, as its owner stood for a moment staring at Jim and then began to pace the room in very deep thought. "Your grandfather? Has he never discussed these things with you?" "Never, sir. We have never had very much to do with him, you see. Until quite lately we supposed our father was dead too. Then, one day, he came to Carne--from France, where he lives, and it was a great surprise to us." "And you know nothing about your mother?" "Nothing whatever, sir. But since you said that, I have been thinking of very little else. You said, 'Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?' Does that mean that we are not both Lady Susan Sandys's boys? That would mean that we had different mothers. But how could that be when we are both the same age? I wish you would tell me what it all means, for I've thought and thought till my brain is getting all twisted up with thinking." Lord Deseret paced the long room with bent head and his thin white hands clasped behind him. It seemed to him shameful that these boys should have been kept in such ignorance of matters so vital. He was not aware, of course, of their strange upbringing in the wilds of Carne. On the other hand, if their father and grandfather had not thought fit to enlighten them it would hardly become him to do so. Moreover, as he turned it all over in his mind, he perceived that there might be something to be said on the other side. The boys had obviously been brought up in perfect equality. Any revelation of the mystery of their births could only make for upsetting--must introduce elements of doubt into their minds, might work disastrously upon their fellowship. Quite unconsciously, supposing they knew all about it, he had stirred up the muddy waters that had lain quiescent for twenty years. "This is a great surprise to me, my boy," he said quietly at length--"a very great surprise. I should never have said what I did had I not supposed you knew all about it. As matters lie . . . I'm afraid you must absolve me from my promise. If your grandfather and your father have deemed it wise to keep silence in regard to certain family matters, it would hardly be seemly in me to discuss them without their permission. You see that, don't you?" "I see it from your point of view, sir, but not at all from my own," said Jim stubbornly. "There is something we do not know and we certainly ought to know it. If you won't tell me I must go elsewhere. I wish I had Jack's head. I think I'll go down to Chatham and talk it over with him." The mischief was done. Lord Deseret saw that the only thing left to him was to direct the boy's quite legitimate curiosity into right channels. "If I were you I would go straight to Sir Denzil. Tell him just what has happened, and that you will know no peace of mind till you understand the whole matter." "Thank you, sir. I will do that, but I think I will see Jack first and perhaps we could go down together. It's right he should know, and he's got a better head than I have." "It concerns you both, of course. Perhaps it would be as well you should go together," said Lord Deseret, and long after Jim had gone he pondered the matter and wondered what would come of it, and yet took no blame to himself. For who could have imagined that any boys could have grown to such an age in such complete ignorance of their father and mother and all their family concerns? CHAPTER XXXIV THE BOYS IN THE MUD Jim spent a troubled night, tossing to and fro and trying in vain to make head or tail of the tangle. He was in Chatham soon after midday and made his way at once to Jack's quarters. He found him hard at work at a table strewn with books and drawings. "Hello, Jim boy? Why, what's up? You look---- What is it, old boy? Not money, when you sent me that gold-mine, day before yesterday. It was mighty good of you, old chap. Now--what's wrong?" "I don't know. Everything, it seems to me. I told you about Lord Deseret----" "Rather! Good old cock! His money comes easily, I should say." "When he was talking to me, asking about you and Carne and all the rest, he said, quite as though I knew all about it---- 'And which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?'" "Who the deuce is Lady Susan Sandys?" "Your mother--or mine." Jack's knitted brows and concentrated gaze settled on Jim in vastest amazement. "Your mother--or mine, Jim? What on earth do you mean?" "That's just it. I don't know what it means. There is something behind that we don't understand, Jack." "And this Lord Deseret?" "I went to him and begged him to explain. He was very much surprised that I didn't know all about it, whatever it is. But he said that since our grandfather or our father had seen fit not to tell us, it would hardly be right for him to do so." Jack nodded. "He advised me to go to Sir Denzil and tell him how the matter had come up, and give him the chance to explain. And I suppose that's the only thing to do, but I wanted your advice. We've always been together in everything." Jack nodded again, and then shook his head over his own bewilderment. "I don't understand at all, Jim. Do you mean that we are not brothers, you and I? That's nonsense, and d----d nonsense too, I should say." "I've thought and thought till I'm all in a muddle. But, if words mean anything at all, it means that you and I are not children of the same mother, and Lord Deseret knows all about it." "You're sure he won't speak?" "Certain. He's a splendid old fellow. He'll only do what he thinks proper, and the fact that he was so much put out at having started the matter, without understanding that we knew nothing about it, shows the kind of man he is and what there is in it." "I can't imagine what it all means. Everybody knows we're twins, and to come now and tell us--oh, it's all d----d nonsense!" "I know. I felt that way too. But all the same we've got to know all about it now. How are you for leave? When can you come down to Carne?" "Leave's all right. Come now if you like," growled Jack, very much upset in his mind and temper, as was natural enough. "Meet me at ten o'clock, at Euston, to-morrow morning and we'll go down and get to the bottom of it all; unless you think it would be better still to go across to Paris and see our father and ask him. I have thought of that." "If the old man won't speak, we may have to do that," said Jack, in gloomy consideration. "But if there's something queer behind it all, he's the last man to tell us, for he must be mixed up in it, and it can't be to his credit." "I wish we'd never heard anything about it," said Jim. "I don't know. If there's anything wrong it's sure to come out sooner or later, and we ought to know. I'd like a proper foundation for my life." "Seems to me to cut all the foundations away." "Feels like that. Any one who says we're not brothers is simply a fool. Besides, why on earth should our grandfather bring us up as brothers if we aren't? He's no fool, and he's not the man to play at things all these years. I wonder if Mr. Eager knows." "I shouldn't think so. We were ten when he came." "Well, we'll see him first, at all events, and get his advice." And on that understanding they parted, to meet at Euston the following morning. Jack would have had Jim stop for a while to see round Chatham and make the acquaintance of some of his friends, but he begged off. "I can think of nothing but this thing at present. It's turned me upside down. I hope nothing will turn up to separate us, Jack." "We won't let it, Jim boy. That's in our hands at all events, and we'll see to it." CHAPTER XXXV EXPLANATIONS It was after ten o'clock the next night when they drove into Wyvveloe and knocked on Mrs. Jex's door. Mrs. Jex had gone to bed and so had Gracie. Eager himself answered their knock, and jumped with surprise at sight of them. "Why--Jack--Jim! What on earth----" "We'll tell you if you'll let us in," said Jack. "Now what mischief have you been getting into?" said Eager, as they sat down before the fire, and he knocked the wood into life. "It's not us this time. We've come to ask you something, Mr. Eager; and if you can't tell us we are going on to see Sir Denzil." And Charles Eager knew, without more telling, that the boys had somehow fallen on the mystery of their birth. "Go on," he nodded. "You know what we want to know?" "I think so; but if you'll tell me I shall be sure." And Jack, as the better speaker, laid the matter before him, and both eyed him anxiously the while. "I am glad you came to me first," he said. "I can probably tell you all you wish to know; and you must take it from me, boys, that if it was never told to you before, it was for good reason. Better still if it had never needed to be told at all. Best of all if there had been nothing to tell. The trouble is none of our making. All we can do is to face it like men, and that, I know, you will do." And he told them, as clearly and briefly as possible, all that he had learned concerning their births. "To sum it all up," he said in conclusion, "you are sons of the same father, and so are half-brothers. But which of you is the son of Lady Susan and which the son of Mrs. Lee's daughter, no man on earth knows. And again--whether your father was really married to Mrs. Lee's daughter I doubt if any one but himself knows. And so you see the tangle the whole matter is in, and you can understand why it was kept from you. We could only present you with a puzzle of which we did not know the solution. It could only have upset your lives as it has done now. We have gained twenty years by keeping silence." "Old Mrs. Lee knows which of us is which, I suppose," said Jack. And Jim jumped at the thought. "I have very little doubt that she does, Jack; but she has never shown any indication of it whatever." "And is her daughter still alive?" "I doubt if even she knows that. She has not heard of her for a great many years." "Does Gracie know anything about it all?" asked Jim. "Not a word; and I see no reason why she should. You two have given her quite enough to think about without troubling her with this matter." They quite agreed with that, and Jack, who had been pondering gloomily, summed up with: "It's all an awful tangle, and I see no way out. It seems to me that it doesn't matter in the least who is who; for even if we learned who our mothers were, we don't know if they were legally married. I'm afraid there is only one thing to be said--and that is, that the one parent we are both certain about was a dishonourable rascal, and we have got to suffer for his sins." "Morals were very much looser then than they are now," said Eager gently. "He was the product of his age. We may at all events be thankful that things have improved, and you two are the proofs thereof." "We'd probably have been no better if you'd never come here," said Jim, with very genuine feeling. "We owe everything to you--and Gracie." "That is so," said Jack heartily; and wished he had said it first, but he had been too fully occupied with the other aspect of the case. "One cannot help wondering," he said presently, "what is going to happen if our father and our grandfather should die. What are we going to do then, Mr. Eager?" "That is a question Sir Denzil and I have often debated, but we never arrived at any conclusion. One of you must be Carron of Carne. There is also another possibility. Lady Susan Sandys was the only sister of the Earl of Quixande. He is unmarried, so far as the world knows, but he also comes of the bad old times and--well, you know his reputation. But if he leaves no legitimate heir the title comes to his sister's son----" "If he should happen to be legitimate," growled Jack. "As you say, my boy--if he can be proved legitimate?" "In which case he is both Carron of Carne and Earl of Quixande." "And, having no need for the two titles, it might be possible to hand one over to his half-brother." "Could he?" asked Jack doubtfully. "Under the circumstances it might possibly be sanctioned." "Failing that, who comes in?" "Some Solway Canons. I know nothing of them except that your grandfather detests them. But there is still further possibility for you both." "What?" And they eyed him anxiously. "That in your military careers you may both rise to such heights as to cast even the title of Carron of Carne into the shade." Jack nodded. Jim did not seem to regard it as a very hopeful prospect. "Well," said Jack, as he got up, "we've got quite enough to think over for one night. We're going to the inn. We told them to make up beds for us there. They'll all have turned in at Carne. We'll go along and see Sir Denzil in the morning." "Come in to breakfast, and I'll go with you. I shall have to explain to him how it comes that I have had to disclose the whole matter to you." "The boys came down last night, Gracie," was the surprising news that met the Little Lady when she came down next morning. "The boys? Whatever for, Charlie? There isn't anything wrong with them, is there?" And the startled colour flooded her face and then left it white. "Nothing of the kind, dear. They wanted to see Sir Denzil on some family matters, and they arrived too late to go there last night, so they went to the inn." "You're sure they haven't been getting into trouble?" "Quite sure. They're coming in to breakfast. You'd better go and talk to Mrs. Jex about supplies. Hungry soldiers, you know." And Gracie flew to the commissariat department. "You dear boys!" was her greeting, when they came striding in, very tall and large in their undress uniforms. "What _have_ you been doing? Over-studying?--softening of the brain?"--to Jack. "Gambling?--and frivolling generally?"--to Jim. "Quite out," laughed Jack. "My brain was never better in its life, and Jim's pocket never so full. Mayn't a pair of hungry men come all the way from London to see you without being accused of such iniquities?" "It is nice to get such good reports from yourselves," laughed Gracie. "I wonder how long you can keep it up." "It depends upon circumstances," said Jack. "And what are the circumstances?" asked Gracie incautiously. "You're one," said Jack boldly. "Here's breakfast. Charlie gave me to understand you had had nothing to eat for a week." "Nothing half so good as this," said Jack, with an appreciative look at the cottage loaves and golden butter, and the great dish of ham and eggs Mrs. Jex had just brought in. "My! but yo' do look rare and big and bonny," said that estimable woman. "I do think I'll cook ye some more eggs." "Yes, do, Mrs. Jex," said Eager. "They don't get eggs like these in London." And so they got through breakfast; but Jim was the quietest of the party, and Gracie got it into her head that he was in some dreadful mess, in spite of what Charlie had said. And just before they started for Carne she got hold of him for a minute, and asked: "Jim, what's the trouble? Is it anything very bad?" "It's nothing we've done, Grace," he said, with so frank a look in his own anxious eyes that she could not doubt him. "Just some old family matters that have cropped up." And though she could not doubt his word, he was so unlike himself that she watched them go in a state of extreme puzzlement as to what could have sapped Jim's spirits to such an unusual extent. As a matter of fact, the strange disclosures of the previous night were weighing heavily upon him. With a vague, dull discomfort he was saying to himself that, as between himself and Jack, there could be no possible doubt as to which was the better man; and therefore--as he argued with himself--of the true stock. And, if that was so, he was simply superfluous and in everybody's way. He was not much good in the world, anyway. He felt as if he would be better out of it. If he were gone, Jack would take his proper place--and marry Gracie---- All the same, it was deucedly hard that one's life should be broken up like this through absolutely no fault of one's own. And to surrender all thought of Gracie---- Yes, that was the hardest thing of all. But she would go to Jack by rights, along with all the rest. "Thank God for this war that is coming!" he said to himself. "There will be my chance of getting out of the tangle and leaving the field clear to them." So no wonder our poor old Jim was feeling in the dumps, and was quite unable to keep them out of his face. "Hillo? What's brought yo' home?" asked old Mrs. Lee, as they came into her kitchen. "Business," said Jack curtly, and she was surprised at the dourness of them all. But Jack was saying to himself--"That old witch may be my grandmother." And Jim--"She is most likely my grandmother." And Eager--"If the old wretch would only speak she could tell us all we want to know." Under which conditions a certain lack of cordiality was really not very surprising. "Well, well! How much is it?" asked Sir Denzil, eyeing them quizzically over his arrested pinch of snuff as they came into his room. "And how did you manage to get here at this time of day?" "We slept at the Pig and Whistle, sir," said Jack. "We got to Wyvveloe too late last night to come on here." "Most considerate, I'm sure. What have you been up to, to make you so thoughtful of the old man? "They have run up against the Great Puzzle, sir, as we knew they must sooner or later," said Eager. "They came in to me at ten o'clock last night to ask if I could enlighten them, and I have told them all we know." "So!" And he absorbed his snuff and stared intently at the boys. . . . "And how do you feel about it?" "We feel bad, sir," said Jack. "But apparently there is no way out of the tangle." "We've been trying to find one for the last twenty years," said the old man grimly. "How did it come to you?" "Ah! I'm surprised at Deseret," he said, when he had heard the story. "He's old enough to know how to hold his tongue." "How are things shaping? Have they made up their minds to fight?" he asked. And Eager, at all events, knew how that great question bore upon the smaller. "I think there is no doubt about it, sir," said Jack. "There is talk of some of our men going out almost at once." "And you are both set on going?" "Yes, sir"--very heartily from both of them. "Well," said the old man weightily, "war is a great clearer of the air. Don't trouble your heads any more about this matter till you come home again. If you both come, we must consider what is best to be done. If only one of you comes, it will need no discussion. If neither,"--he snuffed very deliberately, looking at them as if he saw them for the first, or was looking at them for the last, time--"then, as far as you are concerned, the matter is ended. When do you return?" "To-morrow morning, sir. We could only get short leave." "Then perhaps you will favour me with your company at dinner to-night. And Mr. Eager will perhaps bring Miss Gracie." They would very much have preferred the simpler hospitality of Mrs. Jex's cottage, but could not well refuse. With Sir Denzil's words in their minds they could not but recognise that, for some of them, it might well be the last time they would all meet there. They picked up Gracie by arrangement, and all went off down along for a quick walk round some of their old haunts. "How well I remember my first sight of these flats!" said Eager, looking with great enjoyment at the tall, clean-made, upstanding figures striding by his side. Jim, he noticed, was rather the taller and certainly the more boyish-looking. Jack had a maturer air, which doubtless came of study. But both looked eminently soldierly and likely to give a good account of themselves. "You two were just little naked savages, and you stole all my clothes but one sock, and I thought I would have to go home clad only in a towel." "They were good old times," said Jack. "But I'm mightily glad you came. What would we have grown up into if you hadn't?" "Wild sand-boys," suggested Gracie. "And what a sight you were, the first time we saw you!" laughed Jack: "in your little red bathing things, with your hair all flying, and your little arms and legs going like drumsticks--a perfect vision of delight." "What a pity we can't always remain children!" "You can--in all good ways," said her brother. "One grows and one grows," she said, shaking her head knowingly, "and things are never the same again." "They may be better," said Jack, valiantly doing his best to allow no sinking of spirits. "It would be a pretty bad look out if one could only look backwards." Jim was unusually sober. As a rule, on such an occasion, nonsense was his vogue, and he and Gracie carried on like the children of those earlier days. "If you ask _me_," said Gracie, venturing a flight towards olden times, "I believe old Jim here has got himself into the most awful scrape of his life, in spite of all your assertions to the contrary. _I_ believe he's been and gone and lost one hundred thousand pounds at cards, and grandpa has quietly cut him off with a shilling over the usual pinch of snuff." "No, I haven't. I've lost hardly anything, and I've got heaps of money, more than I ever had in my life before. I'll buy you a pony, if you like." "All right! I don't mind. Sir George has a jolly one for sale; you know--Meg's Paddy. She's got too big for him, and he's just up to my feather-weight." "We'll go along and see about him when we've been to the Mere and seen Mrs. Rimmer and Kattie. How's Kattie getting on?" "She's a wild thing and as pretty as a rose. I'm afraid her mother worries about her. But it must be dreadfully lonely living here all the year round. Just look how grim and gray it all is. How would you like it yourself?" "I'd Like it better than London," said Jim stoutly. "If I hadn't plenty to do I'd get sick of it all--streets and houses and houses and streets, and no end to them." "But the people! You meet lots of nice people." "Some are nice, but there are too many of them for me. I can't remember them all, and I get muddled and feel like a fool. I'd swap them all for----" "For what?" "Oh--nothing!" "You flatter them. But you'll get used to it, Jim. It takes time, of course." "Don't know that I particularly want to get used to it. However, this war will make a change." "You are certain to go?" "If we don't, I'll exchange. I want to see some fighting, and to get some." "Bloodthirsty wretch!" "No, I don't think I really am. But if there has to be fighting I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's the only thing I'm good for. I'm no good at books, like Jack. But I believe I can fight." Mrs. Rimmer gave them very hearty welcome, in her surprised spasmodic fashion. "Ech, but it's good on yo' all to come an' see an old woman," she said, gazing round at them from her bed, with bright restless eyes and a curious anxious scrutiny. "Yo' grow so I connot hardly keep pace wi' yo'. It seems nobbut a year or two sin' yo' lads were running naked on the flats." "We were just recalling it all as we came along, Mrs. Rimmer, and regretting that we couldn't remain children all our lives," said Gracie. "Ah--yo' connot do that"--with a wistful shake of the head. "And how's Mr. Rimmer?" asked Eager. "Hoo's a' reet. Hoo's at his work." "And Seth?" "Seth's away." "And where's Kattie?" asked Jim. "Hoo went across to village, but hoo'd ought to be home by now. But once the lasses git togither they mun clack, and they nivver know when to stop." "Girls will be girls, Mrs. Rimmer," said Eager soothingly, "and Kattie's a girl to be proud of. She's blossomed out like a rose." "A'm feart she's a bit flighty, an' who she gets it from I dunnot know. Not fro' me, I'm sure, nor from her feyther neither." "Here she is," said Jim. "I hear the oars." And he jumped up and went to the door, and in another minute Kattie came in, all rosy with her exertions in the nipping air, and prettier than ever. They chatted together for a while, Kattie's sparkling eyes roving appreciatively over the wonderful changes in her former playmates, and a great wish in her heart that the girls up at Wyvveloe could see her on such friendly terms with two such stalwart warriors. When they got up to go she went out with them, and offered to put them across the Mere in the boat. "Yo're going back to London?" asked Kattie of Jim, as they threaded their way through the sand-hills. "We go back to-morrow. They don't give us long holidays, you see." "London's a grand place, they say." "In some ways, Kattie, but in most ways I'd sooner live at Carne." "Ech, I'd give a moight to see London," she sighed. "You'd soon have enough of it and want to get home again." "It's main dull here, year in, year out. I'm sick o' sand and sea," And then they were scrambling into the boat and trimming it to the requirements of so large a party. They said good-bye to Kattie at the other side of the Mere; and when they waved their hands to her for the last time, she was still standing watching them and wishing for the wider life beyond the sand-hills and the sea. Sir George and Margaret Herapath gave them the warmest of welcomes, and Jim tackled the master at once on the subject of Paddy. "But, Grace, where on earth can you keep him?" remonstrated the Rev. Charles. "I supposed it was all a joke when I heard you discussing it before." "Paddy is no joke, as you will know when you've seen him in one of his tantrums. I shall keep him in my bedroom. He will occupy the sofa," said Miss Grace didactically. "Was ever inoffensive parson burdened with such a baggage before?" "You silly old dear, I'll find a dozen places to keep him in the village, and a score of willing hands to rub him down whenever he needs it." "Of course you will," echoed Jim. "And if you can't I'll come and do it myself. Let's go and look at the dear old boy." And they sauntered off to the stables. "See here, my boy," said Sir George, slipping his arm through Jim's, "if I'd had the slightest idea Gracie would have taken him I'd have offered him to her long since." "You'll spoil one of the greatest enjoyments of my life if you do that, sir. Please don't!" "But----" "I've got heaps of money. If you've anything that would make a good charger knocking about too, I'm your man." "Ah--you're sure of going, then?" "If any one goes, I'm going, sir--if I have to exchange for it." "You're all alike. George writes just in the same strain. God grant some of you may come back!" "Some of us wouldn't be much missed if we didn't." And Sir George wondered what was wrong now. They had no difficulty in coming to terms about Paddy, and Jim's pocket did not suffer greatly, but Sir George would not part with any of his horses to be food for powder. Jack, feeling just a trifle left out in the matter of Paddy, obtained Gracie's permission to send her from London a new saddle and accompanying gear, and vowed they should all be the very best he could procure. CHAPTER XXXVI JIM'S WAY THE boys were back in London the following night, and Jack expressed a wish to go to Covent Garden to see Mme Beteta, whose fame as a dancer had penetrated even to his den at Chatham, and of whose expressed desire to see him Jim had told him, among the many other novel experiences of his life in the metropolis. "Why on earth should she want to see _me?_" asked Jack. "No idea. She might not mean it, but she certainly said it. There's a lot of humbug about." "I'd like to be able to say I've seen her dancing, anyway, though I don't care overmuch for that kind of thing. But every one's talking about her, and most of the fellows have been up to see her." So they went, and madame's keen eyes spied them out, for, during the first interval, an attendant came round, and asking Jim, "Are you Mr. Carron?" brought him a request from madame that he would pay her a visit in her room and would bring his friend with him. "I knew it must be your brother," she said, as she greeted them. "Yes, you are much alike." "We used to be," said Jack, "but we're growing out of it now." "To your friends perhaps, but a stranger could not mistake you for anything but twin-brothers," she smiled through the dusky plumes of her big fan. "You, also, are hoping to go to the war?" she asked Jack. "Oh, we're all hoping to go. It will be the greatest disappointment of their lives to those who have to stop behind." "You are all terribly bloodthirsty. And yet there are very nice boys among the Russians, too." "You have been in Russia, madame?" "Oh yes. I have even met the Tsar Nicholas and spoken with him; though, truly, it was he did most of the talking." "What is he like?" asked Jack eagerly. "He is good-looking, very tall, very grand; but--well, that is about all--though, indeed, he was good enough to approve of my dancing. Stay--Manuela!"--to her old attendant--"give me the Russian bracelet out of that little box. I am going out to supper to-night or it would not be here. Yes, that is it. The Tsar gave me that himself, and he tried to smile as he did it. But smiles do not become him. He is an iceberg, and I think he is also a little bit mad. He is very strange at times. Indeed, I was glad when he went away." "That is very interesting," said Jack; "and this is surely a very valuable present." "An Imperial present. But I have many such, and some that I value more, though they may not be so valuable." "You have travelled much, then, madame?" "I have been a wanderer most of my life----" Then there came a tap at the door, and an attendant brought in a card. Madame glanced at it and said, "Certainly. Please ask Lord Deseret to come round." And my lord followed his card so quickly that he could not have been very far away. "Madame is kindness itself," he smiled, as he greeted her. "I saw my young friend here answering a summons, and guessed where I should find him. This"--to Jim--"must be your brother." "Yes, sir; this is Jack." And the keen dark eyes looked Jack all through and over. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance, my boy," he said. "I knew your father very well some twenty years ago. You have both of you a good deal of him in you." "I have to thank you, sir," said Jack, "for my share in your kindness to Jim." "Oh----?" And my lord looked mystified and awaited enlightenment. "He sent on to me the half of your very generous gift----" "Ah! he never told me that. Are you up on leave? You are at Chatham, I think." "We got three days' leave, sir. We wanted to go down to Carne." "Ah! I hope you had a good journey. How is Sir Denzil?" "He is just exactly the same as ever. He has not changed a hair since ever we can remember him." "I suppose he sticks to the old customs--shaves clean and wears a wig." "I suppose that is it, sir. He certainly never seems to get any older." Then madame's warning came, and Lord Deseret carried them off to his box and afterwards to supper. And he and Jack had much interesting conversation concerning the coming war, and armaments, and so on, to all of which Jim played the part of interested listener, though in truth his mind was busy, in its slow, heavy way, on quite other matters. "Clever boy, that," said Lord Deseret to himself, as he thought over Jack while his man was putting him to bed that night. "He will probably find his chances in this war and go far. But I'm not sure but what--yes, Jim is a right good fellow. And to think of him sending half that money to the other! I should say that was very like him, though. Now I wonder which, after all, _is_ Lady Susan's boy, and how it's all going to work out. If Jack's the man, I wouldn't at all mind providing for Jim. In fact, I rather think I'd like to provide for him. Not a patch on the other in the matter of brains, of course, but something very taking about him. A look in his eyes, I think----" CHAPTER XXXVII A HOPELESS QUEST It was about a fortnight after their visit to Carne, and Jim, after several hours' hard work outside, was bolting a hasty breakfast in his quarters one morning, when his orderly came up to say that a man was wanting to see him. "What kind of a man, Joyce?" "An elderly man, sir; looks to me like a sailor." "A sailor? And he wants me?" "Yes, sir; very important, he says, and private." "Oh well, bring him up, and, Joyce--see to my things, will you? We have an inspection at twelve. The Duke's coming down to see if we're all in order." "Right, sir!" And Joyce disappeared with a salute, and reappeared in a moment with the fag end of it, as he ushered in--old Seth Rimmer. "Why--Mr. Rimmer!" And Jim jumped up with outstretched hand. "Whatever brings you so far away from home? Nothing wrong, is there?"--for the old man's face was very grim and gray and hard-set, and he did not take Jim's hand, but stood holding his hat in both his own. "Yes, Mester Jim, there's wrong, great wrong, an' I cum to see if yo'--if yo'--if---- Where's Kattie?" "Kattie?" echoed Jim in vast astonishment. "Ay--our Kattie! Where is she, I ask yo'. If yo'----" And he raised one knotted, trembling hand in commination. "But--Seth--I don't understand. Sit down and tell me quietly. I know nothing of Kattie. You don't mean that she's gone away? You can't mean that. Kattie!" "Ay--gone away--day after you wur with her." "Good God! Kattie! And you have thought---- Oh, Seth! you couldn't think that of me?" And he sprang up and stood fronting him. And the woeful soul, looking despairingly out of the weather-worn gray eyes into the frank boyish face, saw the black eyes blur suddenly and then blaze, and knew that its wild suspicions were unfounded. "Ah dunnot know what to think," said the old man wearily. "Hoo's gone an' nivver a track of her. An' yo' wur there last, and yo' wur aye fond of her. An' so----" "I would no more harm a hair of Kattie's head than I would Grace Eager's, Seth. And you ought to have known that--you who have known us all our lives." "Ay--ah know! But hoo's gone, an' ah connot get a word of her, an'----" And the tired old arms dropped on to the table, and the weary old head dropped into them, and he sobbed with great heaves that seemed like to burst the sturdy old chest. Jim was terribly distressed. With the wisdom that comes of deepest sympathy he rose quietly and left the old man to his grief. He found Joyce down below, busily polishing and brushing, and sent him off to procure some more breakfast, and, returning presently to his room, found old Seth as he had left him, with his head in his arms, but fallen fast asleep, and he knew that the outbreak and the rest would do him good. He sat over against him for close on an hour, cudgelling his brains for some ray of light in this new cloud of darkness. And then, as his time was getting short, he went quietly out again, and Joyce togged him up in all his war-paint, and made him fully fit to meet the critical eyes of all the royal dukes under the sun. Old Seth was still sound asleep when he went into the room, but he went quietly up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, and the old man lifted his head and looked vaguely at the splendid apparition, and then began to struggle to his feet. "It's only me, Seth. Listen now! I've got to go out for an inspection, and it may take a couple of hours or more, You are to stop here till I come back, and then we'll see what is best to be done. Here is food. Eat all you can, and then lie down on that sofa. You're done up. And don't go out of this room till I come back. You understand?" "Ay--yo're verra good. Ah con do wi' a rest, for ah walked aw the way fro' Wynsloe." "You must be nearly dead. Help yourself now, and I'll be back as soon as I can." And he went clanking down the stairs and swung on to his horse and away, with a dull sick feeling at the heart at thought of Kattie. Who could have done this thing? He remembered her expressed wish to get to London, when they were walking down to the Mere that other day. It was, perhaps, not quite so bad--as yet--as old Seth feared. The girl's longing for what seemed to her the wider, brighter life might have led her to risk her poor little fortune in the metropolis. Or it might be that she had not come to London at all, but had gone away with some village lover. But--on the whole--he was inclined to think London her more likely aim. And as to whether she had come alone he had nothing whatever to go upon. It was long after midday before he got back to his quarters, but old Seth had not found the time any too long, having been fast asleep ever since he had eaten. Jim got out of his trappings and lit a pipe, which he had taken to of late as at once a promoter of thought and a soother of undue exertion in that direction. And after a time old Seth stretched himself and opened his eyes, and then sat up. "Ah've slep'," he said quietly. "But yo' towd me to." "You'll feel all the better for it. Now, tell me all you can about this matter, Seth, and we'll see if we can see through it. Where is young Seth?" "Hoo's away." "And who have you left with Mrs. Rimmer?" "Hoo's dead and buried." And the strong old voice came near to breaking again. "Dead!" "Ay! It killed her. She wur not strong, as yo' know, and thought of it wur too much for her. Hoo just fretted and died." "Oh, Seth, I am sorry--sorrier than I can tell you. That's dreadful for you." "Ah dun' know. Mebbe it's best she's gone. Hoo'll fret no more, and hoo suffered much." "I am very, very sorry. What could have made you think I could do such a thing, Seth? You know how we've always liked Kattie, all of us, and how good Mrs. Rimmer always was to us. How could you think any of us could do such a thing?" "One gets moithered wi' grief, yo' know. An' that night after yo'd gone she were talking o' nowt but Lunnon, Lunnon, Lunnon, till I got sick on't. An' I towd her to shut up, and what was it had started her o' that tack? An' she said it was seet o' yo', an' yo'd bin talking o' it to her." "As we went down to the boat she was saying how she would like to see London, and I told her she was far better off where she was. I think that was all I said, Seth." "Ah believe yo'. She wur flighty at times, an' she got stowed o' th' sand-hills an' th' sea. It wur a dull life for a young thing, I know, but ah couldna mend it, wi' th' missus bad like that." "It's a sad business, Seth," said Jim despondently. "And I don't know what we can do about it. If she really did come to London you might look for her here for the rest of your life and never find her." "Ay, it's a mortal big place. The clatter an' the bustle mazes me till my head spins round. But I conna go whoam till I've looked for her." "I'll find you a room. My man Joyce is sure to know where to get one. Have you enough money with you?" "Ah havena much, but it mun do. When it's done ah'll go whoam." "You must let me see to your board and lodging, at the very least, Seth----" "Ah con pay my way--for a time. It doan't cost me much to live." "Whatever you say, I shall see to your board and lodging, Seth, so don't make any trouble about it. I wonder now"--as a sudden idea struck him. "Han yo' thowt o' something?"--with a gleam of hope. "There's an old friend of my father who has been very kind to me. I was just wondering if he could help us at all." The hope died out of Seth's eyes. From all he had ever heard of Captain Denzil he did not place much faith in any friend of his rendering any very reliable help in such a matter. Nevertheless, it was a good thought on Jim's part. CHAPTER XXXVIII LORD DESERET HELPS Joyce solved the lodging difficulty off-hand, and old Seth, assured of bed and board, gave himself up to the impossible task of finding a lost girl who had no desire to be found. Jim made him promise to report himself each day, so that he could keep some track of his doings. He wrote down his address on a card and put it in his pocket, and watched him go forth the first day with many misgivings. He saw him go out into the crowded street, bent as he had never been before, peering intently into the bewildering maze of hurrying faces, with a look of dogged perplexity as to where to go first on his own sad gray face. The throng bumped into him, and jostled him to and fro, and passed on, unheeding or vituperative, and at last he turned and went slowly out of sight, and Jim wondered if he would ever see him again. He was dining that night with Lord Deseret, and determined to ask his advice on the matter. The very look of that calm white face gave one the impression of incomprehensibly vast experience and unusual insight into the depths of human nature. He might be able to suggest something. My lord's immediate object, apart from his liking for the boy, was to learn the result of their visit to Carne. He had blamed himself, but not unduly, for the incautious words that had set the ball rolling. But who on earth would ever have imagined boys of that age in such ignorance of matters so vital? He chatted pleasantly throughout the dinner, drawing from the ingenuous Jim many a little self-revelation, which all tended to the confirmation of the good opinion he had formed of him. And he found the modesty which acknowledged many lacks, and was not ashamed to ask for explanations of things it did not understand, distinctly refreshing in an age when self-assertion was much to the fore. He noticed too a lessening of the previous boyish gaiety and carelessness, and traces of the clouds which had suddenly obscured his sun. "And how did you fare at Carne?" he asked, as soon as they were alone. "I feel somewhat guilty in that matter, you see. From what I know of it I can imagine you heard upsetting and discomforting things. Perhaps now I can be of some assistance to you." "You are very kind to me, sir, and I wanted to ask your advice. But in that matter"--he shook his head despondently--"I don't see how any one can help. It's all a tangle, but in my own mind I'm sure Jack must be Lady Susan Sandys's boy, and that means that I--that I am----" "You are yourself, my dear lad, and, unless I am very much mistaken, you will render a very good account of yourself when your chance comes." "I will do my best, sir, but that does not alter the fact that I am out of it as far as Carne is concerned. And that means a great deal to me. Not that I want it for itself, but--well, there are other things----" And he stuck, with a choking in the throat. "Don't tell me anything you don't want to, but if I can help I would very much like to." "It's this way, sir. Jack and I are both in love with Gracie----" "And who is Gracie, now?" "Grace Eager--she is the sister of Mr. Eager, our curate at Wynsloe. It is he who has done everything for us----" "He's a very fine fellow, then, and has done good work." "Oh, he's the finest man in the world. We were growing up little savages, running wild on the flats, when he came, and he has made us into men--he and Gracie between them. And Gracie is wonderful and lovely and all that is good. And now----" "Has she chosen Jack?" "We are to say nothing more about it for a year--just to wait and see. You see we all grew up together, and she had never thought of us in that way, and it upset everything----" "I think I understand. Now, my dear boy, will you take it from an old man, who has seen more of the world than perhaps has been good for him, that there is not the slightest ground for your feeling as you do. I knew your father very intimately. We had many failings in common. He behaved as we most of us behaved in those days--according to our lights, or shadows, and in accord with the times in which we lived. I cannot exonerate him any more than the rest of you. Still, do not think too harshly of him! He was the product of his age. Now, what valid grounds have you for believing your brother to be in any way better circumstanced than yourself?" "He's so much the better man, sir. Jack's got a head on him and will----" "If you applied that to the peerage generally, I'm afraid you would bar many escutcheons," said the old man, with a smile. "Brains by no means always follow the direct lines of descent. In fact, as you ought to know, a cross strain frequently produces a finer result. From that point of view you may set your mind at ease. As to how the matter is to be settled eventually, that is beyond me. Time works out his own strange solutions of difficulties. I'm afraid you'll have to leave it to him. Then, again, you are both going into this war. If only one of you should come back----" "Yes, that would settle it. I have been looking to that as the only settlement," said Jim solemnly. "Meaning that Jack would most likely come back, and that you would most likely not." "I think that would be the best settlement, sir. The better man should get the prizes, and there can be no question which is the better of us two." "Jim, my boy,"--and the long thin white hand came down gently on the boy's strong brown one, and rested on it impressively--"there are better things in this world even than brains. Clean hearts, clean consciences, clean lives----" "Jack has all those, sir." "And so have you, and they are worth more than all the brains in the world in some people's eyes. Did brains ever win a girl's heart?--or any one else's?" "I'm afraid I don't know much about them; sir," said a touch of the old Jim. "And as to the tangle," continued the old man, very well satisfied with his work, "it may be considerably more involved than you imagine. Supposing, for instance, that your father was actually married to the other girl before he married Lady Susan! Where do you find yourselves then? It is by no means impossible--such very strange things were done in those times. I could tell you of infinitely stranger things than that." "I have hardly thought of it in that light," said Jim. "Take my advice and think no more of your tangle. Just go ahead with the work you have in hand, and when your chance comes, as it will, make the most of it." "You have done me good, sir. May I ask you about another matter?" "Surely, my boy. Another tangle?" And Jim told him briefly about Kattie, and old Seth's visit and impossible quest. "He's a fine old fellow, and young Seth saved my life twice. I'd like to help him if I could, but I don't know what I can do. Besides, Kattie was a nice girl. She used to play with us all on the sands, you know." "You don't know, for certain, that she has come to London?" "Old Seth seems sure of it." "Who else was there when you all used to play together on the sands?" "Oh, Gracie, and Margaret and George Hempath, and Ralph Harben----" "Who is Ralph Harben?" "Son of Mr. Harben, Sir George's partner. They're the big army contractors, you know." "And where is he now?" "Up here in London. He's in the Dragoons--lieutenant. So is George." "Any one else?" "Mr. Eager and Sir George, and Bob Lethem, their groom. They all used to ride over, you see, and we needed all hands, so we used to press Bob into the service." "And you don't think there is any entanglement there?" "What--Kattie and Bob? No, I'm sure there isn't. You see, Kattie got rather large ideas, and she was certainly very pretty. She would never have looked at Bob, I'm certain." "I will see if I can learn anything. There are ways if you know how to use them." "Thank you, sir. I thought if any one could help us it would be you." "How are you mounted? You ought to have a second horse if you're going out. They will allow you two, I suppose." "I believe so. I was thinking of buying one out of that money you gave me." "Keep it, my boy. You may need it all. You never know what may happen when you get abroad. If you'll take my advice you'll always carry a good supply in a belt next your skin when you're campaigning. I'll find you a horse up to all your requirements. You want height and bone and muscle for a charger on campaign. Beauty Is a fifth consideration. Your life may depend upon your horse." "There is no doubt about our going, then, sir?" asked the boy, with a sparkle in his eyes. "No doubt, I'm afraid, my boy; but their plans are very undecided. I was speaking with Clarendon only last night, and, as far as I can make out, what our Government would like would be to coerce Russia by making a demonstration in force, and the Tsar is much too pig-headed for that--as they would know if they knew him as well as I do." "You know him, sir? "I was ambassador there for nearly ten years, and in ten years one learns a man fairly well. He is an unusually strong-willed and determined man, bigoted too, and believes absolutely in his mission----" "What is that, sir?" "Oh--briefly--to conquer the world on the lines laid down by his ancestor, Peter the Great. But the man who sets out to conquer the world always finds his Waterloo sooner or later." And Jim went home that night feeling very much less under a cloud on his own account, and not unhopeful on Seth's. For this new old friend of his impressed him deeply as one who knew a great deal more than most people, and as the kind of man who, if he took a matter up, would not rest till he attained his end. But as for Kattie, if she had indeed come to London, he had nothing but fears. CHAPTER XXXIX OLD SETH GOES HOME Old Seth had a heart-breaking time of it. To all intents and purposes he found himself in a foreign country. He wandered bewilderedly here and there, thinking that where the crowds were thickest there would be most chance of finding her he sought. But, to his amazement, the crowds seemed equally thick wherever he went, and every single person seemed to him to be hurrying for his or her life on business that did not admit of a moment's delay. He lost himself regularly every day. From the moment he loosed from his quiet little harbour of refuge in the morning, till, by means of the address on his card, he found himself eventually and miraculously piloted back there by a 'series of top-hatted policemen, he was simply tossing to and fro on the swirling waves of the mighty whirlpool, without the slightest knowledge of where he was, except that he was in London, and Kattie was somewhere in London too. He tried to talk to people, policemen and cabmen on the stands, who were the only ones who seemed not to be spending themselves in aimless rushings to and fro. But his uncouth speech was Hebrew to them. At first they grinned and shook their heads. Then, catching what sounded like a rough attempt at English, they tried to understand, but soon gave it up in spite of his woeful face and evident distress, and it was only when at last he wanted to get home, and produced his card, that they were able to assist him. Fortunately the weather was cold and damp--conditions to which he was accustomed. Hot summer days and the airless, evil-smelling streets would have knocked him over in a week. It seemed to Jim that the sad old face grew grayer and gaunter each day when he came in to give his monotonous report, which was comprehended in a dismal shake of the head and the simple word, "Nowt!" And Jim, hopeless himself of anything coming of the disheartening quest, still did his best each day to cheer him. And Seth was glad of the chance of speaking a word or two with some one who understood his talk and sympathised with his woes. "A most 'mazing place," he said, one time, "an' thicker wi' folk than ah could ha' believed. An' ah connot understand them an' they connot understand me. Ah wish----" But the poor old fellow's wishes were never to be realised--not the obvious ones at all events. He was neither to find Kattie, nor to find himself safe home again in the spoiled cottage by the Mere. Perhaps it was best so. The inevitable happened--that which Jim had feared for him from the time he saw him drift helplessly away into the crowd that first day. He had written all about the matter to Jack, and Jack's reply, while it lacked nothing in sympathy for old Seth in his bereavement; yet expressed in unmistakable language the writer's astonishment and indignation that he could for one moment have thought any of them guilty of such a deed. Jim had also waited hopefully on Lord Deseret, to see if his efforts had met with any success. But, so far, they had not. "I confess I had certain ideas on the subject," said his lordship, "and I have had them followed up, but quite without result. My people are entirely at fault. Is it possible we are all on a false scent and she is nearer home all the time? The indications pointing to her having come to London are, after all, exceedingly slight and vague." "I've no idea," said Jim despondently. "I wish the old chap would go home. He can do no good here and he's on my mind day and night. I'm certain he'll get run over one of these days." And, sure enough, there came a day when no Seth put in an appearance, and Jim's fears felt themselves justified. He sent Joyce round to his lodgings. The old man had never turned up the night before. It came at a bad time too, for they were working might and main at their preparations for the coming campaign. The Guards had left for Southampton the day before. They themselves were down for service and the call might come any day. War, indeed, had not yet been formally declared, but that was a minor matter. There was no doubt about what was going to happen. So Jim packed off Joyce in a hansom, with orders to make the round of the hospitals and report at once if he got any news. He was back at midday. The old man was lying at Guy's, broken to pieces and not expected to last the day out. Jim jumped into the cab with a very heavy heart. It was just what he had feared, and it was terribly sad. And yet, as his cab wormed its slow course through the traffic about London Bridge, there came to him a dim apprehension that what seemed to them so sorrowful a happening might, after all, in some inscrutable way, be the better way for old Seth. For his life, if he had lived, must have been a sad and broken affair, and now---- He found the old man lying quietly in his bed, with the screens already drawn round it. He was only just in time. The gaunt gray face brightened at sight of him, as Jim took his hand gently and sat down beside him. "Ah'm fain to see yo'," he said, with difficulty. "'Twur a waggin . . . aw my fault. . . . Tell her. . . . Tell her . . ."--the crushed chest laboured in agony,--"tell her to come whoam. . . ." And presently, without having spoken again, the dim light failed suddenly in the weather-worn gray eyes, and the life faded out of the gnarled brown hand, and Jim, boy still, put down his head and sobbed at the grim sadness of it all. A nurse peeped round the screen and was surprised at the sight, for the eagerness of the splendid young officer to get to the uncouth old wreck, of whom, beyond his mortal injuries, they had been able to make so little, had impressed them all. It was not till Jim had mopped himself up at last, and stood taking a last sad look at the tired old face, that she came in again. "You knew the old man, sir?" she said sympathetically, behind which lay considerable curiosity. "I've known him all my life. He's one of our people from Carne. It's terribly sad, you know. His daughter left home, and he came up to look for her. Think of it--to look for her in London! And I was afraid, all the time, how it would end. And it has. Poor old Seth!" He told them all they wanted to know, and arranged with them to have the old man decently buried, and gave them money for the purpose and something for the hospital, and his own name and address. "Then you're going to the war," said the nurse, with an animated face. "Oh yes; we may go any day now." "You ought to take some of us with you. You'll need us, you'll see." He had promised to call on Mme Beteta that afternoon, and would have put off the visit but that he knew she would be disappointed, and she had shown herself so very kindly disposed towards him. So he went, but madame's shrewd eyes fathomed his state of mind at once. "Now you have some trouble, and perhaps it is my chance to be of use," she said, and bit by bit drew from him all the story of Kattie's disappearance and old Seth's death. "If any one can find her, Lord Deseret will. He is a very, very clever old man, and in some things very young. She is pretty, you say?" "We always thought her very pretty, even as a wild girl about the sands, and she has grown prettier still." "London is a bad place for a pretty girl such as she. Even if you find her----" And she broke off and looked at him musingly. "What could you do if you did find her?" "Get her to go home." "And if she would not?" "Then--I don't know. It is horrible to think of Kattie running loose in London." "When Lord Deseret finds her, bring her to me and I will see what I can do," said madame thoughtfully; and there the matter rested. CHAPTER XL OUT OF THE NIGHT Jim reaped--and duly passed along to Jack--the benefit of Lord Deseret's long and wide experience of life under many conditions. As a young man he had served with Wellington in the Peninsula, and he had also been with him at Waterloo, where he had, as fellow aide-de-camp, Fitzroy Somerset, now Lord Raglan, who was to command the present expedition to the East. So Jim and my lord between them evolved, by process of continuous elimination, a campaigning kit, which, if to Jim's inexperienced eyes it lacked much, comprehended, according to his lordship, everything that was absolutely necessary, and probably even yet some things which he would hasten to throw away under pressure of circumstance. "How long it will last it is hard to say," said Lord Deseret. "If you should by any chance be kept there till the winter I will send you out all you will need." "Oh, surely we and the Frenchmen between us can clean it all up before then," said innocent Jim. "We shall know better when we learn where you're bound for, and what you've got to do. At present no one seems to know. They are all very mysterious about it, which is all right if it's policy, but if it's ignorance----" Jack was first to go, and Jim was mightily put out that engineers should get ahead of cavalry. They had hoped to be able to run down to Carne to say good-bye, but that was quite out of the question. The army had been rusting, more or less, for forty years, and, now that the call had come, every man on the roll was hard at work scraping the accumulated deposit off his bit of the machine, and oiling the parts. The days were all too short for what had to be done, and leave was out of the question. Jim was here, there, and everywhere, helping to buy horses for the coming wastage, for if he had no head for business he certainly knew horses from tail to muzzle, from hoof to shoulder, and all in between. He was kept hard at work till the call came for the cavalry, and then every minute of every day was over-full, and his head spun with the calls upon his forethought and ingenuity. He made long lists of the things he had to see to, on scraps of paper with a pencil that was always blunt and often missing, and as each item was attended to he duly scored it off, and so kept fairly straight. His men had taken to him, and consulted him now as an oracle, and within his capacity he enjoyed it all immensely. Lord Deseret's munificence knew no bounds. In addition to a great brown charger, whose peculiar delights were military music and the roar of artillery--the first of which enjoyments the campaign was unfortunately to offer him few opportunities of indulging in, though he had his fill of the other--his lordship presented Jim with a pair of unusually fine silver mounted revolvers, of a calibre calculated to make short work of the biggest Russian born, and one of these he was to hand over to Jack as soon as they met out East. And for Jim himself, as a very special mark of his goodwill, he bought a sword, selected out of many and suiting his grip and reach as if it had been made for him. "A most gentlemanly weapon," said the old man, as he poised it with knowledge in his thin white hands. "May it help you to carve your way to much honour! But war is not a gentlemanly business nowadays. That other brutal little thing will probably serve you better." And so we come to the very last night. The 8th were to leave at six the next morning for Southampton, and Jim was making his way back to his quarters, dead tired, but vaguely hopeful that he had failed in none of the multifarious calls on these last short hours. His list had been an unusually long one that day. But he had ploughed doggedly through it, and reduced it item by item, till it was cleared off. After his actual military duties had come final letters to Gracie and Mr. Eager and his grandfather--he might never see any of them again. All the same he wrote in the best of spirits, though in grievous regret at not being able to run down and say good-bye. Then he had made a round of farewell calls among the friends he had made in London, and had even made time to drop in on Mme Beteta for a cup of tea. He had finished up with a quiet dinner with Lord Deseret in Park Lane, and now, in the spirit, England lay behind him, and his compass pointed due east. Out of the depths of his very large experience, Lord Deseret had given him many a useful hint and much wise advice over their cigars and coffee, and had finally shaken his hand and bidden him "God-speed!" with more emotion than Jim had believed it possible for that calm white face to show. And Mme Beteta, too, had held his band as he said "Good-bye," and said, with much feeling, "I would have been glad if you had got into some mischief so that I might have had the pleasure of helping you. I will hope all the time to see you come back alive and whole." "You are all too good to me," laughed Jim, overcome by the kindness he was everywhere meeting with. "I feel as if I was getting more than my proper share. If Jack had been here now, you'd have thought ever so much more of him." "Perhaps!" smiled madame. "We will see when you both come back," He was hurrying back to his quarters, bent on getting a good night's sleep if possible, since the coming nights on board ship might be less conducive thereto, when, as he swung round a corner where a gas lamp hung, deep in his own thoughts and with his head bent down, a timid hand fell on his arm, and as he hastily shook it off, a soft voice jerked: "Jim!" He whirled round in vast amazement, and got a shock. "Kattie! . . . oh, _Kattie!_" "I did so want to see you before you went. I only heard to-day----" She looked so pretty in the fluttering light of the lamp, so touchingly soft and sweet, like some beautiful wild bird drawn to a possibly hostile hand by stress of need and prepared for instant flight. She was very nicely dressed too, better than he had ever seen her before, in well-fitting dark clothes and a little fur pork-pie hat, like the one Gracie used to wear in the winter. And under it her eyes shone brightly and her face glowed and quivered with many emotions. The passers-by were beginning to notice and look back at them. He led her into a quieter side-street where there was almost no traffic. "But what are you doing here, Kattie? We have been searching for you for a month past, and now----" "I couldn't help it, Jim. I had to come----" "But why, Kattie? Why? Do you know what you've done by running away like that?" And he could not keep the feeling out of his voice, as he thought of poor old Seth, and her mother, and the broken home. "Your mother is dead. It killed her." Kattie's hands were over her face and she was sobbing. "And your father came to London to look for you, and got run over. His hand was in mine as he died, and his last words were for you, 'Tell her to come home!' he said, and then he died." The slender figure shook with sobs. Perhaps he had been too brutal to blurt it out like that. He ought to have broken it to her by degrees. "Oh, why did you do it, Kattie?" he said, more gently. And Kattie, shaken out of herself by his news and his manner, sobbed out her secret. "Jim, Jim, don't be so hard to me! It was for you, you, you----" "_Kattie_," he cried, aghast. "Yes," she choked on in a passion of surrender and self-revelation. "It was you I wanted--you--always. And I thought if I could only get to London where you were----" "Oh, Kattie!" And he could say no more for the feeling that was in him, and Kattie hung on to his arm and he did not shake her off. "Kattie," he said at last, in a deep hoarse voice, "has it been my fault? I did not know----" "No no, no! It was not your fault. But I could not help it." "I am very sorry, dear. If I had known--but I never dreamt of it. How did you get here?" She hesitated, and then said, briefly: "I got some one to bring me." "Who?" "I cannot tell you." "It was an evil thing to do, whoever it was, and I hope some of the sorrow will fall upon him," he said hotly. "But you must not stop here, Kattie. You must go home." "Home!" she said wildly. "I have no home. I will wait here till you come back from the war, Jim----" "Kattie! . . . For God's sake, don't talk like that! You don't know what you are saying, child. I may never come back at all . . . And if I do----" "Oh, Jim! _Jim!_" She hardly knew what she was saying. She only knew that for months she had been longing for Jim, and now he was here, and he was going, and she might never see him again. The pretty, quivering, wild-rose face was turned up to his. Her eager arms stole round his neck. "_Jim!_" Now, thanks be to thee, Charles Eager, muscular Christian and strenuous apostle of clean living and the higher things!--sitting by your dying fire in Mrs. Jex's cottage at Wyvveloe, thinking much of your boys and praying for them, perchance,--nay, of a certainty, for thoughts such as yours are prayers and resolve themselves into familiar phrases--"that they fall into no sin, neither run into any kind of danger"--"from battle and murder and from sudden death,"--at which the thinker by the fire fell into deeper musing. And thanks be to all your teaching of the Christian virtues and truest manhood, both by precept and example! For Jim Carron was only a man like other men, and young blood is hot. And Kattie, in her fervour, was more than pretty. Jim's big chest rose and fell as if he had been running a race--say with the devil, or as if he had been engaged in mortal combat. Perhaps he had--both. He broke her hands apart with a firm, gentle grip. "Kattie dear! You don't know what you are saying. You know it can't be. God help us! What am I to do with you?" And then he bethought him of Mme Beteta and saw his way. "Come with me!" he said, and drew her arm tightly through his and led her down the street, and on and on till they came to a thoroughfare where there were cabs. He hailed one, handed her in, gave the driver the address, and sat down beside her. Kattie asked no questions. She was with Jim. That was enough. Her arm stole inside his again and nestled and throbbed there. She would have asked no more--not very much more--than to ride by his side like that in the joggling cab for ever. The cab stopped at last before the house in South Audley Street. Jim jumped out and rang the bell, paid the man, and led her up the steps. "Is madame in?" he asked of the maid who opened the door. "Just come in, sir." "Will you beg her to see me for a moment?" And she showed them into a small sitting-room and went noiselessly away. "Will you please to come to madame's room, sir?" And they were ushered into the cosy room where Mme Beteta had just sat down to supper before a blazing fire. Her wraps lay on the sofa where she had flung them on entering. She looked lazed and tired, all except her face, and her great dark eyes opened wide at sight of Kattie. Jim had indeed told her that the girl they were searching for was pretty, but this girl, with all that was working in her still in her face and her eyes, was very much more than pretty. "Mme Beteta, will you do something for me?" began Jim impulsively. "I have only been waiting the opportunity, my boy, as I told you this afternoon. What is it now--and who is your friend? Won't you sit down, my dear?" to Kattie. "You look very tired." Kattie sank into the proffered chair, and Jim stood behind it. "This is Kattie Rimmer, a friend of ours from Carne. She finds herself suddenly alone in London. If you will take care of her I would be so grateful to you." "Indeed I will, if she will stop with me for a time. You are much too good-looking, my dear, to be alone in this big place. I shall be glad to have something young and pretty about me. My dear old Manuela is worth her weight in gold, but, truly, she is no beauty. And when I go abroad, presently, you shall come with me there also, if you feel so inclined." Madame understood--partly, at all events, and possibly guessed wrongly at the rest. But there was no mistaking her kindliness. She saw that the girl was under the influence of some overpowering emotion, and she talked on for the sake of talking and to give her time. "Kattie dear, will you promise me to stop with madame?" asked Jim anxiously. For it was one thing to have got her there--and a great thing; but it might be quite another thing to get her to stop. "Must I, Jim?" And the great eyes, swimming with tears, snatched a hasty glance at him. "Yea, Kattie, you must. And, madame, I cannot thank you enough. Sometime, perhaps--if I come back alive----" And at that Kattie sprang up and flung her arms round his neck again, crying, "Oh, Jim! Jim!" And he kissed her gently and put her away, and she sank down into the chair, a convulsive heap of sobs. He mutely begged madame to follow him, and left the room. "It is terribly sad," he said to her, In the other room. "I met her near my quarters to-night. She had been waiting for me, and she says--she says"--he stumbled--"well, she says she came to London after me. And, you know, I never had a thought of her--poor little Kattie! And I didn't know what to do with her, and so I brought her to you." "You did quite right, my boy. For your sake--and, yes--for her own--I will do my best for her. She is a pretty little thing--much too pretty to go to waste in London." "You are very good, madame, and I am very grateful. Perhaps you would consult Lord Deseret about her too, if you think well. He has been very kind in the matter." "And you have no feeling for her at all?" "There is only one girl in all the world for me, and that is Gracie Eager. You'll understand when you see her." Then he wrung her hand very warmly, and said a final good-bye, and went away,--very tired, but with something of a load off his heart as regarded Kattie at all events. CHAPTER XLI HORSE AND FOOT The dullest pages in history are those which record the long, slow years of peace and progress, when everything goes well and nothing lively happens. Jack's term of service at Chatham had been such. His record was one of simple hard work, considerable acquirement, and a methodic, level life. His work appealed to him, and he gave himself up heart and soul, and might have given his health as well if the authorities had not seen to it. Brains in an officer were very acceptable, and the concentrated application of them still more so--to say nothing of the comparative rarity of the combination. But brains without body would obviously be of small service to the country, and so Jack was kept fairly fit in spite of himself. He won the golden opinions of his instructors and examiners, and was looked upon as a reliable officer and a coming man. "Give us a good tough bit of siege work," he had said, with hot enthusiasm, as they tramped the frozen sands at Carne that last time, "and we'll show them what we are made of." "A good open country and plenty of room for cavalry to man[oe]uvre, that's what _we_ want," said Jim, with relish, "and we'll show the world what British squadrons can do." "Tough sieges somehow seem a bit out of date," said Mr. Eager. "I should say Jim's horses are more likely to be in it." "I'd sooner have the siege," said Gracie; and they all clamoured to know why, and Jim felt humpy. "Oh, just because you're all farther away from one another and not so likely to get hurt," said she. "When you fight on horses you're bound to get close to one another." "That's what we want," growled Jim. "The closer the better." "And then the poor horses!" said. Gracie, with a shiver. "To say nothing of the poor men!" growled Jim once more. "It's all horrid and hateful and wicked. I don't mean you two," she added hastily, "but the people who bring it about. If they all had to fight themselves, instead of sending other people to do it for them, they wouldn't be so ready to begin." "They'd make a pretty poor show, some of them," laughed Jack. "Think of little Johnny Russell facing up to the Tsar." "David and Goliath," suggested the Rev. Charles. "Goliath got the stone in his eye--well, in his head, it's all the same--and so he will this time," said Jim. "Artillery!" said Jack triumphantly. "David cut off his head," said Gracie. "Infantry assault after we--I mean the artillery--had made the breach." Involved military operations, and especially the complicated strategy of the siege, had fascinated Jack from the time he could read. He absorbed the elements of his profession with keenest delight; and driest details, which to some of his fellows were but dull drudgery, were to him like the necessary part of a puzzle of which he held the clue, and their essentiality was clear to him. What would be the course of the coming war none could tell, for the simple reason that no one seemed to know exactly where they were going or what they were going to do. All arms were to be represented, however, and each separate branch hoped ardently that the tide would run its way. Jack and Jim, at parting, had undertaken to correspond regularly. They had also mutually pledged themselves to write not more than one letter a week to Gracie. If Jim's scrawl had hitherto been the more interesting to their recipients, it was certainly not by reason of their penmanship, or their spelling, or their literary qualities, but simply that, living in London and somewhat in the whirl of things, and with more time and mind for outside matters than Jack had, he had always something to tell about, and that, after all, is what people want. Very sympathetic--and certainly very charming--little smiles used to lurk in the corners of Gracie's flexible little mouth as she read Jim's epistles. And she would murmur, "The dear boy!" as she thought of the time and labour he had given to their production. For to Jim the sword was very much mightier than the pen and infinitely more to his liking. He told Gracie, in his letters, most of what befell him in London, much about Lord Deseret, and much about Mme Beteta, but concerning Kattie and old Seth Rimmer, after much ponderous consideration, he had thought it best to keep silence. Jack had waxed mightily indignant over old Seth's half-blown suspicions, and on the whole it was perhaps just as well that the old man fell into Jim's hands. Of the final episode Jim told none of them. In the first place, he felt bound to keep Kattie's secret. In the second, he went straight home to his bed that night as tired as a dog, and was _en route_ for the East soon after six o'clock next morning. And in the third place, as to telling Jack, Jack was on the high seas nearing Gallipoli, and they did not see one another again for months to come. CHAPTER XLII DUE EAST Jack, to his immense delight, found himself detailed for duty with a large number of his men to assist General Canrobert in the fortification of the long narrow peninsula on which, Gallipoli is situated. No matter that the fortifications were little likely to be of any actual benefit, it was active service and turning to practical account the theoretical knowledge of which he was full. The men, who had left England ablaze with warlike fervour amid the cheers of the populace, had found their long detention at Malta very trying and relaxing. Warlike fervour cannot keep at boiling-point unless it has something to expend itself upon. And so they welcomed this diversion, and planned, and built earthen ramparts, and bastions, and barbettes, and ravelins, and redoubts, to their hearts' content, and felt very much better both in mind and body than when they were kicking their heels and frizzling in the tawny dust of Malta. There were many discomforts, however, chiefly in regard to the provisioning. Even at this very first stage in the proceedings the men had little to eat and less to drink; and if curses could have assisted the commissariat, or blighted it off the face of the earth, its movements would have been mightily quickened. But forty years of peace do not make for efficiency in the fighting machine. It had grown rusty through disuse, as all machines will, and the ominous creakings which began at Gallipoli never ceased till--too late for the hosts of gallant souls who died of want before Sebastopol--England awoke at last to the shame of her relapse, and set her house in order with a roar of righteous, but belated, indignation. Jack and his men fared better than most, through their intimacy with the Frenchmen, who had the knack of living in plenty where others starved. Jack brushed up his French, and found welcome, and still more welcome hospitality, among the officers, and his men learned how tasty dinners could be made out of the scantiest of rations if only you knew how to do it. But the slow weeks dragged on; there was no sign of an enemy, and the fighting for which they had come out seemed as far off as ever. And the little advance army growled and grizzled and cursed things in general, and began to get a trifle mouldy. And meanwhile the Turks, under Omar, were valiantly holding the Danube against the Russians, and the allied generals were in communication with the allied ambassadors at Constantinople, and the ambassadors were in communication with the un-allied diplomatists at Vienna, and the diplomatists were seeking instructions from London, Paris, Berlin, and St. Petersburg, and futile talk blocked the way of warlike deeds. It was the middle of May before the welcome order came to move on, and their spirits rose at the prospect. They had come out to fight, and anything was better than moulting at Gallipoli. But the diplomats were still chopping words at Vienna, so they were all dumped down again at Scutari, till the wise men should see which way the cat was really going to jump. More weary weeks followed, though, since they gave Jack the chance of seeing a great deal of Constantinople, he at all events had no cause for complaint. The neat little steamer, which the Sultan had placed at the disposal of the British officers, ran across in a quarter of an hour and plied to and fro constantly; and having no duties to perform, Jack missed none of his opportunities and saw all he could, and that included many strange sights. He made many new acquaintances, and began to lose somewhat of the studious concentration which had hitherto stood in the way of his making any very close friendships even at Woolwich and Chatham. He had given heart and brain to his work, and now only craved the opportunity of applying his knowledge and climbing the ladder. While frivolous Jim, with a modicum of the brains and still less of the application, somehow possessed the knack of making friends wherever he went. And having mastered his drill and won the hearts of his men, he also considered his military education completed, and longed only to get the chance of showing what was in him and them. Jim would have had a delightful time in Constantinople, and, with all his desire for glory, would still have enjoyed himself thoroughly; but Jack, with most of his fellows, felt keenly that all this was not what they had come out for; and when, in June, orders came to embark for Varna, up along the coast of the Black Sea towards the Danube, he was heartily glad. For there had been heavy fighting on the Danube, and if they could only get there in time there might still be a chance of showing what they were made of. It was four months since they left England, and so far they had practically done nothing more than mark time, and there is a certain monotony about that necessary but fruitless operation which has a depressing effect on spirits and bodies alike. However, they were getting on by degrees at last, though what their ultimate objective really was no one seemed to know, unless, perhaps, Lord Raglan and Marshal St. Arnaud, and they kept their own counsel. Jack had been a fortnight at Varna, and was beginning to get sick of it as he had of Malta and Gallipoli, when one day the stately _Himalaya_ steamed quietly in among the mob of smaller craft which crowded Varna Bay, and began to discharge the first of the cavalry that had put in an appearance. This looked like business, and Jack joined the crowd watching the disembarkation. "Hello, Jim, old boy!" "Hello, Jack! That you?" And the boys of Carne had met again. "Hardly knew you in those togs. Took you for a tramp," grinned Jim. "You loaf here for half a dozen weeks, my boy, and you'll come to it. Have you any news? Are we going on? We're all sick to death of the whole business." "_I_ dunno. We've come straight through. We began to be afraid we'd be too late and miss all the fun." "You've not missed much so far. We've been frizzling and grizzling all this time. Never seen the ghost of a Russian so far." "Waiting for us, I expect. Can't get on without cavalry." "If that's what we've been waiting for we're all mighty glad to see you. All this hanging about is the hardest work I've ever done yet." "Where are you living?" "Up on the hill there. You'll be going on to Devna, I expect. That's twenty miles further up." "I've got to look after the horses. They've done splendidly so far. Not lost a leg. We'll have a talk when we knock off." And Jim turned to the congenial work of seeing his equine friends safely ashore. When he had seen them all picketed on the stretch of turf near the beach, and enjoyed for a time their rollings and stretchings and kickings of cramped heels, he walked away up the shore, had his first delicious swim in the Black Sea, and then made his way into the dirty little town and struggled slowly through its narrow streets, packed with such a heterogeneous assortment of nationalities as his wondering eyes had never looked upon before. Guardsmen, Fusiliers, Riflemen, Highlanders, Dragoons, and Hussars, Lancers, Chasseurs, Zouaves, Artillerymen, and Cantinières; Greeks, Turks, Italians, Smyrniotes, Bashi-Bazouks, and nondescripts of all shapes and sizes; dark, windowless little shops with streaming calico signs in many languages, offering for sale every possible requirement from pickles to saddlery, but especially drinks; a slow-moving, chattering, chaffering, and occasionally quarrelling, mob of shakos, turbans, fezes, Highland bonnets, _képis_, and wide-awakes, with bearded faces under them in every possible shade of brown and mud-colour,--no wonder it took Jim a long time to get through. But he got out into the open country at last, and breathed clean air again, and climbed the hill and found his way to Jack's tent, and demanded something to drink. "What a place!" he gasped. "Never saw such a sight in my life!" "Beastly hole!" growled Jack. "I wish to Heaven they'd get us on and give us some work to do." "Why don't they?" "Ah--why don't they? Some one may know, but I'm beginning to doubt it. When we came up here we had hopes again, but now they say the Russians have had enough on the Danube and are bolting, so that's off. What's the news from home? I've hardly had a letter since we left." Jim gave him of his latest, and handed him Lord Deseret's present, which Jack found greatly to his taste. "No more news of Kattie?" he asked presently, when other subjects seemed exhausted, and in a tone that anticipated a negative reply. "Yes. I found her--the very last night," said Jim quietly. "You did? How was it?" "I had been dining with Lord Deseret, and saying good-bye all round, and was dead tired. We were to start at six next morning and I was hurrying home to get some sleep, when suddenly Kattie stepped up and spoke to me." "Good God! Did she know it was you?" "Oh yes. She hadn't got so low as all that. But it gave me a shock, I can tell you, Jack, to meet her like that, though we had been doing all we could to find her." "And how did she seem? And what had she to say for herself?" "She looked prettier than I'd ever seen her--better dressed, you know, and all that." "And what did she say?" "She flatly refused to tell me who had brought her to London. She had heard we were leaving in the morning and she wanted to say good-bye--so she said." "Deuced odd! What did you do?" "Well--I was knocked all of a heap and didn't know what to do. Then I suddenly bethought me of Mine Beteta. She had been very kind to me, and only that afternoon, when I was saying good-bye, she had laughed and said her only regret was that I hadn't got into any scrape that she could help me out of. It was jolly nice of her, you know. So I bundled Kattie into a cab, and took her straight to madame, and left her with her." "Poor little Kattie! She was too good for that kind of thing. And you got no hint as to who---- "Not a word. I asked her straight, and she said she would not tell." "I'd like to wring his neck for him, whoever he was." "She probably knew we would feel that way, and that's why she wouldn't speak. And how have you been keeping, Jack? Seems to me you look thinner. Perhaps it's the way you dress--or don't dress. I never saw such a seedy, weedy-looking set. You'd certainly be taken for tramps in England." "Just you wait, my boy. If you get four months of this infernal loafing in dust and dirt and blazing sun, you'll come to it. And I may well be thin. I'd hang every commissary in the service. They starve us half the time and give us rubbish the rest." "That sounds bad. What's got them?" "Everything's at sixes and sevens. All the food and drink in one place and all the hungry and thirsty souls in another, some hundreds of miles away. If I was the Chief I'd hang a commissary every time the men go short. And the amount of red-tape! Oh, Lord! But you'll know all about it before you're through, my boy. Some of the fellows have chucked it and gone home." "Rotters!" "I don't know. It's been almost beyond endurance at times, and all so senseless, and nothing comes of it. Starving for a good cause is one thing, but starving simply because the men who ought to feed you are fools is quite another." "Overworked, I expect." "Underbrained, I should say. I'll ask you three months hence what you think about it all." Jim was very busy the next few days getting his men and horses on to Devna. His chiefs had found out that he could get more out of men and horses than most, and that when he took a thing in hand he did it. So work was heaped upon him and he was as happy as could be. He messed with Charlie Denham in a little tent on the shore, bathed morning and night, and Joyce and Denham's man saw that their masters--and incidentally themselves--were properly fed. CHAPTER XLIII JIM TO THE FORE Cavalry transports were coming in every day now; the Varna beach looked like a country horse-fair, and to Jim was given the task of superintending the debarkation of the horses and their dispatch to their appointed places. One day, when the great raft on which the horses were floated to the shore bumped up against the little pier, a nervous brown mare broke loose and jumped overboard. There happened to be no small boats close at hand, and the poor beast, white-eyed with terror at the shouts of the onlookers, struck out valiantly for the open sea. To Jim, in the thinnest and oldest garments he possessed, and sweating heartily from his labours, an extra bath was but an additional enjoyment. He leaped aboard, ran nimbly along outside the horses, and launched himself after the snorting evader. His long swift side-stroke soon carried him alongside. He soothed her with comforting words, turned her head shorewards, and presently rode her up the beach amid the bravos of the onlookers. It was little things like that that won the hearts of his men. They knew he would do as much and more for any one of them. As he slipped off, with a final pat to the trembling beast, a hearty hand clapped his wet shoulder. "Well done, old Jim! It was Carne taught you that, old man." And the voice of the gigantic dragoon, whose clap was still tingling in his shoulder, was the voice of George Herapath, though Jim had to look twice at his face to make sure of him. "Why, you hairy man, I'd never have known you. Just got here?" "This minute, my boy, and glad to see you old stagers still alive and kicking. Here's Harben. I say, Ralph, this dirty wet boy is our old Jim." "Hanged if I'd have jumped into the sea after an old troop-horse," said Harben, looking somewhat distastefully at the dishevelled Jim. "A horse is always a horse," said Jim, "and an extra bath's neither here nor there. Can't have too many this weather, if you work as I've been doing lately." "Deucedly dirty work, it seems to me. Why don't you let your men do it? That's what they're here for." "They are doing it," said Jim, waving a benedictory wet hand towards the horse-fair along the beach. "I'm only keeping an eye on them." And before they could say more, a very splendidly accoutred horseman rode down to them, with a still more gorgeous one behind him. "Very smartly done, my boy," said the first in English, though he wore the uniform of a colonel of Cuirassiers. "An officer that looks after his horses will certainly look after his men." "Hello, sir!" jerked Jim. "Glad to see you again! Sorry I'm so dirty." "It's the men who get dirty who do the work." And then he turned to the magnificent personage behind, who sat looking on with a suave smile on his clean-shaven face, and said in French, "This is one of my cubs, Your Highness, though I'll be crucified if I know which." And turning to Jim--"me see, now you're----" "I'm Jim, sir. Jack's in the Engineers." "Ah, yes--Jim. It was the Prince who bade me come down and thank you for saving that mare, and it was only when I heard your friend mention Carne that I recognised you. Monsieur----?" to the Prince, who addressed some remark to him in French, to which he laughingly replied, and then turned again to Jim. "His Highness says he would like to see you cleaned up, and invites you to his table to-night--both of you, if you can come. I suppose you can fig out all right?" Jim saluted Prince Napoleon and bowed. "It is a great honour," he said. "I'll find Jack, sir, and we'll fig out all right." "Eight o'clock, then. We're camped over there for the night. Any one will show you the Prince's quarters." And the two horsemen saluted generally and galloped away. "You're in luck, old boy," said George. "Dining with princes and big-pots. Who's the other? He talks uncommonly good English for a Frenchman." "My father," said Jim quietly. "Your---- Good Lord! Well, I---- Yes, of course, now I remember." "All the same," said Jim, "princes are not much in my line, and I'd just as soon he hadn't asked me." "Man alive!" said Ralph, with exuberance. "Why, I'd give my little finger for the chance." "And where's old Jack?" asked George. "Up on the hill there behind the town." "And where do we go?" "You stop the night here and get on to Devna to-morrow. It's about twenty miles up-country." Jack was mightily astonished when Jim gave him his news, and showed no modest reluctance in accepting the invitation. "It's always interesting to meet people like that," he said. "Is he like the Emperor?" "He's not like his pictures. More like the first Emperor, I should say. But he seemed pleasant enough." "And our paternal?" "He was all right. They seemed on very good terms with one another." "And he really is as big a man as he led us to believe that night?" "Why, yes, he seemed so. Did you doubt it?" And so, all in their best, they duly presented themselves at the Prince's quarters a few minutes before eight, Jack, in his modest Engineer uniform, feeling somewhat overshadowed by Jim's gorgeous Hussar trappings. "By Jove! but don't they know how to make themselves at home!" said Jack, as they came in sight of the handsome tent, with a great green bower made of leafy branches in front and an enclosure of the same all round it. The sentries passed them in at once, and their father came out from the tent and met them with cordial, outstretched hands. He held both their hands for a moment, and looked from one to the other. "Jack is the Engineer, and Jim is the Hussar, and both of you very creditable Carrons. We must get to know one another better, my boys. The coming campaign should afford us plenty of opportunities." "Is there to be a campaign, then, sir?" asked Jack. "We'd about given up all hopes of it." "Oh, we're not through yet by any means," smiled the Colonel. "I don't know how it is with your men, sir, but all this dawdling about is doing ours no good." "It is good for nobody, my boy, but we've got to obey orders, and those who pull the strings are far away. However, you need have no fear. The Tsar is far too stiff-necked to give way till he's had a good thrashing, and we have not only to fight him, but distance and climate to boot. Here is His Highness." And when he introduced them, the Prince, with a smile at Jim, and a pat on the shoulder, told him he would certainly have had difficulty in recognising him again, and he was a "brave boy," which set the brave boy blushing furiously under his tan. "They are grumbling at getting no fighting, Your Highness," said the Colonel. "Young blood! Young blood!" said the Prince, with a smile. "Let us hope they will have plenty left when the fighting is over." A number of other bravely dressed officers came in, and in the long green bower they sat down to a dinner such as they had not tasted for months, and of which they many times thought enviously in the lean months that followed. CHAPTER XLIV JIM'S LUCK Jim, by force of circumstance, acquired a very wholesome reputation as the best-mounted man in the Light Brigade, as a tireless rider, and as an officer who doggedly carried out his instructions. The result was much hard work, which he enjoyed, and much commendation, which he thoroughly deserved. When the Russians retired from the Danube and disappeared into the wilds of Wallachia, Lord Cardigan was ordered to follow them with a party of gallopers and learn what route they had taken. The first man picked for his troop was Jim Carron, and Jim was wild with delight. Here, at last, was something out of the common to be done, something with more than a spice of danger in it, and altogether to his liking. They were away for seventeen days, camping as best they could without tents, and they rode through three hundred miles of the wildest and most desolate country Jim had ever set eyes on. For one hundred miles at a stretch they never saw a human being, but finally got on the track of the Russians and found they had gone by way of Babadagh. Then they rode up the Danube to Silistria and returned to camp by way of Shumla, somewhat way-worn as to the horses, but the men fit and hard as nails. But they were the fortunate ones, and their satisfaction with their lot could not leaven the seething mass of growling discontent represented by the remaining fifty thousand would-be warriors, who had come out all aflame with martial ardour, but had so far never set eyes on an enemy, who were ready to die cheerfully for a cause which not one in a hundred properly understood, but found themselves like to moulder with ennui and lack of proper provisioning. Their hopes had been constantly raised only to be dashed. They were to go up to the Danube to help the Turks against the Russians. They were aching to go. But fifty thousand men need feeding, and the commissariat was in a state of confusion, and transport non-existent and unprocurable. So they stayed where they were, and mouldered and cursed, and began to look askance at the whole business and to doubt the good faith of every one concerned. Many officers fell sick, some threw up their commissions in disgust and went home. The men would have liked to follow. In July came the inevitable consequences of ill-feeding, ill-temper, enforced idleness, and mismanagement--the men became as sick in body as they had long been at heart. The heats and rains of August turned the camps into steaming stew-pans, and the men, who would have faced death by shot and steel with cheers, died miserably of cholera and typhus, and dying, struck a chill to the hearts of those who were left. The officers did their best--got up games for them and races. But the more intimate companionship between officers and men which obtained in the French army was lacking in the British, and could not be called into spasmodic existence on the spur of the moment. The races alone excited a certain amount of enthusiasm, and whenever Jim happened to be in camp he carried all before him. With quite mistaken grandmotherly solicitude, too, the bands were all silenced, lest their lively music should jar on the ears of the SICK and dying. The men tried sing-songs of their own, but sorely missed their music, and those near any of the French camps would walk any distance to share with them the cheery strains they could not get at home. The camps were moved from place to place in vain attempt at dodging death. But death went with them and the men died in hundreds. And those who were sent to the hospitals at Varna wished they had died before they got there. Through all that dreadful time, when the doctors were next to powerless and burying-parties the order of the day, our two boys kept wonderfully well. And for that they were not a little indebted to Lord Deseret, to a certain amount of fatherly oversight on the part of Colonel Carron, and perhaps most of all to the fact that they were kept busy. Jack and his fellows beat the country-sides for game until they had swept them bare. Jim, still in luck, was sent out to buy horses, and travelled far and wide, and still farther and wider as the nearer provinces became depleted. And when Jack's game was finished he got permission to go with him, and in those long, venturesome rides they two renewed their youth together, and rejoiced in one another, and found life good. Many a lively adventure they had as they scoured the long Bulgarian plains in search of their four-legged prizes, for which they paid a trifle over a pound a leg in cash, whereby they beat their French opponents, who only paid in paper which had to be cashed at French Head-quarters, one hundred or more miles away. To the boys it was all a delightful game; and getting the horses home, when they had found and bought them, was by no means the least exciting part of it. But the chief thing was that it took them out of the deadly camps, kept them fully occupied, and in soundest health when so many sickened and died. The risks of the road were comparatively small, and they always went well armed and with an escort. Danger, indeed, lurked nearer home. For the twenty miles of road between Varna and the camps at Aladyn and Devna began to be infested with the baser spirits from among the great gathering of the off-scourings of the Levant which had flocked after the army. Outrages were of daily occurrence, and every man who went that way alone rode warily, with his hand on his revolver and his eyes on the look out. One day Jack had ridden up to the plateau by the sea, where the Dragoons were, to visit George Herapath and Harben, who were both down with dysentery, and Jim had been delayed at the commissary's office by the only part of the business in which he took no delight--the settlement of his accounts, which never by any chance came out right. They were cantering home in the cool of the evening, when cries of distress at a short distance from the road turned their horses' heads that way, and galloping up in haste they came on a band of Bashi-Bazouks--cut-throat ruffians whom General Yusuf was trying to lick into shape--dragging away a young country girl, whose terrified eyes had caught sight of the British uniforms. Already that uniform carried with it greater guarantee of right and justice than any of the many others with which the country was overrun. So as soon as she saw them she shrieked for help, and they answered. "Let her go, you beasts!" shouted Jack, as he dragged out his sword. And then, as dirty hands fumbled in waist-shawls full of pistols, Jim's revolver cracked out, and two of the rascals went down. Curses and bullets flew promiscuously for a second or two, and then the remaining Bashis bolted, leaving four on the ground and the girl on their hands. "What the deuce are we to do with her?" said Jack, as the spoils of war clung tearfully to his leg. "Where?" asked Jim, in one of the few native words he had picked up in the course of business. "Pravadi," panted the girl. "That's over yonder, past Aladyn," said Jim. "We'd better take her home, or those brutes will get her again. I'll take her up--my horse is fresher than yours. Come along, my beauty!" And he stuck out his boot for a foot-rest, and held out his hand to the girl. The uniform was her sufficient guarantee, and she climbed up and straddled the horse, and locked her arms tightly round Jim's waist. "All right?" he asked. And they turned to the road. Two minutes later they fell in with a Turkish patrol galloping up at sound of the firing, and had some difficulty in making them understand that they were not carrying off the girl on their own account. They were only convinced by being led back to the place where the wounded Bashis lay. Then they offered to take care of the girl and see her safely home. But she knew them too well and would have none of them. She clung like a leech to Jim, and at last they were permitted to go on their way. They had many little adventures of the kind, and they tended to keep their blood in circulation, and the blues, which afflicted their fellows, at a distance. Lord Deseret had laid down the law for Jim as regards eating and drinking. "I have lived in Turkey," he said. "Drink no water unless it has been boiled, and then dash it with rum. Tea or coffee are better still. And eat as little fruit as possible; it's tempting, but dangerous." And Jim used to get wildly angry with his men, when he saw them devouring cucumbers by the half-dozen, and apricots and plums by the basketful, under the impression that these things were good for their health. They laughed at his remonstrances at first, but remembered them later; and those who did not die foreswore cucumbers for the rest of their lives. CHAPTER XLV MORE REVELATIONS Colonel Carron was constantly looking the boys up, and carrying them off to the best meals they ever got in that country. His Chief, Prince Napoleon, had gone down to Therapia with a touch of fever, and the Colonel was in charge of his quarters and saw to it that His Highness's cooks did not get rusty in his absence. Over these delightful dinners in the leafy arbours which always marked the Prince's quarters, they all came to know one another very much better than they might have done under any ordinary circumstances. And the burden of the Colonel's talk was chiefly regret that one or both of them had not taken his offer and joined him in the French service. "Sorry I am to say it," he said one night, as they sat sipping coffee such as they got nowhere else, and smoking cigars such as their own pockets did not run to, "but your army is only a fancy toy--in the way it's run, I mean. Your men are the finest in the world, what there are of them; but England is not a soldierly nation, say what you like about it." "What about the Peninsula, sir?--to say nothing of Waterloo!" murmured Jack, after a discreet took round. "Oh, you can fight and win battles, just as you can do pretty nearly anything else you make up your minds to do--regardless of cost. But with us the army is a science--an exact science almost--and every single detail is worked out on the most scientific lines. You only need to look round you to see the difference. England is never ready because she is not by nature a fighting nation. Her army rusts along, and then when the sudden call comes you have got to brace up and win through--or muddle through--at any cost, and the cost is generally frightful. The men and money you have wasted--absolutely wasted--in your wars do not bear thinking of." "I'm afraid it's true, sir. And we don't seem to learn much by experience. I suppose it comes from having sea-frontiers instead of land. You have to _be_ ready. We always have to _get_ ready." "And how about the horses, Jim?" he asked. "I'm told you manage to get more than we do. That's one for you, my boy." "We pay cash, sir. You pay in paper promises, and a man a hundred miles away will sooner part for gold than for paper." "Truly; I would myself. Do you lose many _en route?_" "Not two per cent, sir. Some of them are pretty wild, and they make a bolt at times, but it adds to the fun, and we nearly always get them back. Did you see Nolan's Arabs?" "I saw them--beauties. The Prince wanted to buy two or three, but I dissuaded him. They're too delicate for a winter campaign. That big brown of yours, that Deseret gave you, is worth four of them--as far as work is concerned." "You think we're in for a winter campaign, sir?" asked Jack eagerly. "No doubt about it, I think. We've got to do something before we go home--some of us. Our coming up here has cleared the Russians off the Danube, but our dawdling here has given them every chance of strengthening themselves in the Crimea. The biggest thing they have there is Sebastopol, on which they have squandered money. Therefore I think it will be Sebastopol, and anything but an easy job." "We shall get our chance, then," sparkled Jack. "We did a bit at Gallipoli, but a real big siege would be grand." "I hope your commissariat will play up better then, or we shall have to feed you," said the Colonel, with a smile. He liked to draw them out and get their views on men and things, and watched them keenly the while, but all his watching brought him not one whit nearer a solution of the problem of Carne than had Charles Eager's and Sir Denzil's. In the course of one such talk, however, they made a discovery and received a shock which knocked the wind out of them. Their father was delightfully open and frank with them as regards the past, and it drew their liking. "I have behaved shamefully to you both," he said one time, "and still worse to one of you. And I have nothing to plead in extenuation except that I did as my fellows in those days did--which is a very poor excuse, I confess. I must make such compensation as I can. One of you will have to become Carron of Carrie, and the other M. le Compte de Carne--maybe M. le Duc by that time. There's no knowing." "There's the Quixande matter too," said Jack thoughtfully. "An empty title, I fear, by this time. And the Carrons were of note ages before the Quixandes were heard of. You seem to have got on very good terms with Deseret"--to Jim. "He was very good to me, sir. I don't know why, unless it was because of his old friendship with you. He always spoke very handsomely of you." "He was always a good fellow, but a terrible gambler. And yet I don't think he suffered on the whole. He was so confoundedly rich that it made no difference to him in any way. I have seen him win and lose £10,000 in a night at Crockford's, without turning a hair." "I saw him win somewhere about that at a house in St. James's Street and----" "And how much did you lose?" "Nothing, sir; I was only looking on. Charlie Denham took me there--just to see it, you know. When Lord Deseret heard my name he came up and spoke to me. He asked me to call on him, and scribbled his address on the back of a bank-note, and gave it to me, and insisted on my keeping it." "Just like him!" "Then the police came and we had to get out over the roofs----" "I would dearly have liked to see Deseret getting out over the roofs," laughed the Colonel. "He seemed quite used to it, sir." "I haven't a doubt of it. And he never suggested you should play?" "On the contrary, he never ceased to warn me against it. So did Mme Beteta----" "Mme Beteta!" And the Colonel's cigar hung fire in midair, and he sat staring at Jim as if he had called up a ghost. "The dancer, you know. She has been awfully kind to me. Did you know her too, sir?" asked innocent Jim. "How did you come to make _her_ acquaintance?" asked his father, with quite a change of tone, and an intentness that struck even Jim. "We had gone to see her dance----" "Both of you?" "Charlie Denham and I. And Lord Deseret saw us and sent for us to his box, and at the interval he offered to take us round." "Deseret?" And he said something under his breath in French which they did not catch. "Well--and how did she receive you?" "She was very pleasant. She asked me to call and see her, and I've been several times." The Colonel resumed his cigar and smoked in silence for some time, with his eyes fixed meditatively on a distant corner. Then, he seemed to make up his mind. He blew out a great cloud of smoke and said very deliberately: "In view of what is coming it is perhaps as well you should know, though it will not help you to a solution of your puzzle--at least--I don't know. . . . It might--yes--probably it might, if one could be sure of her telling the truth for its own sake and apart from all other considerations. Mme Beteta is your mother"--and he nodded at Jim, who jumped in his chair; "or yours"--and he nodded at Jack, who sat staring fixedly at him. "She may know which of you is her own boy. I cannot tell. But she will only tell what she chooses--if I know anything of women." "Yes," he said presently, while the boys still sat speechless, "Beteta is old Mrs. Lee's daughter. The old woman knows also, I expect, but she certainly will only tell what suits her, and you could put very little reliance on anything she said. Has madame met you both?" "Yes, sir. She asked me to bring Jack to see her the first chance I got, and I did so." "Well?" "She was just the same to him, as nice as could be, anxious we should get into some scrape so that she could be of some use to us, and that kind of thing--very nice." "Ay--well! It is just possible--it is very probable," he said weightily, "that some of us three may never get home again. We don't know for certain what we're going to attempt, so it is impossible to forecast the chances. But, in view of what may be, it is only right that you should know. Is there anything else you wish to ask? I have had great cause to regret many things in my life, but nothing, perhaps, more than this. Though, _mon Dieu!_" he said very heartily, "even this has its compensations in you two boys. However, I have no desire to refer to it again. So, if there is anything more----" And he waited for their questioning. "There is one thing, sir," said Jack, unwillingly enough, and yet it seemed to him necessary. "You will pardon me, I hope, but it might be of importance. Did you--were you--was your marriage with madame all in order?" The Colonel nodded as though he had been expecting the question. "In justice to her, I must say that she believed so at the time, but there were irregularities in it which would probably invalidate it if brought to the test, and I think she is now aware of it." "You have met her since?" "Oh yes. We have been on friendly terms for some years past." "And you believe she could solve the question that is troubling us all, if she would?" "I think it likely, but--you must see," and he addressed himself more particularly to Jack--"that most women, in such a case, would lie through thick and thin to establish their own cause." "I don't know," said Jack doubtfully. "I suppose it is possible." "It is certain. However, the solution to the puzzle may come otherwise,"--they knew what he meant--"so now we will drop the matter, and you must think of me as little unkindly as you can. Jean-Marie," to an orderly outside, "bring us fresh coffee and more cognac." "Do you know that Canrobert lost three thousand of his men up in the Dobrudscha?" "Three thousand!" gasped Jim. "They got into some swamp full of rotting horses and dead Russians and consequent pestilence, and the men died like flies." "It is hard to go like that," said Jim. "I'd sooner die ten times over in fair fight than of the cholera. That's what's knocking the heart out of the men, that and having nothing to do but watch the other fellows die." "Ay--well, we'll give them something to do at last. Every Tom, Dick, and François is to set to work making fascines and gabions." "That means a siege, then," said Jack, with delight. "And our time's coming after all." CHAPTER XLVI THE BLACK LANDING From that time on there was no lack of work. The spirits of the me, went up fifty per cent, and the general health improved in like ratio. Hard work proved the best of tonics. And, of a truth, a tonic was needed. It took the Guards--the flower of the British army--two days march from Aladyn to the sea at Varna, a distance of ten miles. So reduced were they by sickness, that five miles a day was all they could manage, and even then their packs were carried for them. For those in charge there was no rest, by day or Light, until the embarkation was complete. When Jim Carron followed his last horse on board the _Himalaya_, he tumbled into a bath and then into a bunk, and slept for twenty-four hours without moving a finger. But he had ample time, when he woke up, fresh and hungry, to admire that most wonderful sight of close on seven hundred ships, of all shapes and sizes--from the stately _Agamemnon_, flying the Admiral's flag, to the steam-tug _Pigmy_, wrestling valiantly with a transport twenty times her size--as they crept slowly across the Black Sea, with 80,000 men on board for the chastisement of the Russian Bear. A sight for a lifetime, indeed, but one which no man who remembers or thinks of would ever wish to set eyes on again. Jim and his fellows, however, rejoiced in it, for without doubt it meant business at last, and they had almost begun to despair. So, in due time, they came in sight of the tented mountains and the coast; and after what seemed to the ardent ones still more vacillation and delays, the launches and flat-boats got to work, and the long strip of shingle which lay between the sea and a great lake behind became black with men. All was eagerness and anticipation. The voyage had had a good effect on bodies sorely weakened by disease, and the prospect of active employment at last a still better effect on hearts that had grown heavy with disappointment. But ten days of life-giving sea cannot entirely undo the mischief of the sickly months ashore. Numbers died on the voyage. Of those who landed, few indeed were the men they had been when they left England six months before, but hearts ran high if bodies were worn and weak. That was the busiest day those regions had seen since time began. To the few bewildered inhabitants it seemed as though the whole unknown world was emptying itself on their shores. Before sunset over 60,000 men were landed, and still there were more to come. All that coast, from Eupatoria to Old Fort, was like an ant-hill dropped suddenly on to a strange place, over which its tiny occupants swarmed tumultuously in the endeavour to accommodate themselves to the new conditions. The weather, which had held up during the day, broke towards evening. The surf reared viciously up the shingle beach, and the rain came down in torrents. The tents were still aboard ship; men and officers alike sat and soaked throughout the dreary night in extremest misery. Jack among them. He had been sent on in advance of his corps to make observations and dispositions for the accommodation of the ordnance, and carried--according to instructions--nothing but his great-coat rolled up lengthwise and slung over his shoulder, a canteen of water, and three days' provision of cooked salt meat and biscuit in a haversack. The men had their blankets in addition, and their rifles and bayonets and ammunition. When the deluge broke on them, and the spray came flying up the beach in sheets, drenching them alike above and below, the men huddled together and tried to improvise shelters with their great-coats and blankets. But Nature was pitiless and seemed to bend her direst energies to the task of damping their spirits. With their bodies she had her will, but their spirits were beyond her, for they were on Russian territory at last, and that meant business. Jack sat on the wet shingle, back to back with one of his fellows, and the rain soaked through him, till his very marrow felt cold. Some of the men near him, crouching under their sopping blankets, started singing, and "God save the Queen" and "Rule Britannia" rolled brokenly along the lines for a time. But by degrees the singing died away, the wet blankets exerted their proverbial influence, and silent misery prevailed. The weather had broken before the cavalry got ashore, so Jim spent that night very gratefully in the comfort of his bunk on the _Himalaya_, and wondered how they were faring on land. He was up before sunrise, however, and hard at work, though the waves were still high, and landing horses would be no easy matter. And worse [end of line is blank] He came on Jack prowling anxiously among the black masses just wakening into life again. "Hello, Jim!" he said hoarsely. "Where were you? Did you get damp?" "We're not landed yet. Too rough for the horses." "Lucky beggars! I never had such a night in my life. It was ghastly. Why the deuce couldn't they let us have some tents? Those French beggars had theirs, and the beastly Turks too. We're the worst-managed lot I ever heard of." "What's this?" asked Jim, staring open-mouthed at a muffled figure at his feet--stiff and stark, though all around were stirring. "Why doesn't he get up?" "He's got up," said Jack through his teeth. "He's dead, and there's a score or more like him. Dead of the cold and want of everything. Hang it! why aren't we Frenchmen or Turks!" A sore speech, born of great bitterness. And Jim felt it almost an insult be so warm and hearty and well-fed, with that dumb witness of the dreadful misery of the night lying silent at his feet. And the thought of it all bore sorely on him and brought the lump into his throat. To pull through the bad times at Varna; to come all that way across the sea, indomitable spirit overcoming all the weaknesses of the flesh; to land at last in the high flush of hope,--and then to die like dogs of cold and misery, on the wet shingle, before their hope had smallest chance of realisation! Oh, it was hard! It was bitter hard! When he reported on board it was decided to make for Eupatoria, where there was a pier, but before they got under way the weather showed signs of improvement, and presently the landing began, and for the next two days both the boys had so much on their hands that they had no time to think of anything but the contrarinesses of horses and guns, and the disconcerting effects of high seas on things unused to them. In spite of all they lacked, however, the men's spirits rose as soon as the sun shone out and warmed them. They were on Russian soil at last, and that made up for everything. All they wanted now was Russians to come to grips with--Russians in quantity and of a fighting stomach. Sebastopol was thirty miles to the south, and between them and it lay rivers, and almost certainly armies; and on the third day they set off resolutely to find them. And that day Jim had his first trying experience of playing target to a distant enemy in deadly sober earnest. He had wondered much what it would feel like, and how his inner man would take it. As for the outer, he had promised himself that that should show no sign, no matter what happened. The Hussars were feeling the way in advance, when a bunch of Cossacks appeared on the hills in front, and representatives of Britain and Russia took eager stock of one another. They were rough-looking fellows on sturdy horses, and carried long lances. They rode down the hill as though to offer battle, and the Englishmen were keen to try conclusions with them. But behind them, in the hollows, were discovered dense masses of cavalry waiting for the game to walk into the net. And when the wary game declined, the cavalry opened out and disclosed hidden guns, and the game of long bowls began. The first shots went wide, and Jim watched them go hopping along the plain with much curiosity. Then came the vicious spurt of white smoke again, and the man and horse alongside him collapsed in a heap; the horse with a most dolorous groan, the man--Saxelby, a fine young fellow of his own troop--with a gasping cry, his leg shorn clean off at the knee. Jim's heart went right down into his stomach for a moment as the blood spirted over him, and he felt deadly sick. His first impulse was to jump down and help poor Saxelby, but he feared for himself if he did so--feared he would fall in a heap alongside him and perhaps not be able to get up, for he felt as weak as water. He clenched his teeth till they ached. He dropped his bridle hand on to his holster to keep it from shaking, and clasped his horse so tightly with his knees that he resented it and began to fret and curvet. Jim bent over and patted him on the neck, and two troopers got down and carried Saxelby away. The horse stopped jerking its legs and lay still, with its eyes wide and white, and its nostrils all bloody, and its teeth clenched and its lips drawn back in a horrid grin. The guns had found their range and were spitting venomously now. Half a dozen more of his men were down. He was quite sure he would be next. He thought in a whirl for a moment,--of Gracie; she would marry Jack, and all that matter would be smoothed out;--and of Mr. Eager, the dear fellow!--and his father, and he wished they had seen more of one another;--and Sir Denzil, he was not such a bad old chap after all. He thought they would be sorry for him. And Mme Beteta, he wondered---- Well, maybe he would know all about it in a minute or two. Then his heart rose suddenly right up into his head, and he was filled with a vast blazing anger at this being shot at with never a chance of a stroke in reply. If they would only let them go for those d----d Russians he would not feel so bad about it! But to be shot down like pheasants! It was not business! It was all d----d nonsense! He began to get very angry indeed. His quickened ear had caught the rattle of artillery coming up behind. But it had stopped. Why the deuce had it stopped? Why couldn't someone do something before they were all bowled over? Then at last there came a roar on their flank, and some of the newer horses kicked and danced, and Jim, staring hard at the Russians, saw a lane cleft through them where the shot had gone. He clenched his teeth now to keep in a wild hurrah. It was an odd feeling. He knew nothing about those fellows under the hill, but he hated them like sin and rejoiced in their destruction. He would have liked to slaughter every man of them with his own hand. If he had been able to get at them he would have hacked and slashed till there wasn't one left. No more balls came their way now. The guns turned on one another, and presently the Russians limbered up and retired--and it was over, and he was still alive. And then he was thankful. Jim went off in search of Saxelby and the other half-dozen wounded men, as soon as he came in, and found them trimmed up and bandaged, just starting in litters for the ships, and all very angry at being knocked out before they had had a chance. Then they crossed the Bulganak and bivouacked for the night, in grievous discomfort still from lack of tents and shortage of provisions, but strung to cheerfulness by the fact that they were really in touch with the enemy at last--triumph surely of mind over matter. Notwithstanding which, the morning disclosed another pitiful tale of deaths from cold and exposure--brave fellows who would not knock under in spite of pains and weakness, and had dragged themselves along lest they should be "out of the fun," and died silently where they lay for lack of the simple necessities of life. Rightly or wrongly the blame fell on the commissaries, and the dead men's comrades flung them curses hot enough to fire a ship. For meeting the Russians in fair fight was one thing, and altogether to their liking; but this lack of foresight and provision took them below the belt in every sense of the word, and was like an unexpected blow from the fist of one's backer. CHAPTER XLVII ALMA At noon next day they came to a shallow river winding between red clay banks, a somewhat undignified stream whose name they were to blazon in letters of blood on the rolls of fame--the Alma. The Russians were strongly entrenched on the hills on the other side and in great force, and every man knew that here was a giant struggle and glory galore for the winners. It was a great fight, but it was mostly rifle and bayonet and the grim reaction from those deadly slow months at Varna. And the Engineers had little to do but watch the others, as they dashed through the muddy stream, and climbed the roaring heights in the face of death, and captured the great redoubt at dreadful cost. And the cavalry were miles away on the left, covering the attack on that side from five times their own weight of Russian cavalry, who never came on, and so they had nothing to do and were disgusted at being out of it. So neither Jack nor Jim were in that fight, but afterwards they climbed the hill with separate searching parties and met by chance in the redoubt on top, and looked on sights unforgettable, which made a deep and grim impression on them both. It was the first battlefield they had ever set eyes on, and they spoke very little. "God! Isn't it awful?" said Jack through his teeth, as they stood looking down the hill towards the river flowing unconcernedly to the sea, just as it had done when they came to it at noon, just as it had done all through the dreadful uproar when men were falling in their thousands. The ground between was strewn and heaped and piled with dead bodies. But Jim had no words for it. He could only shake his head. While they were still gazing awe-stricken at the ghastly piles of broken men, among which the litter-men were prowling in anxious search for wounded, a group of brilliantly clad officers came up from the French camp, where the rows of comfortable white tents set English teeth grinding with envy and chagrin. And among them they saw Prince Napoleon and Colonel Carron. Their father saw them in the redoubt and came up at once. "Glad to see you still alive, boys," he said cheerfully. "Hot work, wasn't it?" "Awful, sir. Were you in it?" asked Jack. "Oh yes. We came across there"--pointing to a burnt-out village on the river-bank--"and then up here. Here's where we got the guns up to relieve Bosquet. We've paid pretty heavily, but it's shown them what we're made of. You weren't in it, I suppose, Jim?" "No sir; we were waiting over yonder for some cavalry to come on, but they wouldn't. Worse luck!" "Your chances will come, my boy. And you, Jack?" "We had very little to do, sir. We were away in the rear there." "Your men did splendidly. Canrobert was just saying that he doubted if our men would have managed that frontal business as yours did." "They paid," said Jim. "And are still paying," said the Colonel, as they stood watching the French ambulances, with their trim little mules, trotting off towards the coast, carrying a dozen wounded men in quick comfort, while the English litter-men crept slowly along on their jogging four-mile tramp, which proved the death of many a sorely wounded man and purgatory to the rest. "Truly, your arrangements are not up to the mark." said Colonel Carron. "How have you stood the nights? Somebody was saying you had no tents." "Last night was the first time we've had any, and they've all been sent on board again," said Jack gloomily. "That's too bad. It's hard on the men." "We lose a number every night with the cold." "Bad management---- The Prince is off. I must go. Good luck to you, boys! I shall come over and look you up from time to time. Keep out of mischief!" And he waved a cheery hand and was gone, and the boys went down among the ghastly piles to do what they could. But it was heart-breaking work; the total of misery was so immense, and the means of alleviation so feeble in comparison. The French wounded were safe on board ship within an hour after they were picked up. It was two days before all the English were disposed of, though every man who could be spared set his hand to the work. In the afternoon of the second day after the fight, Jim was going wearily down the hill, after such a time among the dead and wounded as had made him almost physically sick. All the French, and he thought almost all the English, wounded had been seen to. The Russians had necessarily been left to the last. As he passed a grisly pile he thought he caught a faint groan from inside it, and set to work at once hauling the dead men apart, with tightened face and repressed breath. The job was neither pleasant nor wholesome, but there was no one else near at hand and he must see to it. Right at the bottom of the pile, soaked with the blood of those who had fallen on top of him, he came upon a young fellow, an officer, just about his own age. And as he dragged the last body off him, he opened his eyes wearily and groaned. Jim put his pocket-flask to the white lips, and the other sucked eagerly and a touch of colour came into his face. He lay looking up into the face bending over him, and then his chest filled and he sighed. "Where are you hurt?" asked Jim, expecting no answer, but full of sympathy. "Leg and side," said the wounded one, in English with an accent. "I'll fetch a litter." "Stay moment. Only dead men--two days. Good to see a live one. . . . Did you win?" "Yes, we won, but at very heavy cost." "Glad you won." "That doesn't sound good," said honest Jim, with disfavour. "You would feel same. Hate Russians. . . . Pole." "I see," said Jim, whose history was nebulous, but equal to the occasion. "Forced to fight," said the wounded man. "Done with it now." "Take some more rum--it'll warm you up; and I'll find a litter for you." "Have you bread? I starve. . . ." "I'll see if I can get you something." "Open his roll." And the wounded man turned his eyes hungrily on the nearest dead body. And Jim, opening the linen roll which each Russian carried, found a lump of hard black bread and placed it in his hand. "I thank. You will come again?" asked the young Pole anxiously. "I'll come back all right, as soon as I've found a litter." And he left the wounded man feebly gnawing his chunk of black bread like a starving dog. He found a litter in time, and the weary eyes brightened a trifle at sight of him. "You are good," he murmured. "You save me." And Jim, thinking what he would like himself in similar case, went along by his side till they found a doctor resting for a moment, and begged him to examine the new-comer. "His leg must go. The body wound will heal," said the medico. "Seems to have had a bad time. Where did you find him?" "I found him under fifteen dead men." "Then he owes you his life." "Yes, yes," said the wounded one "I am grateful. Take the leg off." "He's a Pole, forced to fight against his will," said Jim, at the doctor's astonishment. "I see"--as he screwed a tourniquet on the shattered limb. "We're sending all their wounded to Odessa." At which the young man groaned. "Hold his hand," said the doctor. "He's pretty low." And Jim held the twitching hand while the knife and the saw did their work, and was not sure whether it was his hand that jumped so or the other's. The other hand suddenly lay limp in his, and he thought the man was dead. "Fainted," said the doctor. "He's been bleeding away for two days." He came round, however, and tried to smile when he saw Jim still there. And presently he murmured: "I thank." And then he looked down at his hand all caked with blood, and tried feebly to get a ring off his finger. "Take!" he said. But Jim shook his head. "Yes, yes." And he wrestled feebly again with the ring. "Better humour him," said the doctor. "It'll do him more good than to refuse." So Jim worked the ring off for him, and slipped it on his own finger, and the wounded man said "I thank!" and lay back satisfied. Jim saw him carried down to the boat and wished him luck, and then strode away to his own quarters, which consisted of a seat on the side of a dry ditch--dry at present, but which would be soaking with dew before morning--with his brown horse picketed alongside, as hungry and low-spirited as his master. Jim looked at his ring and thought of its late owner, and hoped he would get over it, and wondered how soon his own turn would come. For the thing that amazed him was that any single man could come alive out of a fight like that at the Alma. His horse nuzzled hungrily at him, and he suddenly bethought him of the black bread in the Russians' linen rolls. He jumped up, tired as he was, and trode away to the battlefield again, and came back with chunks of hard tack and black bread enough to make his brown and some of his neighbours happy for the night. Marshal St. Arnaud, sore sick as he was, was eager to press on at once after the discomfited Russians. But "an army marches on its stomach," and it was two full days before Lord Raglan could make a move. Those two lost days might have changed the whole course of the campaign, and saved many thousands of lives. The defective organisation of the British transport and commissariat slew more than all the Russian bullets. On the third morning, as the sun rose all the trumpets, bugles, and drums in the French army pealed out from the summit of the captured hill, and presently the allied armies were _en route_ again for Sebastopol. The next day, however, saw a sudden change of plans and a most remarkable happening. The allied chiefs gave up the idea of attacking the town from the north, on which side all preparations had been made for their reception, and decided, instead, to march right round and take it on its undefended south side. And so began that famous flank march to Balaclava which was to turn all the defences of the fortress. And on that selfsame day the Russian chief, Menchikoff, decided to march out of Sebastopol into the open, and so turn the flank of the allies. And the two lines of march crossed at Mackenzie's farm. The Russians had got out first, however, and it was only their rear-guard upon whom the English chanced, and immediately fell, and put to rout. They chased them for several miles and took their military chest and great booty of baggage which, being left to the men as lawful prize, cheered them greatly. When Jim got back from the chase the new owners were offering for sale dazzling uniforms, and decorations, and handsome fur coats, at remarkable prices. He had no yearning for Russian uniforms or decorations, but as he suffered much from the cold of a night he bought two of the wonderful coats for five pounds each, and, when they halted, he sought out Jack and made him happy with one of them. CHAPTER XLVIII JIM'S RIDE Next day the allied forces crossed the Tchernaya by the Traktir Bridge and marched on Balaclava. And here Jim's threefold reputation as a hard rider, the best-mounted man in his regiment, and a man who did, brought him a chance of fresh distinction. In abandoning the coast and marching inland, the army had cut itself off from its base of supply--the fleet. It was urgently necessary that word should be sent to the admirals to move on round the coast past Sebastopol and meet the army in its new quarters. Just as they were crowding over Traktir Bridge a rider came galloping up with dispatches for Lord Raglan--Lieutenant Maxse of the _Agamemnon_. He had left Katcha Bay that morning, and offered at once to ride back with orders for the fleet to move on. A brave offer, for the country was all wild forest and lonely plain and valley, infested with prowling bands of Cossacks, and the night was falling. An hour later Maxse, on a fresh horse, was galloping back to the coast. "If anything should happen to him," said the Chief, "we shall be in a hole." And he sent for Lord Lucan. "I want your best horseman and your best horse, Lucan, and a man who will put a thing through." "That's young Carron of the Hussars, sir." And Jim, paraded for inspection on his big brown horse--quite filled out and frolicsome with its load of black bread the day but one before--seemed likely in the Chief's eyes. "Mr. Carron," he said. "I have a dangerous task for you. I am told you are the man for it. Lieutenant Maxse left here an hour ago for the ships. They must get round at once and meet us at Balaclava. Here is a copy of the order. If Maxse has not got through you will deliver it to Admiral Dundas in Katcha Bay. Don't lose a moment. The welfare of the army depends on you." Jim saluted. "How will you go?" "Mackenzie's farm and the post-road, sir." "You are armed? You may meet Cossacks." "Sword and revolver. I shall manage all right." "Come round with the ships and report to me at Balaclava." Jim saluted once more, and spurred away. The distance was only some twenty miles, an easy two hours' ride. The dangers lay in the hostile country and the prowling Cossacks, for in the long defile from the farm to the Belbec, and then again in the broken country between the Belbec and the Katcha, there were a thousand places where a rider might be picked off from the hill-sides and never catch a glimpse of his adversary. However, it was no good thinking of all that, and Jim was not one to cross bridges before he came to them, or to meet trouble half-way. His big brown had a long, easy stride which was almost restful to his rider, and Jim had a seat that gave his horse the least possible inconvenience, and between them was completest sympathy and friendship. And as to the dark, unless he absolutely ran into Cossacks he reckoned it all in his favour. It kept down his pace indeed, but at the same time it hid him from the watchful eyes on the hill-sides and the leaden messages they might have sent him. He received warm commendation for that night's ride, but, as simple matter of fact, he enjoyed it greatly, and had no difficulties beyond keeping the road in the dark and making sure it was the right one. Plain common-sense, however, bade him always trend to the left when cross-roads offered alternatives, and after leaving Mackenzie's he never set eyes on a soul till he found the Belbec an hour before midnight, and rode up through the wreathing mists of the river-bed to the highlands beyond. The dew was drenching wet and the night cold, but he got into his big fur coat, which had been rolled up behind his saddle, and suffered not at all. His thoughts ran leisurely back to them all at home,--Gracie, and Mr. Eager, and his grandfather, and Lord Deseret, and Mme Beteta, and his father's amazing revelation concerning her. He wondered whether they would ever learn the truth, and if not, how the tangle would be straightened out. He thought dimly, but with no great fear now, that they would probably both be killed if there was much fighting such as that at the Alma, so there was no need to trouble about the future. Charlie Denham, indeed, never ceased to philosophise that it was always the other fellow who was going to be killed; but if every one thought that, it was evident, even to Jim's unphilosophic mind, that there must be a flaw somewhere. Anyway, when a man's time came he died, and there was no good worrying oneself into the blues beforehand. A hoarse challenge broke suddenly on his musings, and a darker blur on the road just in front resolved itself into half a dozen horsemen. They had heard his horse's hoofs, and waited in silence to see who came. He had pulled the hood of his fur coat right up over his busby, and the heavy folds covered him almost down to the feet. He decided in a moment that safety lay in silence, so he rode straight on, waved a hand to the doubtful Cossacks, and was past Telegraph Hill before they had done discussing him. He wondered if Maxse had met them and how he had fared. An hour later he forded the Katcha and turned down the valley towards the sea. Boats were still plying between the sandy beach and the ships. The Jacks eyed him for a moment with suspicion, but gave him jovial welcome when they found that only his outer covering was Russian. Lieutenant Maxse had just been put aboard the _Agamemnon_, he found, and a minute or two later he was following him. So Jim had the pleasure of steaming past the sea-front of Sebastopol to Balaclava Bay, where they found the ancient little fort on the heights bombarding the British army with for tiny guns. They brought it to reason with half a dozen round shot, and presently steamed cautiously in round the awkward corners, and dropped anchor opposite the house where Lord Raglan had taken up his quarters. CHAPTER XLIX AMONG THE BULL-PUPS And now force of circumstances left the cavalry stranded high and dry, with nothing to do but range the valley now and again in quest of enemies who never showed face, and growl continually at the untowardness of their lot. They had indeed had little enough to do so far, but always in front of them had been the hope of active employment and its concomitant rewards. But what use could cavalry be in a siege? And had they lived through all those hideous months at Varna, and come across the sea only to repeat them outside Sebastopol? They grizzled and growled, and expressed their opinions on things in general with cavalier vehemence. And the worst of it was that the other more actively employed arms were inclined to twit them with their--so far--showy uselessness. What had they done since they landed, except prance about and look pretty? Why hadn't they been out all over the country bringing in supplies? Where were they at the Alma, when hard knocks were the order of the day?--asked these others. And, indeed, among themselves they asked bitterly why they had been chained up like that and allowed to do nothing. They had held all the Russian cavalry in check, it is true; but that was but a negative kind of thing, and what they thirsted for was an active campaign and glory. But now it was Jack's turn, and the Engineers were in their element. Not a man among them but devoutly hoped the place would hold out to the utmost and give them their chance. It was almost too good to be true--an actual siege on the latest and most approved principles! And they tackled it with gusto, and were planning lines and trenches in their minds' eyes before their tents were up. As a matter of fact, tents were still things to be looked forward to with such small faith in commissaries and transport as still lingered in their sorely tried bodies, for it had long since left their hearts; food was so scarce that for a couple of days one whole division of the army had tasted no meat; and every morning the first sorrowful duty of the living was to gather up those who had died in the night of cold and cholera, with bitter commination of those whom they considered to blame. However, all things come in time to those who live long enough, and the tents came up from the ships at last, and rations began to be served out with something like regularity. The busy Engineers traced their lines, and, as soon as it was dark each night, the digging parties went out and set to work on the trenches, and the siege was fairly begun, and Jack and his fellows were as busy and happy as bees. But Jim, if officially relegated a comparative inaction, found no lack of employment. He was intensely interested in all that was going on. He rode here and there with messages to this chief and that. For when he reported himself to Lord Raglan at Balaclava, according to instructions, his lordship was pleased to compliment him in his quiet way. "You did well, Mr. Carron," he said. "I am glad you both got through safely. Much depended on you. By the way, you know my old friend Deseret, I think." "Lord Deseret was very kind to me in London, sir." "I remembered, after you left last night, that he had spoken to me of you. And surely," said his lordship musingly, "I must have known your father. Is he still alive?" Jim hesitated for half a second, and then said simply: "Yes, sir; he is on the staff of Prince Napoleon." "With Prince Napoleon?" said his lordship, and stared at him in surprise. And then the old story came back to his mind. "Ah, yes! I remember. Well, well! . . . And I suppose you're growling like the rest at having nothing to do?" "We would be glad to have more, sir." "I'm afraid it won't be a very lively time for the cavalry. But you seem to like knocking about. I must see what I can do to keep you from getting rusty." "I shall be very grateful, sir." And thereafter many an odd job came his way, for the allied lines, from the extreme French left at Kamiesch Bay in the west, to the British right above the Inkerman Aqueduct on the north-east, covered close upon twenty miles, and within that space there was enough going on to keep a man busy in simply acting as travelling eye to the Commander-in-Chief--in carrying his orders and bringing him reports. And this was business that suited Jim to the full. He saw everything and was constantly meeting everybody he knew, and many besides. He was galloping home from the French lines one evening, through the sailors' camp by Kadikoi, just above the gorge that runs down to Balaclava. The jolly jacks were revelling in their lark ashore, and showed it in the labelling of their tents with fanciful names. Jim had already seen "Albion's Pets," "Rule Britannia," and "Windsor Castle," and every time he passed he looked for the latest ebullitions of sailorly humour. This time, to his great joy, he found "Britain's Bull-Pups," and "The Bear-Baiters," and "The Bully Cockytoos." The Bull-Pups and the Bear-Baiters and the Bully Cockytoos, and all the rest, fifty in a line, were hauling along a Lancaster gun, with a fiddler on top fiddling away for dear life, and they all bellowing a chantie that made him draw rein to listen to it. The bands in the French camp were playing merrily as he left it, but in the British lines there was not so much as a bugle or a drum, and the men were feeling it keenly. So the rough chorus struck him pleasantly, and he stopped to hear it out. When the gun was up to their camp, the men cast loose and began to foot it merrily to the music, just to show what a trifle a Lancaster gun was to British sailormen. And Jim, as he sat laughing at their antics and enjoying them hugely, suddenly caught sight of a familiar face. Not one of the dancers, but one who stood looking on soberly--it might even he sombrely, Jim could not be sure. He jumped off his horse and led him round. "Why, Seth, old man!" he said, clapping the broad shoulder in friendly delight. "What brings you here?" And young Seth turned and faced him, and had to look twice before he knew him. "Ech--why, it's Mester Jim!" he said slowly. "Of course it is. And but for you he wouldn't be here, and he never forgets it. But how do you come to be here, Seth?" "I come with the rest to fight the Roosians, Mester Jim." "I wish they'd give us a chance, but it's going to be all long bowls, I'm afraid." But there was that to be said between them which was not for other ears. The tars had watched the meeting with much favour, for greetings so friendly between officer and man were not often seen among them in those days, though more possible between sailormen than in the army. When they saw Jim slip his arm through Seth's and draw him along with him, they started a lusty cheer. "Three cheers for young Fuzzy-cap! Hip--hip!" And Jim grinned jovially and waved his hand in reply. And Seth Rimmer, in spite of the taciturnity which they could not understand, was a man of note among them from that day. "Did you hear all about your poor old dad, Seth?" asked Jim quietly. "Yes, Mester Jim. Th' passon told me all about it." "It was a grievous thing. But I don't think I was to blame, Seth. He would go out and ramble about. I did all I could for him." "I know. I know." "And Kattie, Seth! _You_ surely never thought I had anything to do with that matter?" "No, Mester Jim. I knowed it wasn't you." "Do you know who it was, Seth? I would hold him to account if ever I got the chance. But she would not tell me." "You found her?" asked Seth, with a start that brought them both to a stand. "She came to me in the street the very last night before we left----" Seth gave out something mixed up of groan and curse. "She said she had heard we were going in the morning, and she wanted to say good-bye." "Th' poor little wench! . . . What did you say to her Mester Jim?" "I was knocked all of a heap at meeting her like that, Seth. But when I got my wits back I did the only thing I could. I took her to a lady friend who had been very kind to me, and she promised to look after her. And I am quite sure she will. If Kattie only stops with her I think she may be very comfortable there." "It were good o' yo'. . . ." And then, reverting to Jim's former question, "I know him," he said hoarsely, "an' when th' chance comes----" And the big brown hands clenched as though a man's throat were between them. And Jim thought he would not like to be that man. "I'm afraid I feel like that too, Seth, though I suppose--I don't know. Poor little Kattie!" And presently he wrung the big brown hands, that were meant for better work than wringing evil throats, and swung up on to his horse. "I must get along, Seth. But I'm often through here, and we'll be meeting again. We're about two miles out over yonder, you know. Good-bye!" And he galloped off to his quarters. He frequently rode across of a night for a chat with Jack, but Jack was a mighty busy man these days, and nights too. He had an inordinate craving for trenches and gabions and facines and parallels and approaches, and could talk of little else, and confessed that he dreamed of them too. And if he could have accomplished as much by day as he did by night, when he was fast asleep--though as a matter of fact it ought to be the other way, for most of the actual work had to be done under cover of darkness and he slept when he could--Sebastopol would have been taken in a week. As the trenches began to develop, he would take Jim through them for a treat, and explain all that was going on with the greatest gusto. And at times Jim found it no easy matter to conceal the fact that it was all exceedingly raw and dirty, though he supposed it was the only way of getting at them. And at times shot and shell would come plunging in over the sand-bags and gabions, and then every man would fling himself on his face in the dirt till the flying splinters had gone, and Jim would go home and try to brush himself clean--for Joyce had died of cholera two days out from Varna--and would thank his stars that he belonged to a cleaner branch of the service. Still, it was fine to watch the shells come curving out from the town with a flash like summer lightning, and hear them singing through the darkness, and see the fainter glare of their explosion; and when he had nothing else on hand he went along to the trenches almost every night to watch the fireworks. CHAPTER L RED-TAPE The siege of Sebastopol was quite out of the ordinary run, and about as curious a business as ever was. For one usually thinks of a besieged town as surrounded by the enemy and cut off from the rest of the world. And, that was never the case with Sebastopol. The allied forces drew a ring round the south and east sides of the town, and the sea guarded it on the west, but by way of the north and north-east the Russians had free passage at all times, and could introduce fresh troops and provisions and all the material of war at will, and so the defence was in a state of continuous renewal, and fresh blood was always pouring in to replace the terrible waste inside. By those open ways also they sent out army after army to creep round behind the besiegers, to harry and annoy them, and this it was that led to some of the fiercest battles of the campaign. The knowledge also that great bodies of Russians were at large in their rear, and only waiting, opportunity to attack them, kept the Allies perpetually on the strain, and hurried musters in the dark to repel, at times imaginary, assaults were of almost nightly occurrence. Failing complete investment--when starvation, added to perpetual and irretrievable wastage, must in time have brought about a surrender--the Allies could only pound away with their big guns, and hope to wear down the heart and pride of Russia by the sheer dogged determination to pound away till there was nothing left to pound at. The later attempts to breach and storm, to which all these gigantic efforts were directed, were but a part of the same policy. Russia was to be crushed by the combined weight of England and France and Turkey, and, later on, Sardinia. It was very British, very bull-doggy, but it was also terribly wasteful and costly all round. The Russians had expected the attack on the north side, and had made it almost impregnable. When, by their flank march, the Allies came round to the south, the town was absolutely open and unprotected, the streets running up into the open country. Before the Allies could gird up their loins for a spring, earthworks and forts had sprung up in front of them as though by magic, and the only means of approach was by the slow, hard way of parallels, trenches, and zigzags. And all this it was that made up the Crimean War. But our boys were busy, and so kept happy in spite of discomforts without end. Every single thing the army heeded, either for fighting or for sheer and simplest living, had to be brought to it by sea, and the one door of entrance was tiny Balaclava Bay--with the natural consequence that Balaclava Bay became inextricably blocked with shipping discharging on to its narrow shores, and its shores became inextricably piled with masses of war material and stores, with no means of transport to the camps six and eight and ten miles away. And so confusion became ten times confounded, and brave men languished and died for want of the stores that lay rotting down below. Add to this the fact that every British official's hands were bound round and round, and knotted and thrice knotted, with coils of stiffest red tape, and no man dared to lift a finger unless a dozen superiors in a dozen different departments had authorised him to do so, in writing, on official forms, with every "t" crossed and every "i" carefully dotted, and you have the simple explanation of the horrors of the Crimea. Our own red-tape and sheer stupidity wrought far more evil on our men than all the efforts of Menchikoff and Gortschakoff with all the might of Russia at their backs. The trenches wormed their zigzags slowly down the slope, towards the Russian lines, and never was there more zealous zigzager than Jack. The Russians poured shot and shell on him and his fellow moles; but they dug on, mounted their heavy guns, and dosed him with pointed Lancaster shells, which were new to him, and impressed him most unpleasantly. And Jim galloped to and fro and worried more over his horse's feeding than his own, and kept very fit and well. He went over now and again to the Heavies, to see how George Herapath and Ralph Ruben were standing it, and found them generally on the growl at having so little to do and none too much to eat, and they all condoled with one another, and expressed themselves freely on such congenial subjects as the Transport and Commissariat Departments, and felt the better for getting it out. Letters from home came with fair regularity now, and they swapped their news and had time to write long letters back--except Jack, whose whole soul was in his trenches, and who was too tired and dirty for correspondence when he came out of them. So upon Jim devolved the duty of keeping Carne and Wyvveloe posted as to the course of the war, and his painfully produced scrawls were valued beyond their apparent merits by the anxious ones at home, and treasured as things of price. For Gracie, at all events, said to herself, when each one came, "It may be the last we shall ever get from him"; and, "They may both be lying dead at this moment. This horrible, horrible war!" But she wrote continually to both of them; and if the dreadful feeling that she might only too possibly be writing to dead men was with her as she wrote, she took good care that no sign of It appeared in her letters. They were brave and cheery letters, telling of the little happenings of the neighbourhood, and always full of the hope of seeing them again soon. And if she cried a bit at times, as she wrote and thought of it all, be sure no tear-spots were allowed to show. They had quite enough to stand without being worried with her fears. And she prayed for them every night and every morning with the utmost devotion, though, indeed, at times she remained long on her knees, pondering vaguely. For she knew that what must be, must be, and that her most fervent prayers could not turn Russian bullets from their destined billets--that if God saw it well to take her boys, they would go, in spite of all her asking. And so she came to commending them simply to God's good care, and to asking for herself the strength to bear whatever might come to her. When the Alma lists came out, she and the Rev. Charles scanned them with feverish anxiety, and with eyes that got the names all blurred and mixed, and hearts that beat muffled dead marches, and only let them breathe freely again when they had got through without finding what they had feared. And both of them, grateful at their own escape, thought pitifully of those whose trembling fingers, stopping suddenly on beloved names, had been the signal for broken hearts and shattered hopes and desolated lives. And, any day, that might be their own lot too; and so, like many others in those times, they went heavily, and feared what each new day might bring. Margaret Herapath spent much of her time with them, and Sir George was able to bring them news in advance of the ordinary channels. And the grim old man up at Carne read the news-sheets and the lists, which smelt of snuff when he had done with them, and was vastly polite and unconcerned about it all when Gracie and Eager went to visit him; but Kennet led somewhat of a dog's life at this time, and had to find consolation for a ruffled spirit where he could. CHAPTER LI THE VALLEY OF DEATH The Cavalry, Light and Heavy, but more especially the Light, were, as we have seen, rankling bitterly under quite uncalled-for imputation of showy uselessness, and chafing sorely at their enforced inaction during the siege operations. The campaign, so far, had offered them no opening, nor did it seem likely to do so. Moreover, forage was scarce, their horses were on short rations, and before long, unless those infernal transport people woke up, they would be padding it afoot like the toilers on the heights, who were having all the fun--such as it was--and would reap all the glory. But Fortune was kind, and sore, on them. For some days past they had, from time to time, caught the sound of distant bugles among the hills to the north and east of the valley in which their camp lay, and their hopes had been briefly stirred. It might mean nothing more, however, than the passage of reinforcements into Sebastopol, for those northern ways by Inkerman gorge were always open and impossible of closing. In front of them on the plain was a line of small redoubts occupied by Turks. Behind them on the way to Balaclava lay the 93rd Highlanders under Sir Colin Campbell. Jim Carron was awakened from a very sound sleep one morning by a lusty kick from Charlie Denham, and the information that "Lucan wanted him." Five minutes later he was pressing his horse to its utmost, with the word to Head-quarters that the Russians were pouring down the valley towards Balaclava, that they had already captured Redoubt No. 1, that the Turks could not possibly hold the others against them, and that unless our base at Balaclava was to go, the sooner the army turned out to stop them the better. Lord Raglan sped Jim on at once to French Head-quarters with the news; and as he galloped back in headlong haste lest they should be starting without him, all the camps were a-bristle and troops hurrying from all quarters to the scene of action. As he came over the hill leading down to the Balaclava road, he could see the vast bodies of, Russians pouring out of the hills, the Turks from the redoubts were running across the plain towards the long thin line of Highlanders, and the Cossacks and Lancers were in among them cutting them down as fast as they could chop. All this he saw at a glance, as he sped on to join his own men, drawn up on the left of the Heavies. And as he took his place, panting, both he and his big brown, like steam-engines, he heard the roll of the Highlanders' Miniés on the right as they broke the rush of the Russian cavalry. The next minute a great body of horsemen, brilliant in light blue and silver, topped the slope in front of the Heavies, and looked down on their Insignificant numbers as Goliath did on David. He saw old Scarlett haranguing his men, and then with a roar--he knew just how they felt!--like starving tigers loosed at last on long-desired prey--the Greys and Enniskillens dashed at them and through them, and wheeled, and through again, first line, second line, and out at the rear. And then, as the broken first line gathered itself again to swallow the tigers, the rest of the Heavies, the Royals, and Dragoons shot out like a bolt and scattered them to the winds. And Jim and all about him yelled and cheered in a frenzy--but down below it all was a bitter sense of regret at being out of it. Truly it seemed as though malignant fate had the Light Brigade on her black books and was bent on defrauding them of their rightful chances. By this time the allied troops were coming up from their distant camps, and the rout of the Russian horse enabled them to take up their positions in the valley. It looked like being a pitched battle. All hearts beat high, and none higher than those of the Hussars and Light Dragoons. Their chance might come after all. They twitched in their saddles. Give them only half a chance and they would show the world what was in them. And it came. Messengers sped in haste to and from the Chief, on the heights above, to the various commanders down below. And then came young Nolan of the 15th, Lord Raglan's own aide, his horse in a white sweat, himself aflame. He spoke hurriedly to Lord Lucan, and Jim saw his lordship's eyebrows lift in astonishment. He seemed to question the order given. Nolan waved a vehement arm towards the Russians. Lord Lucan spoke to Lord Cardigan, and his brows too went up. Every tense soul among them, whose eyes could see what was passing, watched as if his life depended on the outcome. Then in a moment the word rang out, and they were off. Where? He had not the remotest idea nor the slightest care. Enough for him that they were off and that they meant business. And away in front of them, where he had no earthly right to be, since he did not belong to them and had only brought a message, went young Nolan, waving them on with insistent arm. They swept along at a gallop in two long lines, and the rush and the rattle got into Jim's blood, and the blood boiled up into his head, and he thought of nothing--nothing, but the fact that their chance had come at last--least of all of fear for himself. Fear? There were Russians ahead there!----them all!--and every faculty in him, every nerve and muscle, every drop of boiling blood, every desire of his mind and heart and soul rushed on ahead to meet them. He wanted at them, he wanted to hew and thrust and kill. He wanted blood. Head down, forward a bit, sword-hilt fitting itself to his hand as it had never done before, knees so lightly tight to the saddle that he could feel the great brown shoulders working like machinery inside them, a glance forward from under his busby and an impression of a vast multitude of men--and the roar and crash of numberless guns in front and on both flanks--a scream just ahead, and young Nolan's horse came galloping round at the side, with young Nolan still in the saddle--but dead--his chest ripped open by a shell. Men were falling all round now, men and horses hurling forward and down in rattling lumbering heaps. Jim's face was cast-iron, his jaw a vice. Not the Jim we have known--this! His dæmon--nay, his demon, for he had but one thought, and that was to kill. No man who knew him would have known him. Belching guns in front. Shot and bullets coming like hail. Men falling fast. Lines all shattered and anyhow. But the thick white smoke and the venomous yellow-red spits of flame were close now, and so far it had not struck him as wonderful that he still rode while so many had gone down. He had felt hot whips across his face, something had tipped his busby to the back of his head, several other somethings had plugged through the flying jacket which covered his bridle arm. Then he had to swerve suddenly from the smoking black muzzle of a gun, and he was among flat-caps and gray-coats, and his sword was going in hot quick blows, and every blow bit home. A big gunner struck heavily at him with a smoking mop. He had an honest brown hairy face and blue eyes. The sweep of Jim's sword took him in the neck, and . . . . An infantryman behind had his gun-stock at his chest to fire. Jim drove the big brown at him, the man went down in a heap, arms up, and the gun went off as he fell. Then it was all wild fury and confusion. Deseret's sword was wonderful, as light as a lath and as sure as death. He was through the smoke, fighting the myriads behind--singlehanded it seemed to him. --!--!--!--!--he could not tackle the whole Russian army! He whirled the big brown round and plunged back through the smoke, saw the others riding home, and bent and dashed away after them. He was almost the last. A thunder of hoofs on his flank, and a vicious lance-head came thrusting in between his right arm and his body. His sword swept round backwards--and the Lancer's empty horse raced neck-and-neck with his own, its ears flat to its head, its eyes white with fear. Then the guns behind opened on them again, and bullets came raining in on each side as well--on Russian Lancers and British Hussars and Dragoons alike. Jim was swaying in his saddle, he did not know why, But dashing at those guns was one thing, and retiring was another, and the hell-fire had burnt out of him and left him spent. He saw the long unbroken lines of the Heavies sweeping up to meet and cover them, and wondered dizzily if he could hold on till they came. There were Lancers ahead of him, thrusting at his men as they rode. A whole bunch of them went down in a heap just in front of him, riddled by the murderous fire of their comrades behind, and he lifted the brown horse over them as if they had been a quick-set. The Heavies parted to let them through, and the splendid fellow on the thundering big horse at the side there, who stood high in his stirrups cheering on his men, was good old George. There was no mistaking him, he was such a size and weight. A couple of Lancers, who had been making for Jim, swerved to face the new attack and made for George instead, bold in the advantage of their longer reach. And Jim would have been after them to equalise matters but that it was all he could do to keep his seat. He saw George rise in his saddle, with his great sabre swinging to the blow. Then a whirling blast of canister shore them all down, and they lay in a heap, men and horses riddled like colanders. And Jim, with a sob, clung to the pommel of his saddle and let the brown horse carry him home. Jack had just got up to camp from night duty in the trenches when the alarm sounded in the valley, and he made his way with the rest to the edge of the plateau to see what was going on. When he saw the cavalry drawn up for action he hurried down the hill as fast as he could go, hung spell-bound halfway at the terrible and amazing sight below, and then tumbled on with a lump in his throat to learn the worst, as the broken riders came reeling back in twos and threes. It was he lifted Jim out of his saddle, and found it all sticky with blood from the lance-thrust in his side. His face was streaming from a graze along the scalp, and he had a bullet through the left shoulder--small things indeed considering where he had been. The miracle of that awful ride was, not that so many fell, but that any single man came back alive. CHAPTER LII PATCHING UP As soon as matters settled down, Colonel Carron rode over at once for news of his boy, He knew he must have been in that brilliant madness, about which every tongue in the camps was wagging, and he feared he had seen the last of him. He had some difficulty in finding what was left of the Light Brigade, for the Russians still held the lowlands in force. They had, in fact, drawn a cordon round the allied forces and were, to an extent, besieging the besiegers, and the cavalry camps had to be moved up on to the plateau. But he came at last on the handful of laxed and weary men, lying about their new quarter's, some fast asleep with their faces in their arms, while willing hands did all their necessary work for them, and every man of them still bore in him the very visible effects of that most dreadful experience. He almost feared to ask for Jim, lest it should kill his last spark of hope. "You had a terrible time," he said, to one on his knees by a big brown horse, which stood there with an occasional shiver as he applied healing ointment to its many wounds. "The whole world will ring with it." "Alt blamed foolishness, sir," growled the man--who had lost his own horse and most of his chums in the foolishness, and so was in a mighty bad humour--and lifted a casual sticky finger in recognition of the Colonel's brilliant uniform. "I'm afraid it was, but you did it nobly. Can you tell me anything of Cornet Carron? Was he in it?" "In it and out of it, sir, thanks be! He's too good a sort to lose. He's inside there. This is his horse I'm patching up, 'cos he wouldn't lie quiet till I done it." And the Colonel dived into the tent with a grateful heart, and found Jim fast asleep on a hastily made couch. His wounds had been bound up, and there were even mottled white streaks on his face where a hasty sponge had made an attempt to clean it. But he was sleeping soundly, and it was the very best medicine he could have. The Colonel went quietly out again to wait. He gave the horse-mender a very fine cigar, and lit it for him along with his own. "Bully!" said the man. "Best thing I've tasted since I left Chelsea." "Your losses must be very heavy." "Under two hundred at roll-call, sir, and we went in over six." "Awful!" "Set of ---- fools we were, sir; but we showed 'em what was in us, an' now mebbe they won't talk about us any more as they have bin doen." "They'll talk about you to the end of time," said the Colonel heartily. "That's all right, sir. That's a different kind of talk." "We knowed it was all a mistake," he went on, with his head on one side, as he laid on artistic patches of ointment; "but we'd bin aching for a slap at the beggars, just to put a stopper on the mouth-wagglers nearer home. And we _did_ slap 'em too, by----!"--and he lost himself for a moment in admiring contemplation of their prowess. "But they're vermin, them Roosians! Shot down their own men when we got all mixed up with 'em coming home, so they say." "Yes, they did that. We saw it all from the heights." "Well, that's not what I call right, sir." "It was barbarous and damnable. No civilised nation would do such a thing." "That's it, sir--barbarous and damnable and no civilised nation would do such a thing." And he said it over and over to himself, and gained considerable éclat by the use of it in discussion with his fellows later on. "Jackson!" said a drowsy voice inside the tent. "How's Bob? And what the deuce are you preaching about?" And the brown horse gave a whuffle at sound of the voice. "That's it. Thinks more of his hoss than he does of himself," said Jackson, with a wink at the Colonel. "Bob's patching up fine, sir. He's a good bit ripped up, but no balls gone in, s'far as I can see. He'll be ready for you, sir, by time you're ready for him, I should say. Gentleman called to see you, sir." "My dear lad," said the Colonel, sitting down by his side on a stained-red saddle. "I am grateful for the sight of you. We doubted if one of you would come back alive." "I don't know that we expected to, sir. But we hadn't time to think about it." "Whose mistake was it? Lucan's?" "I don't think so, sir," he said thoughtfully, as he strove to recall it all. "I remember the look that came on his face when Nolan brought him the order. . . . I think both he and Cardigan knew there was something wrong. But Nolan was hot to have us go----" "Is it true that he and Lucan were not on good terms?" "I don't know anything about that, sir. There's so much talk. He's dead, anyway. His horse came galloping back with him still in the saddle and all his chest ripped open. It was horrid." "He had no earthly right to go with you. There was some strong talk about it up there. A brave fellow, from all accounts, but hot-headed. . . . I'm going to take you to my quarters, my boy. We want you on your legs again as soon as possible." "All right, sir. I don't think it's much. A rip or two here and there and some bullet-grazes. And the doctor's patched me up nicely." "It's a wonder there's anything left to patch." "You'll bring old Bob along too?" "Oh yes, we'll take you both together. I'm glad it's in life you're not to be divided, not in death." "He went like a bird," said Jim. And then, as the recollection of it all came back on him--the belching guns, the hairy brown gunner, the venomous Lancers, George Herapath,--"My God!" he said softly; "I wonder we ever got back at all." CHAPTER LIII THE FIGHT IN THE FOG In the comparative luxury of Colonel Carron's quarters, which were far beyond anything he could have got in the English camps, Jim pulled round rapidly. He was in the best of health, his wounds showed every intention of healing readily, and the Colonel saw to it that he lacked nothing. He found himself, somewhat to his confusion, something of a lion there, and never lacked company anxious to discuss with him the details of that mad ride up the Valley of Death and back again. His French visitors were unanimous in their grave disapproval and admiration; and Jack, whenever he could get away from his trenches for a chat with the invalid, reported the same feeling everywhere. Jack himself had had a hand in the tussle with the enemy, the day after Jim's affair. But he came out of it untouched, and made light of it. He reported Harben severely wounded, in the second charge when George Herapath was killed, and the body of the latter had been recovered and buried. It was sad to think of old George gone right out like that. He had died bravely, hastening to the rescue of his fellows, and the boys hardly dared to think of the bitter sorrow at Knoyle and Wyvveloe when the news should get there. It would, they knew, bring right home to them all the dreadful possibilities of the war, as nothing else could have done. George gone, Ralph sorely wounded. Who would be the next to go? Here, in the camps, with sudden death hurtling through the air night and day, and sickness still claiming more victims than all the whistling shells, they were getting somewhat case-hardened, and accustomed to sudden disappearances and vacant places. But, to the anxious scanners of the lists at home, each death in each small circle made all the other deaths seem more imminent, and weighted every heart with fresh fears. The zigzags and trenches in which Jack held a proprietary interest were creeping nearer and nearer to the town, and he was well satisfied with the progress made. But on one other point he and his fellow Engineers were anything but content. The right flank of their position, opposite the Inkerman cliffs and caves and very close to the road by which the Russian forces got in and out of the town, seemed to their experienced eyes but ill-defended and not incapable of assault from the lower ground. And such assault, if successful, must of necessity entail the most serious consequences on the Allies. They spoke of the matter, harped on it, but nothing was done, save the erection of a small sand-bag battery on the slope of the hill, and no guns were mounted on it lest the sight of them should tempt the Russians to come up and take them; and so--that grim and deadly hand-to-hand struggle in the early morning fog, known as the Battle of Inkerman--which, for all who were in it, for ever stripped the fifth of November of its traditional glamour, and left in its place a blind, black horror--a nightmare struggle against overwhelming odds, which seemed as if it would never come to an end. Oh, we won; we won of course--but, as we do win, at most dreadful cost which foresight might have saved. Jack was in the midst of it. He had just come up from the front, soaked with rain and caked with mud, and was making a forlorn attempt at cold breakfast before lying down, when heavy firing, in the very place where they had all feared sooner or later to hear it, took him that way in haste to see what was up. He could see nothing for the fog and rain, but a hail of shot and shell was coming from the heights across the valley and he bent and ran for the shelter of the sand-bag battery. And for many hours--and every hour an age--the sandbag battery was "absolute hell," as he told Jim that night, with a very sober face and no enthusiasm. Endless hosts of gray-coats came surging up out of the fog, yelling like demons, and fighting with their bayonets as they had never fought before. They were slaughtered in heaps, but there always seemed just as many coming on, yelling and stabbing, and our men yelled and stabbed, and the piles of dead grew high. But Jack saw very little. It was all a wild pandemonium of clashing steel and yells and groans and curses, with streaming rain above, swirling fog all round, and what felt like a ploughed field heaped with dead bodies below. He picked up a rifle and bayonet, and jabbed and smashed at the gray-coats with the rest. Through the fog he could hear the same deadly sounds all round, but whether they were winning or losing, or indeed what was going on, he had not the slightest idea. All he knew was that hosts of Russians kept on coming up in front out of the fog, that they had to be stopped at any cost, and that, from the time it was lasting, the cost must be awful. He stumbled inside the battery one time, after a bang on the head from a clubbed musket which made him sick and dizzy; and as he sat panting in a corner for a moment till his wits came back, he told Jim afterwards that he remembered wondering if he had died and this was hell; He had a flask in his pocket somewhere, and he tried to get it out, and found his left arm would not act, though he had felt nothing wrong with it till he sat down. He was drenched with rain and sweat--and blood, though he did not know it at the time. He got out his flask with his right hand at last, and took a long pull at it and felt better. Blood out, and brandy in, made his bruised head feel light and airy. He picked up his heavy rifle and bayonet and staggered out to join the wild mêlée again--one hand was better than none where every hand was needed. But he tumbled blindly down the slope and fell, and men trampled to and fro over his body till he felt all one big bruise. Then the grim dim struggle swayed off to one side for a moment, and he tried to crawl away. A tall Russian--an officer by his sword--lunged down at him as he leaped past in the fog, but the point struck on his flask and the blow only rolled him over again, and the other had not time to repeat it. And presently he crawled away up the hill, and got out of it all, and down the other side towards his own camp. It was there his father found him, late in the afternoon, spent and bruised, and weak from loss of blood, and he went off at once and got a litter, and took him away to his own tent and set him down beside Jim. For the English doctors had their hands very much more than full, and Colonel Carron, rightly or wrongly, had much greater faith in the nursing arrangements of his adopted service than in those of the British camps and field hospitals. When he came in at night, Jack was all bandaged up and as comfortable as could be expected, with bayonet wounds in his arm and shoulder, a badly bruised head, and a bodyful of contusions. "I was just thanking my stars and you, sir, that I was here, and not shivering to pieces over yonder," he said gratefully. And with reason. For the Colonel's tent was as cosy a little habitation as even the French camps could show. He had taken advantage of a slight hollow, and had had it deepened and the earth piled high like a rampart all round it, so that only its top showed above ground-level, and the keen night winds whistled over it with small effect. And inside was a cheerful little stove, and Tartar rugs, of small value perhaps, and of crude and glaring colour and design without doubt, but very homely to look at to boys who had grown accustomed to bare trodden earth. And for couches, instead of waterproof cloth and a couple of blankets spread on the ground, they had clever little bedsteads, consisting of a springy network of string inside an oblong wooden frame which rested on folding legs like a campstool. "We certainly know how to do for ourselves better than you do. Have you had anything to eat?" asked the Colonel. "Just had the best dinner we've had since--well, since we dined with you last, sir," said Jim, with great satisfaction. "I don't know what it was, but it was uncommonly good." And Jack asked anxiously: "Have you any news for us, sir? We heard they were driven back. Are any of our people left?" "A few; but your loss is very heavy. Ours also; but you bore the brunt of it over there where the work was hottest. They came up out of the town at us, just below here, while you were busy there, and they made a feint also just above Balaclava. It has been a hot day all round. I hope they'll give us time to breathe now." "I wonder what lies that fellow Menchikoff will stuff into the Tsar this time," said Jim. "He can hardly claim a victory, anyway," said his father, with a smile. "I bet he will, sir." "Did you hear anything as to casualties, sir?" asked Jack, whose mind could not get far away from that grim struggle in the fog. "Only outstanding ones. Your loss in big men is terrible. Cathcart is dead, and Strangways----" "Poor old Strangways!" "A dear old chap!" echoed Jim. ----"and Goldie,--all killed. George Brown and Codrington and Bentinck wounded, and I believe Torrens and Buller and Adams also. Some of your regiments are almost without officers. Our most serious loss is de Lourmel, down in front here, repulsing the sortie. They estimate 15,000 Russians killed and wounded----" "There seemed millions of them lying round that battery," said Jack. "They reckon there were 8,000 English and 6,000 of our men in the fight, and between 50,000 and 60,000 Russians. So that every one of our men put at least one of theirs _hors de combat_--a remarkable performance indeed." "I've been thinking, Jim," he said presently, "that a few days on the sea would set you up again quicker than anything else. What do you say?" "I'd like it immensely, sir, if it could be managed. It's awfully good of you." "You're creditable boys, you see, and I'm anxious not to lose either of you. I wonder how soon the medico would let you go, too, Jack?" And he looked at him with a practised eye. "Not for a week anyway, I expect." "I feel as if I could sleep for a week, sir. It's so mighty comfortable here," he said drowsily. "They've had such a stomachful to-day that I think they'll keep quiet for a time now. It was a great scheme and they did their best. It'll take them a little time to work up a new one. Well, we'll see about it to-morrow. You think you'll be able to sleep, Jack?" "Sure, sir, when I get the chance. Jim's been talking ever since the doctor went." CHAPTER LIV AN ALLY OF PROVIDENCE The Colonel was away on business soon after sunrise, long before the boys were awake. The Russians had had enough for the moment and gave them a quiet night. He came in while they were breakfasting, with a satisfied look on his face. "Well, Jack, how goes it? You were both sleeping like tops when I left you." "I feel like a jelly-fish on Carne beach, sir," said Jack. "I have a very great disinclination to move." "Cuts twingy?" "When I think of them, sir. At present I can think of nothing but this coffee. They give us ours green, you know, and nothing to roast or grind it with." "So I heard. I would like to see what would happen if they sent ours like that; but, _mon Dieu!_ I wouldn't like to be in their shoes! The good old fashion of hanging a commissary whenever anything went wrong was certainly effective. Jim, my boy, I've got your matter arranged all right. You are to get away to-morrow with a fortnight's leave. That should pull you round." "It's awfully good of you, sir. It's just what I'm needing." "Talking of hanging commissaries," said the Colonel, with a whimsical smile on his dark face, "it was all I could do to keep my hands off one of your pig-heads down at Balaclava yonder." And he switched his long mud-caked riding-boot with his whip as if it were the gentleman in question. "I called on Lord Raglan to ask his permission to my plan, and at first he was a bit stiff and stand-offish. But he came round and spoke very nicely of you, my boy. He wouldn't discuss that foolish charge of yours, and I did not press It. He granted you leave at once, and gave me a written order for your passage to and from Constantinople by first ship that was leaving." "But that's only the beginning of the story," he said, as Jim's mouth opened with thanks again. "I thought I'd make sure of the whole business, so I waded down to Balaclava. _Mon Dieu!_ what a travesty of a road! My poor beast was up to his knees in the filth at times. And the place itself when I got there! The harbour is a cesspool, an inferno of evil smells and pestilence, And I think the evil vapours have got into the heads of your people there, I never saw such disorder and confusion in all my life. I found the harbour master at last, and asked him for information as to sailings. But he was only the Inner Harbour Master, it seems, and he referred me to the Head of the Transport. The transport people referred me to the Naval Authorities, and a naval officer, whom I caught on the wing, told me I would have to apply to the Outer Harbour Master, who was somewhere outside among the fleet. I was consigning them all to warmer quarters than Balaclava, when I spied a man I knew--Captain Jolly of the _Carnbrea_, who had brought some of our troops over to Kamiesch Bay. He was bursting with complaints and nearly mad, said he'd like to tie the heads of all the departments in one big bag and sink them in the cesspool. He said he was sailing to-morrow with a load of sick and wounded, and he'd been up trying to get a few stoves from the official who had charge of them, as the sick men were dying of the cold. 'He'd got hundreds of them lying there,' said old Jolly, almost black in the face, 'and he wouldn't let me have one. Said I must get a requisition and fill it up and get it signed at Head-quarters. I told him the men were dying meanwhile. He could do nothing without a requisition signed at Head-quarters. I asked him to lend me some stoves. He couldn't. I asked him to sell me some. He wouldn't. I told him those men's deaths would lie at his door. He said if I would get a requisition, etc., etc. So then I--well, I told him what I thought of him and all the rest, in good hot sailor-talk, and came away.'" "I asked him if he could find room for one more on his ship, and told him about you, and, like a good fellow, he said, 'Send 'em both along and I'll make room for 'em.' So you're all right, Jim, and Jolly will make you comfortable, I know." "It's awfully good of you, sir," said Jim once more. "I'm sorry we're such a bother to you." "It's not every man can boast of two such young warriors, you see. On the whole I'm inclined to think Providence served us well in making me an ally, eh?" "Your people are very much better off than ours, sir," said Jack. "Our camp is like London on a foggy day." "And ours is like Paris," laughed the Colonel. "You see we understand the art of war better than you do, and, candidly, I think your officers are much to blame for the little interest they take in their men. Here we are all _bons camarades_, whereas your men are left entirely to themselves." "We mix in the trenches," said Jack in defence. "Of necessity, I suppose, since the space is limited. But even there you don't mix as we do." "Your music alone is worth coming for," said Jim. "It did me as much good as the doctor almost." "Yes; I notice a lot of your men come across to hear it whenever they get the chance. Great mistake shutting up your bands. The men always like music, and expect it." "You don't think I'll miss anything by going, sir?" asked Jim anxiously. "You'll gain a great deal more than you'll miss, my boy. I shouldn't wonder if we have a fairly quiet time here now." "And you'll see to my horse?" "He shall have every attention, I promise you." CHAPTER LV RETRIBUTION The following day saw Jim joggling down the miry way to Balaclava Harbour on a French mule-cacolet. He had said good-bye to the others in camp, and begged his father not to venture down into the inferno again. So the Colonel sent his own servant in charge of him, with full instructions where to find the boat Captain Jolly had promised to have waiting. The hopeless confusion in the little harbour appalled Jim, and the dank misery of the rows of wounded men awaiting shipment, with ill-bound wounds, cold blue faces, and heavy hopeless eyes, chilled him to the heart. And suddenly a familiar face caught his eye, and he stopped the mule and sat up. "Why, Seth, old chap! I'm sorry to see you like this"--for Seth's left leg was gone, and the roughly bandaged stump stuck out forlornly along the ground. "My fightin's done, Mester Jim. 'Twere a shell took it off in the battery." "When are you going over?" "God knows, We bin waiting over a week." "An' dyin' as quick as we could, just to save 'em trouble," said his neighbour. "I wish I could take you all," said Jim, and the bleached leather faces turned wistfully on him. "But I can take one, and I must take you, Seth. You understand, boys: he's from my own part, and twice he's saved my life." "That's right, sir. You take 'im home, and God bless you! Wish there was more like you! We'll die off as quick as we can, just to save 'em trouble," said the jocular one, who had lost both an arm and a leg. "If they ask where 'e is we'll tell 'em 'e's gone on in front to engage us quarters." "Lift him in," said Jim, and with the assistance of the bystanders Seth was lifted into the other side of the cacolet. An official came hurrying up with a brusque, "Now then, what's all this?" "Oh, go and hang yourself!" said Jim, sinking back wearily. "Can't you see I'm saving you trouble by taking him off your hands?" "Yes--but----" "Go ahead!" said Jim, and left the other staring after them. Captain jolly's boat was waiting for them, and presently they were swung up on to the deck of the _Carnbrea_. "So you've both come, after all?" said the hearty old fellow to Jim, who came up first. Jim explained, and the captain said he had done quite right, and they would find a corner for Seth between decks, though they were pretty full already; and then he helped him across to a seat by the wheel, and the _Carnbrea_ crept away out of the noisome harbour at once, and Jim counted no less than six dead horses, washing about in the water or cast up on the rocks, before the sweet salt air outside gave him something better to think about. They passed the warships, and a multitude of vessels hanging about outside, and the monastery perched up on the cliff, and the white lighthouse at the point, and presently, through a rift in the dull November sky, the sun shone red on Sebastopol, and set it all aglow. Here and there, on its outer edge, there were little cotton-woolly puffs of white smoke, and the plateau behind was dotted with similar ones. Captain Jolly was as good as his name and Colonel Carron's opinion of him. He made Jim very much at home, got him to tell him all he could about the great charge, and in return gave his own free and unrestrained opinions on men and things in general, with a special excursus on harbour masters and transport officials. "Too many head cooks--that's what's the matter, and not a man below 'em dare lift his little finger unless he's got permission in writing. Why, sirs, there's things rotting there in that harbour that'd be worth their weight in gold up above, but it's nobody's business to send 'em up, and there they stop. It's a crying shame and--and an infernal sin! What do you say to it all, doctor?" This was a grave, thin-faced young fellow who had joined them in the cabin for a cup of tea, and Captain Jolly had simply introduced him with a wink as Dr. Subrosa. "It's heartbreaking," he said, with deepest feeling. "We have lost thousands of good men from sheer want of the simplest necessaries, and almost every one of them might have been saved. For weeks I had not a single drug except alum! Think of it! And to see those poor fellows in torture, and dying like flies, when you knew you could save them if you could only lay your hands on the proper remedies!" "I'll be bound there's piles of all you wanted stowed away in Balaclava somewhere," said the captain. "I fear so. I came down, day after day--and it was no easy matter, I can assure you--and begged them to give me any mortal thing they had for my fevers and rheumatisms and diarrh[oe]as; and the reply was always just a parrot-like 'Haven't any--Haven't any--Haven't any,'--till I would willingly have poisoned every man who said it. They're getting calloused to it all, and, as Captain Jolly says, not a man among them dare lift his finger without a written order." "Take my own case," he said, turning to Jim. "The continuous wear and tear, and the constant sight of nothing but sickness and death and broken men, were beginning to tell on me----"' "My God, I don't wonder!" jerked Jim. "My chief on the medical staff told me I must get away for fourteen days or so or I'd break down, and he signed me the proper form for the purpose. I found it had to be countersigned by the quartermaster-general, then by the colonel of the regiment to which I was attached, then by the general of the division, and finally by the adjutant-general. It is probably still going round among them, if it hasn't got lost. I waited six days and could get no word of it, and my chief advised me to take French leave and bring back some drugs if they're to be had. I'm told there is a _Times_ man come out with money, to help make good some of the shortcomings in the official providence, and I'm hoping he'll help me. I'm actually a deserter, you see. That's why this dear old chap calls me Subrosa. My name is McLean, and I'm attached to the 63rd." "And a rare good sort he is," said Captain Jolly. "Did I tell you about my load of boots?" "No; what was it about the boots?" "Last voyage I came out with nothing but boots--more boots than you ever dreamt of, thousands and thousands of pairs. The whole ship stank of 'em--smelt like a tannery. Well, when they let us into Balaclava Harbour at last, and we were hoping to get rid of the boots----" "They're going barefoot yet, many of them," said McLean. "I know. Well, before we could begin to break cargo there came a couple of dandy fine gentlemen, with a peremptory order to take them to Constantinople as fast as we could go, and we were hustled away before you could say 'boots.' We were less than a day's sail from Constantinople, when one of the dandy men mentioned in confidence to me that the men up there were barefoot and they were going to buy boots for them." "What did you say?" asked Jim expectantly. "Well, I said more'n I should perhaps. Dandy men or no dandy men, I said, 'Why, you ---- fool, I'm loaded to the hatches with boots and nothing but boots! Why in thunder couldn't you open your mouth sooner?' 'Our instructions,' says he, 'were to buy boots, captain, not to go talking about it, and I'll thank you not to use language unbecoming a gentleman when talking to me.' And he walked away to talk to the other, who was sick in his bunk." "And what did you do?" asked Jim. "I shut off steam," said the captain, with a meaning wink, "and presently he came up again and said they'd decided we'd better turn back again and take the boots to the feet that were waiting for them. And I've no doubt they're rotting on Balaclava Quay now with all the other things. Why, if my owners did their business as the Government does its they'd be bankrupt in a year." After his cup of tea Jim went below to see that Seth was comfortably stowed. He found him, with a couple of hundred others, lying in long rows in the 'tween decks, which had been adapted to their use as far as it was possible to do so. They lay pretty close, and each man had a couple of blankets to soften the wood and keep out the cold. At one end were half a dozen wounded officers. Between them and the men had been left a space of a few feet, and that was the only distinction between them. To make room for Seth this space had been encroached upon, and he lay next the officers. As Jim rose from his knees after a short chat with him, in which he had done his best to put a little heart into the poor fellow, by assuring him that he should be properly provided for when he got home to Carne, he heard his name called weakly from the officers' quarters, and, bidding Seth good night, and promising to see him first thing in the morning, he turned that way. "Why, Harben!" he said. "I'm sorry to see you here. What is it?" "Nothing. I'm sick--very sick. Who is that they've put there?" asked Ralph, in a low eager whisper. "That? Why, it's Seth Rimmer--young Seth, you know, from down along." "He's a dangerous man that, Jim. Put him somewhere else! Take him away!" "Nonsense, old man. Seth's as true as they make 'em. Besides, he's lost a leg. And anyway I couldn't ask them to move him now. There's no room anywhere else." "He's dangerous, I tell you," said Harben, with a shiver. "He thinks . . . he thinks . . . but I haven't, Jim. I swear I haven't. I'd nothing to do with it. I swear I hadn't." "Don't you worry, old man," said Jim soothingly, for it all sounded to him like the ravings of a disturbed brain. "Can I get you anything, or make you more comfortable?" "Only take him away," whispered the other insistently. But that Jim could not do. He and Seth were only there on sufferance, as it were, and he wanted to give as little trouble as possible. Captain Jolly had insisted on giving up his own bunk to him, but had only prevailed on him to take it by asserting that he would be on deck most of the night. And the clean cold sheets were so delightful, after the threadbare amenities of the camp, that he felt as if he could sleep on for a week. Very early next morning Jim was wakened by a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up so vehemently--forgetful of the narrowness of his quarters, and with a mazy impression that the Russians were upon them--that his head was sore for days after it. "Mr. Carron," said a grave quiet voice, "there is trouble on board." And he saw that it was Dr. McLean. "Trouble? What trouble, doctor?" "We want you to explain it if you can. Slip on some things and come along." And Jim tumbled wonderingly into his jacket and trousers and followed the doctor--to the 'tween decks--to the officers' quarters. And there lay the end of a tragedy. Seth's pallet was empty. Seth himself--what had been Seth--lay partly on the body of Ralph Harben. His rough brown fingers still gripped Harben's throat, with a grip that had started the dead man's eyes almost out of his head and had prevented him uttering a sound. And Seth lay in a pool of his own blood, for his vehemence had burst his hastily bandaged amputation, and he had bled to death in the act of wreaking his vengeance. "Good God!" gasped Jim, and felt sick and ill at the sight. "Are they dead?" he whispered, as though he feared to wake them. "Both quite dead. Been dead several hours," said McLean, and led him back to the captain's cabin, where the steward brought them hot coffee. "DO you know what it all means, Mr. Carron?" asked the captain. "I'm afraid I do, captain, but I'd no idea of it, and it's a terrible shock to me." And he briefly explained as far as was necessary. "Ay, ay," said the old man soberly; "I can see it all. He came out on purpose to find the other, to pay him out for the wrong he'd done him, and when his chance came he took it . . . I don't hold with murder myself, but . . . well, I'm bound to say I can feel for this poor lad." There were eight others who had died in the night, and they buried them all at the same time, and Captain Jolly read the service over them, and entered in his log the simple fact that ten died and were buried. And Jim said no word of it in his letters home, and only told Jack about it when he got back to camp. CHAPTER LVI DULL DAYS The ten days' voyage there and back, in Captain Jolly's bunk and cheerful company, did Jim a world of good. They lay off Scutari six days, and were back in the Cesspool, as Jolly persisted in calling Balaclava Bay, on the twenty-second of November, having just missed the great gale, which tore the camps to pieces and piled the wild Crimean coast with the wreckage of over forty ships and millions of pounds' worth of the goods that were so badly needed on shore. Nearly every ship they passed, as they drew in, was dismasted and looked half a wreck, and Jim, when he had said good-Lye to the genial Jolly, and had waded through the muddy gorge and climbed the heights, found everything and everybody in the camps in very similar condition. In spite of his own fitness, and the healthy frame of mind induced by sixteen days of clean salt air and the companionship of Captain Jolly, his spirits sank with every step he took. It was like climbing through a charnel-house--dead horses and mules stuck up out of the mud on every side, just as they had fallen under their loads and been left to die; and Jim's love for every dumb thing that went on four legs was sorely bruised before he got to the plateau. And when he did get there the sights were more painful still--mud everywhere, and dirty pools and trickling streams, sodden tents, and gaunt, hungry-looking men in rags, trudging to and fro, with bare feet or with boots that only added to the dilapidated looks of their wearers. Truly, he thought, though not perhaps in so many words, this was the seamy side of war, and the glory and glamour were remarkable only by their absence. He reported himself at Head-quarters, but saw only an aide-de-camp, who was the only clean and wholesome and fairly-fed person he had met since he landed. He learned that his chief, Lord Cardigan, was sick, and that his brigade was to go down to Balaclava as soon as possible, as the horses could not stand the miseries of the heights. Then he went across to the French camps, and found things in very much better condition there, and Jack getting on famously and eager for all his experiences. Jim told him of Seth and Ralph Harben, and he was profoundly surprised and saddened by it all. "And you really think it was Ralph took Kattie away, Jim?" he asked, after a long stare of amazement. "Seth wouldn't have done a thing like that unless he had good reason," said Jim simply. "I can't imagine Kattie caring for a fellow like Ralph, you know," said Jack thoughtfully. "He was always such a--well, he's dead, so it's no good saying it, but you know yourself what he was. . . . But it's horrible to think of--four lives gone by reason of it." And Jim said no more, except that he had thought it best to say nothing about it in his letters home. There were two letters from Gracie to read, one to himself and one to Jack, both so bright and cheerful and full of hope that they could not by any possibility have imagined what it cost her to write like that, when her heart was so full of fears for them. She told Jim of Paddy's admirable behaviour, and of long delightful rides with Meg and Sir George on the flats. And she told Jack of visits to Sir Denzil, and how the Rimmer cottage was still shut up and empty. But from neither letter could the most discriminating judge have drawn any clue as to the writer's heart tending more to the one of them than to the other. There were also letters from Charles Eager, with comments on the course of the war and the feeling at home, and fervent hopes for their safety and that of George Herapath--who lay out there in the cemetery on the cold hill-side. And there was also one from Lord Deseret to Jim, which contained, among other things, the somewhat surprising news that Mme Beteta had gone to St. Petersburg to fill an engagement there. Then Colonel Carron came in and gave him hearty welcome, and wanted all his experiences over again. "And how's my horse?" asked Jim, as soon as he got the chance. "I was thinking of him all the way up from the harbour. The road is thick with the poor beasts who have died there." "He's first-rate. I've been riding him myself to keep him in condition, I shall be quite sorry to part with him. Deseret knew what he was about, my boy, when he chose him for you." He was very pleased with Jim's eulogiums on Captain Jolly, and forthwith decided that Jack must make the next trip with him. So they had a very pleasant time in the banked-up tent, in spite of the dreariness of things outside. But all too soon it came to an end, and Jim had to go off to his own Spartan quarters, where the heartiness of his greeting almost made up for the lack of everything else. He settled down into the rut of camp life again, but found it all very slow and dull and dirty. There was little doing. It was as much as they could do simply to live. The dull routine of the trenches went on. The batteries spat shot and shell at the town at intervals, and Russian shot and shell came singing back in reply, and sometimes did a little damage. And at times the camps would be wakened by furious fusillades in the advanced French lines, when the Russians enlivened matters with a sortie. But these alarms were spared the English, on account of the bad ground in their front, which did not lend itself to such matters. More than once, too, they all turned out _en masse_ in the middle of the night--and always on the bitterest nights--to repel attacks in the rear which never came off. And every day there went down to Balaclava the long slow procession of sick men, and to the cemetery another procession of those who had died in the night. Jack duly got his leave and went away with Captain Jolly, and Jim busied himself, as well as the authorities would let him, in providing for the reception of the men and horses of the Light Brigade on the hill-side above Balaclava Bay. A slow, dull time, wearing on body, mind, and spirit--and yet, not the worst time possible. CHAPTER LVII HOT OVENS Jack was back, in the best of health and spirits. "I'm almost sorry I didn't join the navy," he said, as he trudged with Jim through the mud to the Picket House, to see how things had gone on in his absence. "They do keep things clean, anyway." "That's the only place where they have any fun nowadays," he said, as they stood looking down on the lines and zigzags, creeping nearer and nearer to the town, and pointed to a deep gully which ran up from the head of the Admiralty Harbour and separated the British position from the French. "The Ovens," said Jim. "Couldn't we go down some night and see some of it?" "Any night you like when I'm not on duty." "Why not to-night? You won't start work till to-morrow, I suppose." "All right! To-night! The 50th are down there, and there are some capital fellows among them." And that was how it happened that, for the sake of a little fun, or, in other, words, the chance of a brush with the enemy, the boys found themselves that night stumbling along the deep trench which zigzaged down from Chapman's Battery towards the Green Hills and so into the deep gully which ran up into the plateau from the head of Admiralty Harbour in Sebastopol. The sides of the gully contained numerous caves formed by the decay of the softer strata in the rocks, and these caves had for some time past been the stakes for which small parties on each side played sharp little war-games, and paid at times with their lives. First they were Russian, then they were British, then again Russian, till the 50th had ousted them and remained in possession. It was a bitterly cold night, but the boys, In the great fur coats Jim had bought out of the loot at Mackenzie's Farm, had nothing to complain of. They found a strong picket of the 50th making themselves very much at home in the Ovens, and received a warm welcome from the officers in charge. "Any chance of any fun to-night?" asked Jack. "We can never tell what's going to happen. Keeps us on the jig the whole time, but it's better than doing nothing upstairs." "And it comes off sometimes," said another. "And when it does, the Ovens get hot," laughed a third, and they squatted on the floor and discussed zigzags and such matters. "Almost took you for Russians in those big coats," said one enviously. "Did you steal 'em?" "Somebody else 'stole 'em," laughed Jack. "We're only receivers. Jim bought them that day at Mackenzie's, when Menchikoff bolted and left us his baggage." "Talking of spies," said another, sliding off on an inference, "did you hear of the one who walked about our lines for half a day as cool as a cucumber? He was dressed in full French uniform, asked heaps of questions in very bad English, and said we were doing wonders, and made himself quite pleasant all round. And then he caught sight of some more Frenchmen, coming down with the Colonel towards the battery to have a look at the Lancasters. As soon as he saw them he began to edge off down the hill, and when he saw his chance he just made a clean bolt of it, with our men blazing away at him as hard as they could, but he got clear away under the Redan there. And now we're a bit suspicious' of men in big fur coats. If you'll take my advice you'll leave 'em behind you here. Save you a heap of trouble maybe." "Any sentry would be justified in shooting any man he saw in a coat like that," said another. "All right, my boys! We'll keep our coats and take our chances. What's that?" And they all pricked up their ears to listen. An order in French came to them from the opposite side of the gully. "Their sentries and pickets are just over there. This is Tommy Tiddler's Ground, between England, France, and----" A hoarse shout outside, and shots and yells, and they were all out in a moment and found the gully packed with Russians, and their own men, taken by surprise, falling back in some confusion. "Brace up there, men!" shouted the officer in charge. "They're only a handful and only Russians." It was very dark, except where the fires inside the caves sent out a dull glow here and there on the bare space between the combatants. Then the whole place blazed with a Russian volley, and again with the reply to it. "Bayonets, men! And down with them!" And with a yell the Englishmen plunged down past the dull-glowing Ovens, and Jack and Jim raced with them, revolver in hand, blazing away into the darkness in front as they ran. But the Russian plans for that night had been well laid. It was a miniature Balaclava charge over again. A ripping volley met them, not from the front, but from both sides, and then masses of men closed in behind them and swallowed them up, and every man was fighting for his life against unnumbered odds. Jim, elbow to elbow with Jack, and yelling with excitement, felt him suddenly trip and fall. He stooped to help him up again. But Jack lay still. He straddled across him to keep him from being trampled on, and men lunged into him and tumbled over Jack, and he hurled them aside. Hand-to-hand fights were going on all round, and the place was full of the clash of steel on steel and pantings and groanings and hearty British curses. But they were outnumbered twenty to one, and the last dozen were borne to the ground by sheer weight of Russians on their backs. The Ovens changed tenants and were occupied in force, and their late occupants were dragged away down the sloping valley towards the Harbour. Jim found himself the centre of a raging mob. He had snatched up a rifle, and, swinging it by the muzzle, kept a rough circle clear of Jack's body. But vicious bayonets were jabbing at him all round, and a bullet went singing past his head. "Cowards Murderers! Do you call this fighting fair?" he shouted savagely. And of a sudden the mob parted, and an officer was belabouring his men with the flat of his sword and strong words. "Vous vous rendez?" he cried to Jim. "Suppose I must," he growled. "All right!" said the Russian. "Go there! Allez!" and pushed him towards the gorge. Jim stooped and endeavoured to lift Jack. "Quoi donc? What?" "My brother. I must take him." "Dead?" "My God!" gasped Jim at the word, as all that would mean to them all flashed upon him. "No, no! I hope not--only wounded." "We cannot take him," "We must." The Russian used language, then called to one of his men, who sulkily took Jack's limp legs while Jim took him under the arms, and they stumbled away downhill, leaving a strong force in possession of the Ovens. Skirting a dark sheet of water, they came on a road where some rough carts were waiting. The wounded were bundled into them, and a place found for Jack, and Jim trudged behind with his hand on the tail of the cart, and his heart full of bitterness. Their fun had become, of a sudden, grimmest earnest. They turned to the right over a bridge, where many lights gleamed on the water in front, and so came at last to a great building which proved to be the hospital. CHAPTER LVIII CHILL NEWS The first news of trouble reached Carne in a brief letter from Colonel Carron to Sir Denzil. Gracie and the Rev. Charles were sitting over their tea one afternoon in the quiet, hopeful despondency--if the expression may be permitted--which had become the natural state of all who had dear ones at the war. They were full of fears; they cherished hope; they waited with quiet resignation what each day might bring forth. When Kennet rapped on the door of the cottage, Gracie's heart jumped and sank, and Eager incongruously thought of the old Latin Grammar tag: _Mors æquo pede_ . . . ("Death with equal foot knocks at the door of rich and poor"). "Sir Denzil begs you will come and see him at once, sir." "Bad news, Kennet?" asked Eager, as he reached down his hat. "He didn't say, sir; but he's in a bad-enough humour. Not that that's much to go by, though, these days "--from which one gathers that even Sir Denzil's equanimity was not entirely unaffected by the disturbances of the times. Gracie had slipped on her cloak and little fur turban. He looked at her doubtfully. But she shook her head with decision. "I could not possibly wait here, fearing everything," she said; and they went along together. Sir Denzil expressed no surprise at sight of her. "I have just received a letter from my son, Colonel Carron," he said, in a voice perhaps a trifle too unnaturally even and unmoved. "The boys, I am sorry to say, have met with a misfortune." Gracie's heart sank, and braced itself as best it could for the worst. "It is not, however, as bad as it might be." Her heart gave a hopeful kick. "They are both prisoners in the hands of the Russians, and one of them is wounded again; but, so far, he has not been able to ascertain which. That is all; but I thought it better to let you know the full extent of the matter. The newspaper accounts are so garbled at times that one is apt to get wrong impressions. When you come across their names among the missing, you will understand. It does not necessarily mean anything more than I have told you. In fact"--with an appreciative pinch of snuff--"it may well be that they are safer inside Sebastopol than outside." "Prisoners!" jerked Gracie. "Will they be well treated?" "Oh yes; I should say so. The rank and file of the Russian army are doubtless somewhat boorish, but their officers are civilised--gentlemanly, indeed, I believe, if you don't go too far down. I do not think you need fear any ill-treatment for them, Miss Gracie. It is annoying, of course, not to know which of them is wounded, and to what extent. But the authorities will, no doubt, do their best to ascertain, and we may hear shortly." "I am inclined to think with you, sir, that they will probably be safer inside than outside," said Eager thoughtfully. "From all accounts, the state of things in the camps is awful." "Extremely British," said Sir Denzil. "Matters will improve in time. When the Many-headed One awakes to the fact that all this waste and misery are quite unnecessary, it will roar loud enough, I warrant you. Then our men will be properly looked after--that is, if there are any of them left to look after, which seems somewhat doubtful." "It is shameful!" broke out Gracie, with vehemence. "I wish I could have gone with Miss Nightingale to help them." "You would have died of atrophy and paralysis, my dear, if you had come in contact with the red-tape of the services. If Miss Nightingale succeeds in her mission she will be the one woman in ten million, and will deserve well of her country." And so they were left in doubt and much distress of mind as to the welfare of the boys. Margaret Herapath, in her deep mourning and her own bitter sorrow, came over to share their anxiety and distress. Her father had suddenly become an old and broken man. Charles Eager was much with him, and he was the only person, outside his own household, whom Sir George cared to see. And Eager, with the wisdom of deepest love and sympathy, let the old man's grief run its course, and then strove to build him up anew by diverting his grief from the one to the many. Bitter sad times were those in the happy homes of England. Sorrow lay on the land like a chill black frost; but below it were simmering all those forces of passionate indignation which presently rose into that inextinguishable roar which swept men from their high positions, and in time carried somewhat of relief to the remnant of the army before Sebastopol. CHAPTER LIX TOUCH AND GO FOR THE COIL Jim followed Jack's body with the single-minded persistency of a faithful dog whose master has come to grief. His original captor would have taken him elsewhere, but he flatly declined to go anywhere but where Jack went. He thrust aside all interfering hands, and to all attempts at coercion in any other direction simply pointed to Jack and himself and said, "My brother!"--but with so grim and determined and dejected a face that at last the other gave way and followed them into the hospital. It was very full--crammed with broken and dying men--but Jim had no thought save for Jack. Whether he was alive or dead he did not know, but he must stick to him and do what he could. There was difficulty in finding room for him. A harassed surgeon, to whom the officer spoke, shook red hands at them and poured out a spate of hot words, but, arrested by something the other said, looked worriedly round and at last pointed to a corner; and Jim's captor explained to him, in his peculiar English, that the man who lay there would be dead in a minute or two, and then they could put Jack in his place. And presently the attendants came along and carried the dead man away, and Jim and the officer lifted Jack on to the pallet, and the worried surgeon came round and knelt down and opened up his things, and examined him with quick, practised hands and a keen eye for causes and effects. Jim's heart ran slow at sight of a bullet-hole in the white breast, and he watched the surgeon hypnotically as he carefully turned the body over and pointed to the place where it had come out at the back, just under the shoulder, and then spoke hurriedly to the officer. "He says," said the other, in his broken English, helped out with very good French--which it would be but a hindrance to attempt to reproduce in detail--"he cannot tell. It has gone right through. He may live, he may die. It will take time to tell. Now you come." "May I come again to see him?" "I will try. You will give your parole?" "Yes," said Jim; for Jack was more to him than all the chances of escape. "Then we will see. Now come!" "Beg him to do everything he can for him. Couldn't we take him somewhere else?" "He is better here, for the present. Later we will see. Now come!" And since he could do no more at the moment, Jim went with him. "For to-night you will come to the guard-room. To-morrow you will go to Head-quarters and be properly paroled, Then we will see." And Jim spent the rest of the night on three chairs in the guard-room, brooding gloomily most of the time on the disastrous results of "seeing the fun" of the Ovens, and full of fears as to the end of it all. In the morning his keeper came for him, and Jim, for the first time, took the opportunity of looking at him. He had been too busy with other matters the night before. He was a young fellow of about his own age, dark-haired, and of a thin sallow face, bright-eyed, pleasant-looking. Under other circumstances Jim thought they might have become friendly. He had certainly, treated him well. "How is my brother?" asked Jim anxiously. "We will see as we go. Have you eaten? No?" And he took him away to a mess-room just alongside, where a number of officers were drinking coffee from bowls, and smoking and talking. They saluted Jim politely, and stared at him without restraint while he ate a chunk of very good white bread and drank his coffee, which was excellent, and meanwhile they plied his friend with questions. And one, after much observation of Jim's uniform, suddenly made some remark which carried all eyes to him and made him extremely uncomfortable at so much observation. "He is saying that your regiment was in that mad charge outside Balaclava," said his particular officer. "Yes; I was in it," said Jim quietly. And at that, to his immense surprise, every man in the room sprang to his feet and gravely saluted him again. "And you got through whole?" was the next question. "No. I had a lance wound and three bullets into me, but I've been a voyage to Constantinople since then, to brace up, you know." And they crowded round him, and pressed cigars on him, and showed themselves right good fellows. Then his new friend took him along to the hospital, and they learned that Jack had come to himself and was sleeping, and so they went on across the bridge of boats, and through the public gardens, and past the cathedral, to Head-quarters. After waiting some time, they were conducted down many long passages to a room where a tall fair man, of high face and autocratic bearing, sat at a table piled with papers and plans. Another stood looking out of the window, with his back turned to them, and a white English terrier, standing by his side on its hind legs, was trying hard to make out what he was looking at. Jim's keeper saluted deferentially and made his statement to the tall man at the table. "I understand you are prepared to give your parole not to attempt to escape, or to hold any communication with the outside?" said he, somewhat brusquely, first in French and then in understandable English. "I am," bowed Jim. And at the sound of his voice the white dog came dancing across to him as though he were an old friend, and accepted his caresses with delight. "And your brother is also a prisoner, in hospital, and you wish to attend on him." "I do." "What is your name and standing?" "James Denzil Carron--cornet, 8th Hussars!" And at that the man at the window turned suddenly and looked at him, and came and stood by the table. "You were, then, in the mad charge at Balaclava, perhaps?" "I was." "It was a foolish business." "It was." "Ah--you agree? How was it?" "Some mistake. But no one quite knows." "What are your total forces up there now?" At which Jim's lip curled in a smile. "You can hardly expect me to tell you that," he said quietly. The tall young man who had been standing by the window said a word or two to the other, who seemed surprised, and turning to Jim, said: "Very well, Monsieur Carron. I accept your parole, and Lieutenant Greski will be personally answerable for you." The lieutenant bowed, and plucked Jim backward by the sleeve, and Jim bowed, and gave the white dog's ear a final friendly pull, and they went out. "Who is he?" he asked, as soon as they were in the corridor. "Menchikoff, the one at the table. The other is the Grand Duke Michael. How does he know you?" And he looked at Jim with new curiosity. "Who--Menchikoff? "No--the Grand Duke." "Know me?" jerked Jim. "Some mistake. I never set eyes on him before." "He told Menchikoff to do what you wanted, and said he knew you, or something about you, or something of the kind. He dropped his voice so that I couldn't catch it all." "That's odd. I certainly know nothing of him." "He thinks he knows you, anyway, and so much the better for you. You shall come with me and stop at my house. It is not far." "You are very good. I shall have a better opinion of Russians in future." "Russians! I am no Russian. I am a Pole. I hate the Russians, and would love the English if I might." "I see. But why do you fight for them, then?" "Because I didn't my kin in Poland would have to pay for it." "That's jolly hard, to have to risk your life, and maybe give it, for people you hate." "There are many more like me. But what can we do? If we go against them they visit it on the innocent ones at home. If I could destroy the whole of Russia, Tsar and Grand Dukes and all, at one blow, I would strike it so"--and he dashed his fist into the palm of his other hand--"and then I would die with a glad heart. . . . But one does not talk of these things, you understand, except among one's friends." He stopped at a house which stood about midway down the slope overlooking the harbour, and led Jim into a room on the ground floor. From the window he could see Fort Constantine, shining white in the sun on the other side of the water, and the bristling line of the masts of the sunken ships, and the harbour itself dotted all over with plying boats. "One moment," said Greski, and left him there, but came back in an instant with a very beautiful white-haired old lady, whom he must have met in the passage. Her dark eyes were shining like stars at the joy of seeing her boy again. "My mother," said Greski, and explained matters to her in a torrent of Polish. She assented without any demur to all her son's proposals, and shook hands very heartily with Jim, giving him what was evidently warm welcome, in a tongue he did not understand. Then the door opened again, and a girl rushed in and flung her arms round the lieutenant's neck, and kissed him, between broken ejaculations of joy, as one come back from the dead, while two long plaits of black hair gyrated wildly at her back. When the tails had settled down, Greski laughingly swung her round facing Jim, and introduced her as his sister Tatia, and Tatia blushed charmingly, and said, in very passable English: "You must excuse us, sir. You see, when he goes out we are never quite certain that we shall ever see him again. And when he does return our hearts are joyful. Those terrible pointed shells you send us--ah, _mon Dieu!_ one came through the side of the cathedral this morning when I was there praying for Louis, and we all ran and ran." "They are not supposed to fire at the cathedral," said Jim. "Ah, when one plays with monsters you never know what may happen." Then they all three spoke together for a minute or two in Polish, since madame knew no tongue but that and Russian, and a little French, and then the ladies went off on household duties. "I hope I shall not put you to any trouble," said Jim, "and--and"--he stumbled--"you will please let me pay my way. I have heaps of money----" "We can discuss that later. We shall be glad to be of service to you. Our hearts go out to Englishmen." But it was a little later, when they sat down to breakfast, that a new and very surprising development took place. Madame Greski's eye suddenly lighted on Jim's ring--the one pressed upon him by the young officer whose life he had saved on the heights of Alma. She stared hard at it, and then said a quick word to the others, and, to Jim's surprise, Greski caught hold of his hand, held it for the others to see, and they all stood up in great excitement, and all spoke at once as they stared down at the ring. "Where did you get it?" asked Greski quickly. "It was given me by a Russian officer at the Alma. He was wounded and I gave him a hand, and he made me take this in return." And madame came round and put her trembling white hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, and her eyes were full of tears. Tatia looked as if she would have liked to do the same, and Jim would not have minded very much if she had. "It was my brother John," said Greski. "He wrote to us from Odessa telling us all about it. You saved his life." "I am very glad I was able to be of service to him." "And now we will repay you as far as we can," said Tatia joyously. "Oh, I am glad! But the marvel that you should fall into Louis's hands!" Madame spoke quickly to her son, and he translated. "My mother says your brother must come here too and they will nurse him." "I am very grateful. Can we go and see him after breakfast? Are you on duty?" "Not again all this week, _Dieu merci!_ There are many more of us than are needed for the batteries, you see. If there were any signs of a general assault we should all be called, of course. But that is not likely yet." So Jim had fallen more than comfortably, and, for Jack's sake especially, he was glad. For if the hospitals inside were anything like those outside, it might make all the difference between life and death to a sick man, to be in such good hands. They set off at once for the hospital. It was a cold raw day, and up on the hillsides, as they crossed the bridge of boats, the dull boom of the guns sounded now and again at long intervals. In that quarter, however, there were but few results of the bombardment visible, and when Jim remarked on it, Greski said, "So far you are kind to us: you keep your fire for the forts and batteries and Government buildings. But in time you will lose patience, and then we shall suffer. Why didn't you come straight in when you landed? After Alma you might have done it, I think." "I don't know why," said Jim. "But I wish we had. It would have saved much loss on both sides. You must have suffered terribly in the last fight--Inkerman." "Horribly, horribly!" said Greski, with an expressive gesture. At the hospital they found Jack looking very white and washed out, and visibly in great pain. His face brightened at sight of Jim, but a bad spasm twisted it as he tried to smile, and the smile faded like a winter sunbeam and left his face hard and set. "Dear old boy," said Jim, kneeling down by his side and holding his hand, "I've got good news for you. We've found friends, and you're to come to their house and get the best of nursing and attention." Jack brightened again at the prospect, and Jim told him how it all came about, and introduced Greski, who nodded and smiled encouragingly. When the doctor came round he made no difficulty about Jack's removal. He was only too glad to get another bed. He talked with Greski for a few seconds, and then hurried away to his work. "I will get an ambulance," said Greski, "and we will take him at once. He will be happier there." And Jim had no chance to ask him what the doctor had said, until they were walking slowly behind the litter, which, on second thoughts, Greski had brought as entailing less discomfort. "He says it is a very bad wound. The bullet went right through the lungs, but we will do everything that is possible for him." And Jim went heavily, and his heart was full fears. "But you must not look like that," said Tetia reprovingly to him, when they had got Jack stowed away in bed, in such outward comfort as soft clean sheets and a warm pleasant room could afford. "That is not the face of a good nurse, no indeed! I shall not let you in to see him till you look more cheerful." But Jim found a cheerful face no easy matter. They had, however, still another surprise during the afternoon, which raised his spirits somewhat if it did not at the moment kindle his hopes. The special doctor attached to the Grand Duke Michael came in, and informed them that the Grand Duke himself had ordered him to take the English officer in hand. He had been to the hospital and had been sent on to Mme Greski's house. So, between them all, no possible chance for Jack would be missed. He examined his patient most carefully, and when Jim followed him anxiously out of the room he told him plainly, and in excellent English, that the hospital doctor was right--it was a very serious case, and they could only do their best and trust in Providence. If he did pull through it would probably leave him weakly all his days; but ---- and the great man pursed his lips and shook his head doubtfully. CHAPTER LX INSIDE THE FIERY RING Nothing could exceed the kindness of their new friends to the strangers cast so curiously on their care. Brother John's ring had been an Open Sesame to their hearts, and they vied with one another in the repayment in kind for all that the absent one had received at Jim's hands. Madame Greski and Tatia devoted themselves to Jack as if he had been brother John himself. No single thing that could make for his comfort and well-being was lacking on their part. Never was wounded man tended with more loving and unremitting attention. And when Jim thought of the bleak miseries of the camps up there on the hill-sides, and the long-drawn horrors of the passages on the hospital ships, he thanked God in his heart that Jack was where he was. For himself, although the rôle of prisoner of war was little to his taste, it was still mighty interesting to be inside Sebastopol after gazing at it so long from the outside. There was so little doing outside that it seemed to him that he was not missing much; in due course they would probably be exchanged; and meanwhile the difference between the mud-and-canvas life of the camps and this warm and cheerful home in the town was somewhat in the ratio of hell and heaven. In view of the abounding comforts with which they were surrounded, it was indeed difficult at times to realise the actual and astounding fact that they were undergoing a siege that would rank as one of the great sieges of the world's history; that this comfortable town was an almost impregnable fortress; and that England and France, outside there, were bending all their energies to its reduction. For they lacked nothing. Supplies were abundant. They were warm and well-fed, and, beyond the dull boom of the distant guns, they heard nothing of the siege. Through that unclosable northern door, by night and by day, long strings of carts brought in to them everything that was necessary, and much besides. Contrary to custom, it was the besiegers who suffered, not the besieged. And Jim, when Tatia drove him away from Jack's bedside, to seek exercise and fresh air lest she should have another patient on their hands, quietly observing everything--the rude strength of the defences, the unlimited, even wastefully profuse stores of guns and ammunition, the teeming barracks full of men, and that ever-open door though which the limitless supplies could still be drawn upon--said to himself that the siege might go on for ever. Jack, however, was in most distressing condition. The slightest exertion, any movement almost, brought on painful fits of coughing which seemed to shake his wounded chest to pieces. Speaking was out of the question, for even breathing was difficult to him; and all Jim could do, to show him what he felt about it all, was to sit by his bedside, holding his hand at times, and at times forcing himself to unnaturally cheerful talk lest the dreadful silence should bring him to foolishness in other ways. For he felt certain, from Jack's appearance and the doctor's manner, that his case was hopeless and the end not far off, and the thought of it was terrible to him. Of the consequences--of the results to himself, at Carne and Wyvveloe--not one thought. The fluttering of the shadowy wings put all other considerations to rout. This that lay so still on the bed was dear old Jack, and the fear that he was going filled all his heart and mind. But Tatia, pretty as she was, and of a most vivacious disposition, possessed so much common-sense. Again and again she insisted on Jim quitting the room and the house, and threatened him with penalties if he came back under a couple of hours. And when her brother was available she would send them off together, begging them only to beware above all things of pointed shells and to turn up again in due course whole and undamaged. "I would nurse you with enjoyment," she said, her soft dark eyes dwelling appreciatively on Jim's sorrowful long face, in which they seemed to find something that appealed to her strongly. "But, for yourself, you will be better to keep well. If you come back in less than two hours you shall have only half a dinner. Louis, you will see to it." And Greski would march him away to the harbour front where walking was safe, since the shells rarely topped the hill, and they would discuss matters from both sides as they went. On that side of the town there was little sign of the siege beyond the activities of the quays, and an occasional roar from the man-of-war moored under Fort Nicholas. But when they strolled along the front, and came round the hill, and up by St. Michael's church and the tower whose clock bore on its face the name of "Barraud, London," then all the grim actualities met them full face. Up there, across the Admiralty Harbour--whose head ran up into the gorge wherein lay the fatal Ovens out of which they had come into captivity--beyond the great barracks and the hospital, up there on the hill-side lay the huge works which Jim knew as the Malakof and the Redan, but which Greski spoke of as the Korniloff and No. 3--very different in the rear from what they were in front, grim and forbidding, but crude and rough and unfinished-looking. And those little zigzag piles of earth just beyond them were the British trenches, and up on the plateau beyond were the tents, which shone so white in the morning sun, but were so horribly thin and cold of a night, and so dirty when you got close to them. He could see the Picket House, and knew just what the usual crowd about it would look like; and he could see the gunners moving about the platforms inside the Russian works, and now and again white clouds of smoke rolled over them and the angry roar came bellowing across the quiet waters of the harbour, and the mole-heaps on the hill-side spurtled out in reply. Now and again a shell came hurtling into the town from the Lancasters or the French batteries, but did little damage on that side, since there was little damage left to be done. Up there to the right, as they went on past the Admiralty buildings and the cathedral, the houses were mostly in ruins, the streets were already barricaded in anticipation of assault, and the whole scene was one of dismal desolation. And at times they would meet stretchers carrying broken men, and again, strings of carts carrying rough red coffins up to the cemetery. But Jim deemed it wise, from every point of view, to keep, as a rule, away from the actual scene of operations. It was slow work watching at a distance the very leisurely operations, and it gave him little to report. But he had an idea that if he showed too great an interest in their concerns the authorities might perhaps tighten his tether, and that might mean separation from Jack. Now and again, however, the desire to see for himself how things were going on got the better of him, and he would creep into some deserted corner of the hot side of the town and endeavour to estimate the possibilities. And from such observations he always came away downcast and disheartened, for, as far as he could see, the besiegers made no progress whatever, while the besieged toiled unremittingly at the strengthening of their defences, and blocked every possibility of entrance with their mighty earthworks. Up that side of the town went an unceasing stream of men and carts carrying fascines and gabions and shot and shell, and strings of straining horses dragging big guns from the arsenal; and new works, fully equipped, sprang up like mushrooms in a night. But there were dark days also, when Greski was on duty in the bastions, or nominated for a sortie. And then madame and Tatia went about very quietly and nervously, and started at any unusual sound, and showed their fears in their faces. But he was very fortunate, and came home each time to their joyful welcome with his tale of catastrophe to others whom they knew, but himself escaped unhurt, and they all breathed freely till his turn came round again. Christmas slipped by almost unnoticed. When he did, by accident, awake to the fact that it really was Christmas Day, the difference between this and other Christmas Days gave Jim an unusual fit of the blues. He thought of them all at Wyvveloe, and wondered if Gracie had decked the church with holly. He knew they would all be thinking about them, probably in great distress of mind. What news concerning them had reached home he could not tell. After much discussion with Greski, who assured him it would be useless, he had requested permission from the authorities to write home, subject to their inspection. But his request was returned to him with a brief inscription in Russian, which Greski translated as "out of the question." So he could only hope that Colonel Carron would have been able to make inquiries under one of the occasional flags of truce, and had sent word home. But operations were slow at the moment; there had been neither assaults nor sorties of any consequence, and so flags of truce and opportunities of communication were of rare occurrence. Yes, he knew it must be a bitter, sad Christmas for them all at home--for the many who had already got their fatal news, and for the more who awaited theirs in fear and trembling. And he knew too well what a shockingly thin and sore one it must be for the gaunt, shoeless, half-starved and ill-clad men in the thin white tents on the heights over there. And when, through the weight of their colouring, his dismal thoughts plumbed deeper depths than was his wont, the grim irony of this most unchristian Christmas sat heavily on him. Christmas!--bristling with raw yellow earthworks, shattered with bursting shells, ghastly with crawling processions of broken men and more peaceful red coffins! Christmas!--peace on earth and goodwill----! And yet, after eighteen hundred years, here were so-called Christian nations at one another's throats, tearing and rending the image of God into raw red fragments, and with no thought but for destruction. They were, many of them, very good fellows, these Russians. They would stop him in the street--those whom he had met that first morning, those who were left--and greet him cordially, and ask after his brother, and express their regrets, and he had no more desire to kill them than he had to kill Lord Raglan himself. And yet, set him on the hill-side up there, and all his thought would be towards their destruction. Truly it was a queer world, and there must be something wrong somewhere! But it was all beyond him, and he could only brood and wonder. Their New Year was ushered in on the night of the twelfth with great illuminations, much ringing of church bells, and a solemn service in the cathedral--by a terrific bombardment of their fellow Christians on the hill-side, and two furious sorties, which effected nothing beyond an increase in the tally of broken men and in the cart-loads of red coffins creaking away to the cemetery. "Absolutely useless," acknowledged Greski, when his mother and Tatia released him from their warm embraces on his return. "But the Chief thinks it does the men good to go out occasionally after all their dirty work on the new bastions." CHAPTER LXI WEARY WAITING "Nothing yet," said Sir Denzil to Eager, on his twentieth anxious call after further news of the boys. "I am surprised Denzil has not written. But so many things may happen out there. His letter may have gone astray. There may be difficulty in communicating with Sebastopol. He may be wounded himself. He may be dead. We can do nothing but wait. I will send you word the moment I have any news. Miss Gracie well?" "Quite well, sir, but sorely troubled about the boys." "Ay, ay! That is the woman's part--to sit at home and nurse her fears." "No news, Charlie?" asked the Little Lady hopelessly, from her chair by the fire. "No news yet, dear. Sir Denzil promises to send round the moment he gets anything." "I'm beginning to fear they're all lying dead in that horrible Crimea. This waiting, waiting, waiting, is terrible." "Yes, it's hard work, the hardest work in the world. But we can only wait and hope, dear. Whatever is is best, and we cannot alter it." It was a weary time for all of them, and all over Britain and France and Russia the same black cloud lay heavily. The only ones who were happy were those whose warriors had come home maimed, so long as the maiming was not absolute and irretrievable. For such were at all events safe from further harm. So the slow dark days dragged on until at length one night, when Eager had just got in from his rounds and the usual fruitless call at Carne, there came the long-expected knock on the door, and Gracie ran to answer it. "Is it you, Kennet?" "Me, miss. Sir Denzil would like to see Mr. Eager." "He has got some news at last?" "Ay, some papers just come in. But I don't know what it is. Bad, I should say, from the looks of him--he was so mortal quiet." "We will come at once. Let me go alone, Charlie. You're tired out." "Not a bit of it, my dear. I feel like a hound on the scent at the word 'news.' Don't you think you'd better wait here till I bring you word?" "I can't wait," she said breathlessly. And they went along together. Sir Denzil met them with ominous impassivity. "I trust Kennet did not raise your hopes," he said, with the corners of his mouth drawn down somewhat more even than usual, and a glance that never wavered for a moment. "This arrived just after you left, Mr. Eager. It explains, of course, to some extent----" It was a letter from General Canrobert, informing Sir Denzil, with many complimentary phrases as palliatives to the blow, that Colonel Carron had met his death while gallantly repelling a sortie on the night of the 12th January. He had left instructions, in case of need, for word to be sent to Sir Denzil and it was in pursuance thereat etc. etc. "That, of course, explains why he has been unable to pursue his inquiries after the boys," said Sir Denzil, in an absolutely unmoved voice. "I need not say our deepest sympathies are yours, sir----" "It is the boys I am concerned for," said Sir Denzil, with an impatient double wave of the hand, whose finger and thumb held his pinch of snuff. "Denzil put himself out of the running twenty years ago. This is only an incident. But"--and he snuffed very deliberately--"it may not be without its consequences in the other matter. There is no one out there now who has any special interest in them, you see. And, under present circumstances, they may quite easily be overlooked and lost track of. Personally, I should not be in the least surprised to learn that they are both dead. This war seems to me to be carried on in quite unusually wasteful fashion." Gracie never said a word. The callousness of the old heathen chilled her heart, though it was boiling with many emotions. If she opened her mouth she feared it' would all come out in a torrent that would astonish him for the rest of his life. "We can only go on hoping for the best," said Eager quietly. "Sir George is making inquiries for us----" "He is quite outside things," said Sir Denzil brusquely, and gazed at Eager with thoughtful intensity for a moment, as though on the point of offering some other suggestion. "However," he said abruptly, at last, "at the moment, as you say, we can only wait, and see what comes of it all. If I hear anything I will send you word at once." And they left him and went soberly home, feeling death still a little nearer their dear ones in this new loss. "What a terrible old man he is!" said Gracie. "I think he must have been born without a heart." "It is mostly assumed, I think. Inside, I have no doubt he is feeling his loss bitterly, but he prides himself on not letting it be seen. It is the old fashion. Thank God, we have come to recognise the fact that a man may be a strong man and yet have a heart! It makes for a better world." And as the slow weeks dragged on, and still brought them no news of the missing ones, their hearts were heavy with fears. CHAPTER LXII FROM ONE TO MANY The great heart of the nation at home had been wrung with pity and indignation at the altogether unnecessary sufferings of the men who had gone out to fight her battles in the East, and who, through miscalculation, muddle, and incapacity, had died like flies, of sickness and want. The roar of anger with which the news was greeted shook the mighty in their seats and hurled Ministers and Cabinets into the dust. Still more to the purpose, the sympathy aroused set itself promptly to the cure of official abuses by the administration of private charity; which word is used in its high apostolic sense, for private munificence and public subscription provided the miserable, gallant remnant of our army only with those things which were theirs by right, and of which they had been defrauded by sheerest stupidity and the inexorcisabie demon of Red-tape. The _Times_ fund was a mighty help; Florence Nightingale a still mightier, in that noblest attribute of personal service and sacrifice which touches all hearts to higher things. But there were also many private benefactors, who set to work at once on their own account to do what they could, and among them was Sir George Herapath. When the dreadful disclosures of the camps and hospitals came home, he was still bending, almost broken, under the weight of his own loss. His son's death had beaten him to the ground and shortened his span by years. But the thought of the miseries of those other brave fellows, out on the bleak hill-sides above Sebastopol, stirred him out of the depths of his sorrow. He sent for Charles Eager. "Eager," he said, "I can't get any sleep for thinking of it all." "He died as a gallant man should die, Sir George." "It's the others I'm thinking of--the poor fellows who are mouldering away out there for want of everything that has been forgotten or sent astray." And a spark came into Eager's eye, for here was sign of grace and hope after his own mind--a sorely stricken heart rising superior to its own loss in helpful thought for others. "Yes, they're having dreadful times. What were you thinking of?" "Helping, if you'll take a hand." "I'm your man, sir, and God be thanked for your good thought! I'll thank you in my own way." "Help me to make a list of the most necessary things, and I'll charter a ship to take them straight out. Will you go with her and see to it all?" "Will I?" blazed Eager. "Will I not? It's almost too good to be true. I want to find out what's become of those boys too." "I wouldn't like it all to go astray like the rest, you see." "I'll see to that. It may be the saving of hundreds. God bless you, sir! George's death will be a blessing to many through you. It is just what he would have done himself." Sir George shook his head sadly. The wound was too raw yet. "Let's get to work!" he said; for in work, and especially in such work, there was something of healing. So they formed themselves into a committee of four, and Sir George insisted on Eager and Gracie coming to stay with them at Knoyle so that the work might go on without interruption. He went down to Liverpool, and with difficulty secured a steamship--the _Bakclutha_, 1,000 tons burden, James Leale, master, at a very high price, for Government charters had made a tight market. He went over all their lists carefully, knew just where to lay his hand on everything, and the work went forward rapidly. Eager had secured a locum and was keen to be off, for every day's delay meant so many wasted lives. Gracie was to stay on at Knoyle with Margaret. And so the very last night came, and found them sitting round the fire in Sir George's study after dinner. "You must all give an eye to my people while I'm away," said Eager. "Breton is a good sort, I think, but it'll take some time for him to get to know them; and the vicar----" "The vicar is resigning as soon as you come back," said Sir George quietly. "The South of France is the only place where he can live, Yool says. I want you to take it when you get home." "That is very good of you, sir. I want you to give me something else too"--and he slipped his hand inside Margaret's arm. "I know," said Sir George. "Meg has told me, and I could not wish her better." Gracie flung her arms round Margaret and kissed her heartily. "Oh, I am so glad!" she cried. "That is what I have been wanting all the time." "So have I," laughed Eager. And then more soberly, as he lifted Margaret's hand to his lips--"And truly I am grateful. My cup is full--almost to the brim----" "I wish I could go with you," said Margaret. "So do I," said Gracie eagerly. "Yes, I know, but----" And they knew too that the "but" must keep them at home. "You'll find out all about the boys, Charlie," ordered Gracie. "I'll do my best, dear, you may be sure. It all depends on what there is to find out and what an outsider can do. The possibilities are so tremendous. All we can do is to hope for the best and keep our hearts up. I have letters from Lord Deseret to Lord Raglan and several others, and I have no doubt they will give me all the help they can." And next day he sailed, very happy in his mission, happier still in what lay behind and before him; troubled only on account of the boys who had disappeared into the smoke-cloud, and of whom for many weeks they had been able to obtain no tidings whatever. The master, the supercargo, and the crew of the _Balclutha_ were all of one mind in the matter, and so she made a record passage, was through the Straits fourteen days after she hauled out of the Mersey, and two days later lay off Balaclava Bay awaiting official permit to enter. The Bay was crowded, but a corner was found at last, and Eager's wondering eyes travelled over the amazing activities and manifold nastinesses of that historic port, though these last were nothing now to what they had been. He landed at once, introduced himself and his business to Admiral Boxer and Captain Powell, found favour in their sight, and made arrangements for the unloading and forwarding of his cargo. Sir George had furnished him with ample funds and the best of advice. He organised his own transport, saw to it himself; with the hearty assistance of Leale and his two mates and some picked men of the crew, and drove things forward at such astonishing speed that the harbour-master broke out one time. "Man! Was it a parson you said you were, Mr. Eager? It's head of the Transport you ought to have been. You get more out of those lazy scamps than any man we've had here yet." It was the same wherever he went. His strenuous cheerfulness, his masterful energy, his unfailing good-humour--in a word, his Eagerness infused itself into all with whom he came in contact and carried him royally through all difficulties. He was an object-lesson in what might be done when Officialism and Red-tape had no fingers in the pie. To tell all he did, and saw, and thought, during those days, would take a volume. He cheered and comforted, and lifted from misery and death many a stricken soul, both in the hospitals and in the camps. He came across old Harrow and Oxford friends, who welcomed him with open arms and tendered him advice enough to sink a ship. And when he had finished his distributions, and so eased the ways of all the needy ones within the range of his powers, he turned with keen anxiety to that other quest which lay so near his heart. He paid a visit to British Head-quarters, in the low white houses on the road leading from Balaclava to Sebastopol, delivered Lord Deseret's letter to an aide-de-camp, and intimated his intention of waiting there till he could see Lord Raglan in person. When at last he was admitted, he found the Chief sitting at a huge table heaped with papers, and two secretaries writing for dear life at tables alongside. Lord Raglan had already seen him about the camps and hospitals, and had heard of his good works, and received him with courteous kindness. Eager was struck with his thin, worn face--the face of a brave man wrestling with unwonted problems and innumerable difficulties. "I don't know what we can do to help you in your quest, Mr. Eager," said his lordship, with Lord Deseret's letter in his hand, "but anything we can do we will. I am sure you will understand that it has been through no intentional neglect that these young friends of yours have slipped out of our sight. The demands upon one's time from the people at home"--with an expressive glance at the mountainous heaps of forms and papers before him--"have afforded one small chance of attending to individual cases. The last we know was that they were prisoners in Sebastopol." "I thank your lordship, and I am very loth to trouble you," said Eager; "but there is so much dependent on these two boys that I must do all I possibly can to learn what has become of them. One could not ask by letter, I suppose?" "Did I not write to Menchikoff, Calverly, soon after they were taken? I seem to remember----" "You did, sir," replied one of the overwrought secretaries, without stopping his work for a moment. "And we got no answer." "Would it be possible for me to get in under a flag of truce?" asked Eager. "Quite possible," said his lordship, with a faint smile; "but decidedly risky, and you certainly would not come out again." "There are occasional truces for picking up the wounded, are there not?" "We have never asked for one, As a rule the Russians request it after one of their big sorties. If you wait a while--one never knows what night they will come out. What was your idea?" "Simply to inquire among the Russian officers. There could be no objection to that, I presume?" "Not the slightest. You might learn something. It is just a chance." "Then I will wait for that chance, with your lordship's permission." "By all means, Mr. Eager, and I wish you all success; also please convey to Sir George Herapath our thanks for all he has done for the men here, and accept the same yourself. They have suffered grievously. His son's death was a great loss to us. He was a fine young fellow." And Eager bowed himself out. CHAPTER LXIII EAGER ON THE SCENT Eager's lean and lively face became well known in the camps and trenches. He was keen to see all he could, and was everywhere welcomed with acclaim, but perhaps the greetings he most enjoyed were the rough grateful words of men whom he had helped and heartened in the field hospitals, and who had recovered sufficiently to get back to their work. These would do anything for him, and from morning till night he was all over the place, seeing everything, mightily interested in it all, and leaving, wherever he went, a trail of uplifting cheerfulness which was a moral tonic. He watched the perpetual fierce little fights over the rifle-pits, and went down into them and tended the wounded when chance offered. He mingled with the frequenters of the Picket House, and watched the effect of the somewhat desultory pounding of the batteries by the big guns. He crept cautiously through untold miles of muddy trenches, both French and British, and viewed with wonder the gigantic tasks which prepared the way for the second bombardment. And in the hospitals he soothed many a sufferer's passage to more peaceful quarters, and put fresh heart into those whose lot it was to go back to the front. In the officers' tents and huts he was hail-fellow-well-met everywhere, and the only fault found with him was that he could not be in many places at the same time. He heard matters discussed there with an outspoken freedom which would have set ears tingling at home; and when he asked how soon it was going to end, was told, "Never, my boy. It's going on for ever and ever." And an irreverent one added, "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, amen!" "End, my dear fellow? Why should it end?" said still another, waving an old briar at him, with the smoke curling like a flag of truce from the stem. "They've got unlimited supplies to draw upon, and an open road to get 'em in. As fast as we kill 'em they bring in fresh ones. As fast as we knock down their earthworks they build 'em up again----" "Faster!" growled another. "Yes, faster. I don't see why it should not go on till the year 2000--going on as we are. It's not a siege; it's a discipline--a chastisement for our sins: I only wish----" "Hear, hear!" grunted another, who had heard that wish many times before. "What do you wish?" asked Eager. "I wish all the Red-tape and Routine people at home could be driven into the trenches here and kept there for a month. They'd learn a thing or two." "Die . . . never learn," growled the other. "If we'd gone right in when first we got here, it would have been a most enormous saving, even if the cost had been heavy. For some reason we lost the chance, and it's never going to come back. We're like a prize-fighter pummelling away at the other fellow's leg and hoping to break him in time that way. We may tire him out, of course, but its a deuced slow business." "Do they never exchange prisoners?" asked Eager. "We never take any worth exchanging. It's only the ruck we get, and they're mostly dead." "Their boots are the best part of 'em," said the other. "Our men are always better shod after a sortie. Gad! sir, it would have made you blaze to see our fellows--Guardsmen and all--tramping about in mud and snow with no soles to their rotten boots! I hope the man who made 'em will spend his eternity in a snowy hell with raw bare feet!" But one night they were all out in haste, at the sound of heavy and continuous musketry down in the trenches on the left attack; and Eager, tumbling out and rushing on with the rest, found himself where a noncombatant had no right to be. He had gone plunging downwards with the others, in order to see all he could, till he fell bodily into a trench. He picked himself up and joined the stream of men hastening towards the firing, and found himself suddenly in the thick of things--bullets humming venomously past his head, men falling with groans and curses by his side, and a big man, standing just above him on the rough parapet of the trench, shouting to his men to "give it 'em hot with the steel," and meanwhile picking up the biggest stones he could find and hurling them at the oncoming Russians in front. The men clambered up and swept away into the darkness with shouts and cheers and clash of steel, and Eager was left alone in the trench with the fallen ones. Up from below rose an awful turmoil, lit now and again by receding flashes, then a final British cheer, and one more sortie was repulsed. It was only next morning that he learned the size of it. "They say there were about fifteen thousand of them out last night," said one of his friends. "One lot went for the French over by the Mamelon, and the rest came up here." "Gordon's men say he was on top of the trench chucking stones at the beggars as they came up----" "I saw him," said Eager. "He was standing just above me, shouting to his men and flinging stones as hard as he could. Then they fixed bayonets and went downhill like an avalanche." "You'd no right to be there, my boy." "I suppose not. I went to see what was up, and fell into a trench, and ran on with the rest. Was the Colonel hit?" "Couple of bullets in him, but not deadly." "It's amazing to me that any one comes through alive." "Yes, it feels like that at first, but you get used to it." "Did we lose many?" "Pretty heavy; but there are four or five Russkis to each of ours. Ground's thick with 'em. They'll want an armistice to clean up, I expect--generally do." And, sure enough, the Russians presently requested a truce to pick up their men; and before long the white flags were flying on the batteries, and the men of both sides streamed out into the open, picked up their dead and wounded, and took stock of one another. This was the chance Eager had been waiting for, and he went down to the debatable ground between the lines with the rest. It was a horrible enough sight--a couple of thousand dead and wounded men strewn thick in that narrow space; but the stretchers were busily at work, and he had his own inquiries to make. A number of Russian officers were strolling about, dressed in their best and smoking their best cigars, and quite ready for a talk. He approached one, lifted his hat, and asked in French: "I wonder if monsieur could afford me some information?" At which the Russian smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled. "With pleasure, monsieur. We have at this moment one hundred thousand men in there and five thousand guns, and provisions for fifteen years, and when they are used up we have five times as many more to come." "If you could give me a satisfactory word about two young officers, prisoners in your hands, you would ease some very sore hearts at home, monsieur. That is all I ask. I have come all the way from England to get news of them." "If I can, monsieur. What are their names?" "Carron; two brothers--one in the Engineers, the other in the Hussars." "_Tiens!_ Yes--Carron! I know them. Some of our guns have the same name. They are well, monsieur. I saw them only yesterday." "Thank God for that! And I thank you, monsieur, most gratefully." "It is nothing. One of them was sorely wounded, but the Grand Duke sent his own doctor, and he is recovered. They were walking together yesterday, and we spoke. I shall tell them of your inquiry. What name, monsieur?" "Eager--Charles Eager. Will you tell them all are well at home and very desirous of seeing them. If only this terrible war would come to an end!" "Yes, indeed; _le Malheur!_ But I assure you, monsieur, we will stop fighting at once if only you will all go home." "I wish I could make them," said Eager. "It is terrible work." And he looked round at the broken men lying so thickly all about. "It is rough play. Whether the omelets are worth all the broken eggs, I cannot say. Have you any idea what we're fighting about, monsieur?" "General principles, I suppose." "Ah, he is a costly leader, this General Principles," said the other, with a twinkle. "Permit me to offer you a cigar." "We will exchange," said Eager, producing some of Sir George's extra specials. "Let us smoke to a speedy peace." "With all my heart." And they parted friends, and both went their ways wondering why such things must be. And if the Russian never delivered Eager's message it was not his fault, for he was killed by a shell that same afternoon in Bastion No. 4. The ground was cleared at last. There was a moment's pause. Then the white flags came fluttering down, and a gun from the Redan sent a shot hurling up the trenches, to show that playtime was over. Eager was much comforted in mind by his interview with the Russian. He had seemed a good fellow, and could have no object in deceiving him. He wrote long letters home, and resolved to wait on and see if the great bombardment, to which all efforts were now directed, would bring the end any nearer. And so it came about that he stood with the rest on Cathcart's Hill, in the misty drizzle of that bleak Easter Monday morning, and watched the opening of the second bombardment of Sebastopol. They could hear enough up there. All round the vast semicircle more guns were crashing than had ever roared in concert before. But they could see very little. The gunners themselves could not see. They knew Sebastopol lay over there and they were bound to hit something. And Eager strained his eyes into the chill white mist to see all he could, and felt sick at heart at thought of the destruction any one of those wildly flying shot and shell might wreak. CHAPTER LXIV THE LONG SLOW SIEGE It was the most trying time Jim had ever spent. He had had no experience whatever of sick-beds, beyond his own short spell after Balaclava, and even that was as different from this deadly monotony as well could be. But he stuck to it valiantly, and was only saved from physical and mental collapse himself by Tatia's arbitrary oversight. If there had been anything going on outside he might have found the change from the sick-room bracing, but both besieged and besiegers were too busy girding their loins for another struggle to waste time or powder on useless display. The Allies had found the nut too hard to crack, and were working hard on preparation for the next blow; and those inside, fully informed of everything that went on in the camps, were straining every nerve to resist it. So big guns and mortars went toiling up to the heights from Balaclava Bay, and mountains of gabions and fascines and more big guns went toiling up the heights inside to face them, and for days hardly a shot would be fired on either side. It was towards the end of February that Greski said to Jim, one day when Tatia had turned them out-of-doors--"Come, and I will show you something new." And they went round to the eastern slope, looking out towards the Karabelnaia suburb and the Malakoff and Redan--all of which Jim knew by heart. And at the first glance Jim saw a change in the look of things. A new fort had sprung up in the night between the Malakoff, which till now had been the foremost Russian work on that side, and the French trenches--a fort of size too, all a-bristle with gabions and fascines round the crown of the flat hill. The thousands of men still working at it made it look like a great ant-heap. "French!" said Jim, after his first quick glance, with a feeling of exultation, for the new work must seriously menace, if not command, the Malakoff. "French?--no, my friend!--Russian! Truly your people are not very wideawake. Todleben has been expecting them to seize that hill ever since they crept so close, and it would have been bad for the Korniloff Bastion, you see. So, as they did not, and it seemed a pity no one should use it, he occupied it last night, and ten thousand men have been busy on it ever since." "Hang it! What fools we were to let it slip!" "Undoubtedly! And without doubt you will now try to recover it, and it will cost you many men, and us also, and so the game goes on." And that very same night, when Jack had at last fallen asleep, Greski said to Jim, as though he were inviting him to a theatre party: "At midnight we will take a little walk, and you will see your friends attempt to recover the new fort, the Mamelon. "You seem to know all about it," said Jim incredulously. "Of course. That again is where we beat you. We know all your plans. We have plans of every trench you cut with every gun you place in it." "Not from any of our men," said Jim, with heat, for underhand work such as that struck him offensively. "Oh no. But your men talk too much among themselves, and our spies are through your camps night and day. They all speak French, you see, and uniforms are easy to get, whereas none of your people speak Russian well enough to pass muster for a moment. I can even tell you that the attack will be all French--Zouaves, Marines, and Chasseurs, under three thousand in all, and the General Monet will be in command. They will walk right up into the trap and will all be killed or captured." "It is sheer murder." "What would you? It is war; and after all, though I hate Russia, one cannot help remembering that she did not invite you to come here. We will wait here. It is not yet time." "Why aren't you up there yourself?" "I was in the last sortie and it is not my turn, _Dieu merci!_ for it will be hot up there to-night. There are plenty of us, you see, and we take fair turns." All was dark and still up along the distant hill-side, so void of offence that Jim began to wonder if Greski had not made a mistake. But after several impatient glances at his watch by the glow of his cigar, he said at last: "Now--it is time! Watch!--over there!" But the minutes passed--long, long minutes, almost the longest Jim had ever lived through. "Doesn't seem coming off," he jerked. "Wait!" jerked Greski, at tension also. "They were to start at midnight. They have a quarter-mile to cover, and they will go cautiously because the ground behind there is bad. We are to let them come right up and--ah--_voilà!_" as the darkness behind the new fort blazed and roared and became an inferno of deadly strife; terrific volleys of musketry and the hoarse shouting of men--no big guns, and presently even the firing became desultory, but the turmoil waxed louder and louder. Greski danced with excitement. "_Mon Dieu!_ but they are fighting!--hand to hand! They are devils to fight, those Zouaves. I wish--I wish--but it is not safe here to wish." The turmoil came rolling round this side of the hill; the Russians were falling back. Then flaming volleys broke out on each side of the turmoil. "Ah--ah--ah! Supports from Korniloff," jerked Greski. And then suddenly the Malakoff and Redan big guns blazed out, and poured an avalanche of shot and shell and rockets on the gallant attack, and it withered and melted away. "Two--three thousand men in pieces, and as you were!" was Greski's summing up. "Infernal butchery," growled Jim, much worked up. "What would you, my friend? It is war." And they went soberly home, thinking of the horrors of the red hill-side and all the broken men who lay there, while all the church bells in the town clashed pæans of victory overhead as they went. The one bright ray to Jim, in this time of gloom, was the fact that Jack was without doubt slowly improving, to the great satisfaction and greater surprise of his wearied but unwearying nurses and the Grand Duke's doctor. "He has no right to live," said the latter, "and yet he lives, and may live. It is marvellous." But then he had not known how the open-air life on the flats prepared a man for contingencies such as this. It was long before Jack could speak above a whisper without suffering, and then at last he was able to sit propped up with pillows and to take an interest in things in general, But the gardens were full of hyacinths and crocuses, and there were even patches of them on the troubled hill-sides, among the white tents and muddy trenches, before he tasted fresh air again. Then Jim would lead him on his strong arm, very slowly and with many a rest, to a sheltered place whence he could see what was going on, and so keen was his interest that it was no easy matter to get him home again. And the officers they met on the road would stop them, and politely inquire after Jack's health, and express their pleasure at his recovery, and discuss matters with them, and gallantly express their conviction that the siege would go on for ever, but admit all the same that if it could honourably end they would not be sorry. They had another ray of hope when the news came of the death of the Tsar. Would it mean an end of the terrible struggle, and release, and home? Their hearts--and not theirs only--beat high with hope, and fell the lower when the word came that the fight was to go on to the bitter end. CHAPTER LXV THE CUTTING OF THE COIL With the better weather things quickened somewhat--the things of Nature, to life; the things of Man, to death. Man strove with all his might to end his fellow man, and drenched the earth with blood: and the spring flowers pushed valiantly through the blood-soaked sods and seemed to wonder what it was all about. The boys learned from Greski that the chief bones of contention now were the rifle-pits. The lines and burrows of attack and defence had by this time run so close to one another that in places you could almost throw a stone from one to the other. No smallest chance of harassing the enemy was lost on either side. Both sides had learnt by experience what damage and annoyance to the working parties could be effected by small bodies of picked marksmen hidden in sunken pits in advance of the lines, and the struggles over and round and in these tiny strongholds were endless, and furious beyond description. He told them how sixty Russians had held their pits near what he called the Korniloff Bastion, but which Jack and Jim knew more familiarly as the Malakoff, against five thousand Frenchmen, until reserves came up and the Frenchmen had to retire. And how some crack shot in one of the English pits was potting their men even in the streets of the town, twelve hundred yards away, so that passage that way was no longer permitted. He told them that the Allies were mounting more and more big guns, and prophesied hot work again before long, and feared that this time "he"--by which simple comprehensive pronoun the Russian soldiers always referred to the hundred thousand men out there on the hill-side--the enemy--just as Jack and Jim had always used the term to designate Sir Denzil in their early days--Greski feared that "he," out of patience with the long delay and the sufferings it had entailed, would no longer confine his efforts to battering the forts, but would probably try to make an end of the town itself. "In which case," he said, "we may have to move over to the other side of the water. He can knock down the bastions to his heart's content; we can build them again faster than he can knock them down. But the town--that would be another matter." All the streets leading in from the hill-sides were barricaded, and a new line of huge entrenchments sprang up among the houses inside the town, half-way up the slope on which it was built. From their chosen look-out on that eastward slope the boy watched all that went on, inside and outside, with hungry anxious eyes. They noted the immense activities on both sides, and it seemed to them, as it had done before to Jim that things might go on like this for ever. "If we are really going to try another bombardment," said Jack slowly--he always spoke slowly and quietly now, a way he had got into through fear of straining his chest--"and if they keep it to the earthworks, it is all wasted time. The only way to end it is to smash the town and rush it over the pieces. It is doubtful kindness to spare it. Far better end the matter for all concerned. Then we could all go home and become human beings again. I've no fight left in me, Jim." "A couple of months on the flats will make you as sound as a bell," said Jim cheerfully. "The air here is full of gunpowder and dead men. What you want is Carne." "I've thought a good deal about it all while I lay there and couldn't talk," said Jack. "You'll have to take it all on, Jim. I shall be a broken man all my life--I feel it inside me; and Carron of Carne must be a whole man. You must take it on, Jim." "Don't let's talk about it, old man. We're not home yet. Time enough to go into all that when we get there. I wish to goodness Raglan would come right in and make an end of it." "It would be an awful business. But I don't see how we're going to end it any other way. And truly I wish it were ended, for I long to get home. All I want is to get home." Their friend Greski had so far escaped the dangers of his unpalatable duties in a manner little short of marvellous. He shirked nothing, and took his fair turns with the rest. And, though he hated Russia with all his heart, he laughingly confessed that when he was in the thick of things he forgot it all in his eagerness to win the fight. But such phenomenal luck was too good to last. He went out one night to join in a sortie, and the morning came without him, and found his mother and Tatia in woeful depths, certain he was dead. Jim went off at once for news, and found him at last in the hospital, with a bullet in the thigh and a bayonet wound in the shoulder. "It is nothing, it is nothing," said the hurrying surgeon. At which Greski made a grimace at Jim, and said: "All the same, if it was only himself now! And the way he hacked that bullet out! We are getting callous to other folk's sufferings." "Why, you hardly felt it," said the surgeon. "You said so." "When one's helpless under another man's knife one says what he wants. It hurt like the deuce." "When can I take him home?" asked Jim, in stumbling French. "After two days, if he behaves and goes on well." So Jim went home and comforted madame and Tatia; and two days later they were happier in their minds than they had been since the siege began, in that they had him there all the time and safe from further harm. He grizzled somewhat at being shelved "just when the fun was going to begin," for he felt assured in his own mind that "he," outside, was preparing for a general assault, and he would have liked to see it. And so the boys did their best to keep him posted in all that went on. They were wakened at daybreak one morning by an uproar altogether out of the common--one vast, unbroken, terrific roll of thunder, so deep, so ominous, so far beyond anything they had ever heard in their lives before that it sounded as though the whole of heaven's artillery had been mounted on the hill-sides, and brought to bear on the devoted town, and was bent on battering it to pieces. Greski called them from his room, and they went in. "Hurry, hurry, or you'll miss it all! We knew it must be soon, but could not learn the day. They will come in on top of this, I think. Keep under cover, and come back and tell me all about it. Oh, ---- this leg!" It was a bad morning for any conscious possessor of a chest--heavy with mist and thick with drizzling rain; a black funereal day, sobbing gustily, and drenching the earth with showers of bitter tears. The chill discomfort of it told even on Jim. "Jack, old man, I wish you'd go back," he said, before they had gone a hundred yards. "I'll bring you word as soon as I can. They're not likely to come in at once, and you'll have plenty of time to see all that's going on. They'll probably hang away at the forts for the whole day. Do go back." "Get on!--get on!" coughed Jack. "I want to see." And they pushed on through the gloomy twilight. The streets were alive with all the others who wanted to see, and long compact lines of gray-coats were pressing stolidly towards the front, to strengthen the lines against the expected onslaught. Jim was doubtful how far they should venture, but Jack was intent on seeing. This was history. This was the consummation of all the hopes, and the weary days and nights, that had gone into those mighty zigzags up on the hill there. This was his own arm striking as it had never struck before since time began, and he must see it at its best. But, though they could hear enough, they could not see much, because of the mist and the rain and the dense clouds of smoke rolling down the hill-sides. The Russian batteries were only beginning to reply, by the time the boys reached their usual look-out on the eastern slope near the cathedral, and then the uproar doubled, and the very ground beneath them seemed to shudder under it. Jim helped his brother to his usual seat in a niche in the broken wall of a garden, and tucked his cloak carefully about him, for between his boiling excitement and the rawness of the morning, he was all ashake and his teeth were chattering. "Every gun we have," gasped Jack . . . "hard at it!" "If they can't see more than we can, they're going it blind," growled Jim, as he strode about to get warm. And then, like a bolt from the sky, without an instant's warning, out of the chill white mist in front came a great round black ball, which dropped with a thud into the ground almost at Jack's feet. It lay there, hissing and spitting like a venomous devil gloating over its anticipated villainy, and Jim rushed at it with an unaccustomed oath of dismay. It was sheer instinct. He had no time for thought. The devilish thing was close to Jack, and Jack could not move. He got his right hand under it to hurl it down the slope. His feet slipped from under him as he heaved. Then with a splintering crash the thing burst. . . . And the Coil of Carne, cut by a stray British shell, lay shattered about the eastern slope of Sebastopol. CHAPTER LXVI PURGATORY Jim came to himself in purgatory. It seemed to him that he came slowly out of a dead black sleep into a horrible wakening dream. He was in a vast room, low-roofed, with massive arches which obstructed his view and lay like weights on his brain. Small, heavy windows let in a murky light. All about him were dismal groanings, and mutterings, and curses, and a most evil atmosphere, which turned his stomach. He tried to move, and was seized with grinding pains up his right side and arm and shoulder. He tried to grope back into the meaning of it all, and suddenly he remembered the shell. It must have burst and wounded him. His right hand shot suddenly with burning pangs. He wondered how Jack had fared. He could not remember whether he had succeeded in pitching it down the slope or not. He had done his best; but he remembered that the fuse was very short. . . . Was he really alive? . . . or was he dead, and this hell? . . . The groans and curses . . . that awful smell of blood and dead men! . . . He came to himself again, and it was all black about him--thick, heavy, chill darkness, full of groans and curses and the smell of blood and dead men. The heavy little windows came slowly out of the black void first, then the massive pillars, and after a long, long time he saw dim figures moving slowly about in the twilight. One passed close to him, and he wanted to call to him to ask him about Jack, but when he tried to speak he found he could not. Then two more men came and dragged away the bodies of the two who lay in the straw on each side of him. Their clothes rubbed his as they went. He had not thought about them because they had lain so quiet. The men came back with another man, who groaned as they laid him down, and then with another on the other side who groaned also, and Jim wished they had left him the quieter ones. It was a very long time before a surgeon came round to look at the new-comers, and Jim had had plenty of time to think as well as he was able to. If he lay there much longer he would die. He must get them to take him away. How? His dulled wits, roaming for possibilities, came on thought of the Grand Duke's doctor who had pulled Jack through. If he could get them to send for him. . . . Though why he should come was quite beyond him. . . . Still it was a chance. The surgeon took off his right-hand neighbour's leg where he lay, by the light of a lamp. The man gave a sudden gasp and a choke, the surgeon said "Ach!" and they carried the body away. He took off the left-hand man's arm and strapped it up. Jim with a mighty effort said, "Monsieur!" And the rumpled surgeon looked down at him and wiped his fingers on a piece of dirty rag. "I beg you," said Jim, and the surgeon bent down to him. "Well?" he said brusquely, for loads of broken men lay waiting for him, and he had cut and carved till his hands and arms were tired and his back stiff with bending. "I want . . . the Grand Duke's doctor," murmured Jim. "The deuce you do? Anything else?" And he was going. "The Grand Duke's own orders. . . He will tell you." And then he went out into the darkness again. But the feeble words had caused the surgeon to look more closely, and then to make inquiries, and when Jim came back to life he was in bed at Mme Greski's, and Tatia was sitting by the bedside. And to Jim it was like a sudden leap from hell to heaven. Tatia nodded cheerfully to him. "Where's Jack?" he asked in a whisper. "They've not found him yet. They're searching for him," said Tatia, after a moment's hesitation. "You're not to talk, or to think, or do anything but what I tell you. Drink this." And he drank, and fell asleep again. It was not until many days afterwards, when he had grown accustomed to the fact that he would have to go through life with one sleeve looped up to a button--though he still complained at times of pains in that hand--that Tatia gently broke the news to him that Jack was gone. The shell had killed him on the spot, had literally blown him to pieces. And she broke down at sight of his face; and when he turned it over to the pillow and sobbed silently, she crept quietly out of the room and left him to his sorrow. Jack gone! _Jack!_ He felt stupid and newly broken. Dear old Jack! . . . smashed by that cursed shell! A British shell, too, unless he was very much mistaken. That was hard lines, after coming through so much. Hard lines! Hard lines! He was very weak yet, and the tears welled out again and again, as he lay thinking dreamily of all the old times on the flats, and how close they had been to one another all through their lives. And Jack was gone . . . killed by a British shell! And he was so much the better man of the two. And now, if he himself lived, he would have to go home--some time--if this wretched war ever came to an end--and break all their hearts with the news. In his weakness and sorrow he wished that cursed shell had made an end of them both. It was early summer before he was about again, for the bursting shell had ripped open his side and shoulder, in addition to shattering his arm beyond repair, and had given a shock to his system from which it recovered but slowly. And still the siege dragged on. Early in June came the third bombardment. All the southern portion of the town had long been a heap of grass-grown ruins. Now, even the northern slopes became almost untenable. The theatre was shattered out of all knowledge; in every barricaded street the roadway was furrowed like a ploughed field by the shot and shell which came raining in, and these were collected each day and piled into pyramids ten feet high. Not a house but was damaged, many were in ruins; the vertical shells from the mortars came down like bolts from heaven and spread destruction where they fell. It was death to walk the streets, and no safer to stop indoors. Many crossed the harbour to the northern heights. The Greskis and Jim fitted up their cellars and lived there as in a bomb-proof. Greski himself had made but a slow recovery. The bullet-wound in his thigh took long to heal, and left him limping still and quite unfit for service--at which nis mother and Tatia rejoiced greatly, and he did not greatly repine. "As a soldier," he said, "I would shirk nothing; but all the same Russia is not my country, but my oppressor, and it makes a difference. For Poland I would die ten deaths. For Russia I grudge a finger." When the bombardment slackened again, he limped out on Jim's sound arm to gather news, and managed to keep a portentously long face as his fellows in the café told them of the taking of the Mamelon and Sapoune by the French, and the closing of the harbour road leading out to Inkerman. But alone with Jim and his own people, he let his feelings have play. "Now we're getting on a bit. I mean you are. The Mamelon is one of the keys to the door. I see the end in sight But your people are strangely, dilatory or overcareful. From what they were saying down there you could have got in more than once if you'd only come on." "I wish they had come on," said Jim heartily. "Maybe there are too many cooks at the pie." Ten days later came the fourth bombardment, and in the comparative safety of their cellars they heard the neighbours' houses crumbling and falling, and the upper part of their own came down with a crash which blanched the women's faces, till the ruins settled into position and left them still alive. Then one day, in an appalling cessation of the thunders to which their ears were accustomed, Jim and Greski, stealing out to the south slope, heard on the hill-side the solemn wail of the Dead March, and presently a great salute of unshotted guns, and learned later that Lord Raglan was dead, and, according to Greski, was succeeded by one Sampson, whom Jim failed to recognise under so large a name. Sebastopol was becoming one great hospital, one might almost say charnel-house, for the wounded were beyond their capacity for tending, and the dead lay for days in the streets unburied. And over it all the summer sun shone brightly, and flowers bloomed gaily among the shattered columns and fallen walls of houses which had once made this one of the fairest cities of the East. The siege lapsed again into dullness, in spite of Greski's prophecy. The thinned ranks behind the bastions were replenished from the northern camps. All day long the harbour was alive with the boats that brought them across. And the bastions themselves grew stronger and stronger, with the myriads of men working on them and the tons of shot rained into them from the outside. Working parties streamed up to the front all day long, carrying great stakes and poles for the abattis, and fascines and gabions for the ramparts, and in this work every English and French prisoner they had taken was employed. Jim found it refreshing to hear the hearty British oaths which rattled about such fatigue parties, and he generally hailed the speakers and got a hearty word in reply. "God bless you, sir, but this ain't no work for British sailormen, an' it does one a sight o' good to cuss 'em high an' low, even if they doesn't understand it." "Perhaps just as well," said Jim. "Can you use any money?" "Try me, sor! God bless your honour! This night I'll be as drunk as a lord, an' so will all me mates. 'Twill lighten the day an' the weight of these ---- stakes. ----- ----- all Rooshians! They don't know how to treat a sailorman." CHAPTER LXVII THE BEGINNING OF THE END And so, at last, we come to the end of that titanic struggle in the East--so far, that is, as we are directly concerned in it. It was in the first days of September, just twelve months after the Modern Armada sailed from Varna in hopes of settling matters out of hand, that the great bombardment opened; the earth shook and the heavens shuddered, and men grown used to the sound of big guns were amazed at the hideous uproar. Fifteen hundred of the heaviest guns in existence thundered back and forth in concert, and the hot hail of more than half of them rained ceaselessly on the stricken town. The sky was hidden by the smoke, and through the smoke, along with the bursting shells, shot flights of fiery rockets to add to the inferno inside. Within that fiery pale no soul ventured forth. Jim and Greski paced their gloomy quarters like restless animals--hopeful of the end, doubtful what it might entail. The women sat in corners in momentary expectation of death. All who could go had crossed the harbour to the safety of the northern heights. Greski, as the result of many discussions with Jim, had resolved to stay where he was and trust to luck and the Allies. For four days and nights the doomed city suffered that most awful scourging, and then there came a lull, and the taut-strung men in the cellar looked meaningly at one another. And presently they crept cautiously out into the sulphurous upper air, just as day was breaking. "It is ended," said Greski, for the low thick clouds of smoke rolling over the town were all aglow with the flames of burning buildings. Wherever they turned, fresh fires were bursting out. And as they stood looking, a mighty explosion shook the earth and half a dozen shattered houses near at hand came crashing into the street. Another tremendous explosion, and another and another. "It is all over," said Greski quietly again. "They are blowing up the bastions and burning the town. That, I know, was decided on long since, if it came to the point. Moscow over again." From where they were they could not see the explosions and they did not dare to venture far. But presently all the harbour was red with the blaze of burning ships, and they could see the new bridge of boats, leading across to the north side, black with crowds of hurrying fugitives. Then Fort Nicholas below them burst into flame, and the smoke from Fort Paul, just across from it, rolled along the roadstead. It was a most amazing scene, beyond description, almost beyond imagination. The firing had ceased with the blowing up of the bastions. Up on the heights the besiegers clustered thick as bees, watching with awe the results of their long and arduous labours. Below them a thin trickle of creeping looters was already making its way through the ruined suburbs into the burning city. Jim and Greski returned to their cellar; Jim to fig himself out in the remains of his uniform, Greski to collect such of the family valuables as could be easily carried; and then, with madame and Tatia on their arms, they set off, by devious ways which avoided burning and tottering buildings, crossed the black desolation of the southern suburbs, and came out on this side of the Quarantine Ravine, nearly opposite the cemetery. The looters, mostly red-trousered Zouaves, looked askant at Jim's uniform and slipped past quietly. All they wanted was plunder, and they feared to be stopped. How this young English Hussar officer had managed to get in so quickly puzzled them, but he had evidently got all he wanted. So--_allons, mes enfants!_ and let us lay hands on all we can, before the rest of our brave allies arrive! Jim knew his way as soon as they had been passed through the lower trenches, and made straight for his father's tent. The camps were almost empty. Everyone was down at the front staring at the burning town. Outside the well-known tent in the hollow, however, an orderly was hard at work scraping the mud off his master's overcoat. "Where is Colonel Carron?" asked Jim expectantly. But the man looked back at him stolidly and said, "I do not know, monsieur." "But this is his tent." "Monsieur is mistaken. This is the tent of M. the Colonel Gerome--if he is still alive, _man Dieu!_ He went into Malakoff yesterday and we have not seen him since." "And where is Colonel Carron, then?" "I do not know, monsieur. It is only three months since I came out. Is it all over, as they say?" "We have Sebastopol," said Jim, "or part of it." And he quickly pushed on along the road to French Head-quarters. A squadron of lancers came down the road at a fast trot, gleaming in the sun and jingling bravely. Their leader looked curiously at the odd little company, for ladies were refreshingly rare in camp. Then he suddenly drew rein and saluted, and Jim knew him. They had met many times in the tent in the hollow. "You, M. Carron? Why, we gave you up for dead long ago!" "Where is my father, du Bourg? I've been to his tent----" "_Mon Dieu!_--and you have not heard? I am sorry to have to tell it, but you would have to hear. Colonel Carron was killed six months ago, repulsing a sortie." And, as he saw Jim's face fall, he added: "If you have had no news for six months, _mon ami_, be prepared for the worst. You will find very few of your friends left. Where have you been?" "Prisoner inside since December." "_Mon Dieu!_ you've had hard luck! Weil, I must get on or our lively red-legs won't leave a stick in Sebastopol. We've been doing all we could to get in, and now my orders are to let no one in on any account. Adieu!" And they went off at a clanking gallop to make up for lost time. Jim set off again in gloomy spirits for British Head-quarters on the other side of the Balaclava road. Jack gone! His father gone! George Herapath and Ralph Harben gone. His little world seemed devastated. He wondered if any of the home folk were left. Gracie--Good God!--suppose Gracie were dead! And Charles Eager, and Sir Denzil! In six months anything might have happened to any or all of them. Tatia was the only fairly cheerful member of the party. To her it was like heaven to be out of that dreadful prison-house below. She had grown so used to the smell of gunpowder that the keen sweet air intoxicated her with delight. Her mother was very weary with the long walk; and as for Greski, his thigh was giving him pain, and the only thing he wanted now was to sit down and rest it. Except for the sentries and a few underlings, British Head-quarters was deserted like the rest of the camp. All the world was down at the front, watching the end of Sebastopol. So they sat on a bench in the sunshine, and waited for some one to turn up. The first to come was McLean, the young doctor with whom Jim had crossed to Constantinople on the _Carnbrea_. He was looking older, but well and cheerful. "Hello!" he cried, as soon as his eyes lighted on Jim. "It's good to set eyes on some one alive that one knew six months ago. Where have you been all this time? I see you've suffered too"--with a glance at the empty sleeve. "Been in Sebastopol for last nine months. Glad to get out." "About as glad as we are to get in. Going home, I suppose?" "Just as quick as I can. Come to report myself, but there's no one to report to." "All at the front, I suppose. It's a great day this. We're shipping off loads of sick men as fast as we can fit them for the voyage. Our old friend Jolly's in Balaclava Bay. He'd be delighted to take you, I know, if you can fix matters up quickly here." "Things any better than they used to be?" "Oh, we're all learning by experience. Even the red-tape isn't as red as it used to be; it's not much more than pink now. We've got everything we need for the sick, anyway, and that's something. By the way, there was a man here inquiring for you a short time ago--came out on purpose, I believe, and brought a shipload of just the things we were needing most." "Oh? Who was that?" "A lean-faced chap--a parson, and better than most. What was his name now?--Earnest--Eager? that was it--Charles Eager." "Eager? The dear old chap! Just like him! How long since?" "Oh, months--four or five at least. Here's the Chief!"--as a thin, quiet-looking man with a tired face rode up with a couple of aides, saluted the little party, and went inside. "Sick men first," said Jim; and McLean nodded, and went in. He was back again in five minutes. "Come down to me at Balaclava as soon as you're ready," he said, "and I'll help you on. I'll have a word with Jolly too." And he sped away. General Simpson greeted Jim, when at last he was admitted, with simple kindliness but evident preoccupation. His hands and mind were very full at the moment, and Jim's only desire was to get on towards home. All his requests were granted without hesitation, the necessary papers were promised him before night, and they set off again, first to the cavalry camp, whose location he had learned from one of the aides, and then to the railway which lay a little beyond. At the camp he came across his own orderly, who greeted him with a mixture of jovial delight at meeting again an openhanded friend and master, and of deferential awe at encountering one returned from the dead. "Quite thought you was dead, sir," said he, with a big shy smile. "I've been next door to it once or twice, Jones. Where's my horse?" "Ah, then! Dear knows, sir! The French gentleman took him to's own quarters an' I never set eyes on him since." "Ah! Anybody left here that I know? Denham?" "Lord Charles Denham, he died six, seven months ago the fever, sir." "Mr. Kingsnorth? "Invalided home in the winter, sir." "Captain Warren?" "Killed in the rifle-pits while he was potting the Russians. There's hardly anybody left that was here when you was here sir, 'cept some of us men. You going home, sir?" "As quick as I can, Jones. Here's a guinea for old times' sake. Good-bye!" And he went soberly on, feeling himself a stranger in a strange place and as one risen from the dead. They got a lift on the railway, and Jim hardly knew Balaclava, so little of the old was left--just as in the camp up above. But he tumbled up against Captain Jolly almost at once, and then his difficulties were over. "Take you?" cried the jovial master. "Take you all the way home if you like. My charter's up and I'm to get back as quick as the weather'll let me. Taking a cargo of broken pieces to Scutari, and then straight for Liverpool. Right! We'll find room for you all if we have to sleep in the bilge. Your servant, madam, and yours, miss! Glad to get away from all the noise and nastiness, I'll be bound. Come on board any time you like, Mr. Carron. Shipboard's a sight cleaner and more comfortable than any place you'll find ashore." And Jim felt happier than he had done for very many months back. CHAPTER LXVIII HOME AGAIN D. McLean snatched half an hour to say good-bye as they were weighing anchor. And among other things he happened to ask Jim: "Have you sent word home that you're coming? I don't believe in surprises." "No, I haven't. I'm only learning to write, you see." "Tell me what you want to say and I'll telegraph it from here." "Can you?" said Jim, with a look of surprise, for this too was all new since he went into captivity. "I wish you would. Just say 'Coming home--Jim,' and send it to Sir Denzil Carron, Carne, Sandshire." "Right! I'll see to it." And he duly saw to it, but in the mighty pressure on the wires, consequent on the great events of those latter days, the private dispatch got mislaid, or was lost on the road--somewhere under the Black Sea, maybe, or in the wilds of Turkey; anyway, it never reached its destination. And so it came about that Jim, satisfied that they knew of his coming, walked up to the door of Mrs. Jex's cottage, three weeks later, and found it occupied by young John Braddle, the carpenter's son, and his newly married wife. "My gosh!" said young John at sight of him. "But yo' did give me a turn, Mester Jim! An' yo've lost an arm! Was that i' th' big charge?" "No; I left it inside Sebastopol, John. But where's everybody? Mr. Eager and----" "They're all up at Vicarage, Mester Jim. He's vicar now, and Mrs. Jex she keeps house for him. An' so Molly and me----" But Jim was off, with a wave of the workable arm. He had not come home to hear about John and Molly Braddle. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Eager had just got back from their honeymoon. Mrs. Jex had been in residence for a month past, getting things into shape for them, with Gracie's very active assistance. And--"Bless her 'art! She couldn' do no more if 'twas her own house she was a-fittin' up. And may I live to see that day!" said Mrs. Jex with fervour. Gracie had been living at Knoyle, for the comfort and consolation of Sir George, who found his great house very lonely, and talked of selling it and coming to live with them at the cosy old ivy-covered Vicarage. They were all sitting round the dinner-table still; Meg--Mrs. Charles--and Gracie cracking a surreptitious walnut now and again, Sir George sipping his own excellent port, and smoking one of his own extra-specials with a relish he had not experienced for months past; while the Rev. Charles--the vicar, if you please--recalled some of the delightful humours of their travel. For never since the world began had there been a month so packed with wonder and delight. The drift-logs on the hearth crackled and spurted, and the many-coloured flames laughed merrily at their own reflections in the Jex-polished mahogany and old walnut panelling. And Rosa, the little maid, had tapped three times on the door and peeped in, and gone back to Mrs. Jex with word that he was a-talking and a-talking as if he'd go on all night, and they all looked so happy that she hadn't the heart to disturb them. To which Mrs. Jex had replied, "All the same, my gel, we've got to wash up, and so we'll begin on these." "I'm so glad," said Gracie, during a brief pause, and she knitted her fingers in front of her on the table and gazed happily on them all. "You two make me happy just to look at you----" "Then is the object of our wedding attained," said Charles, with a smile and a bow. "Almost quite happy," continued the Little Lady. "If only the boys were here, now----" "We ought to hear something soon," said Sir George. "I was hoping the dispatches might bring some news of them. You don't suppose the Russians would carry them across with them?" "I wouldn't like to say what the Russians might or might not do," said Eager thoughtfully. "They're a queer lot, from all accounts. I didn't tell you we called on Lord Deseret as we came through London. He was very friendly and as nice as could be. Among other things he told us that, as the result of all his inquiries, he learned from St. Petersburg that the boys were being kept in Sebastopol of set purpose." "That's odd! Why?" asked Sir George. "For the still odder reason, as it was reported to him, that they were safer inside than outside." "And who was it was playing Providence to them like that?" "He could only surmise, but I am not at all sure that he told us all he knew. He is an old diplomat, you know." "And to whom did his surmises point?" "I gathered it was towards Mme Beteta, the Spanish dancer. You remember she made something of a furore in London when she was over here." "But what on earth has she got to do with our boys?" asked Gracie, kindling. "She seemed to take a fancy to them. You remember how Jim used to write about her." "But how could a woman such as that exercise any influence in such a matter?" asked Sir George. "Ah!----" Then there came a knock on the front door, and they heard Rosa trip along to answer it. And the next moment Rosa's white face appeared at the dining-room door, and Rosa's pale lips gasped: "Oh mum, miss, 't's 'is ghost--Master Jim!" And Jim pushed past her into the room, and they all sprang up to meet him. Gracie was nearest, and she just flung her arms round his neck crying, "Oh Jim! _Jim!_"; And he put his left arm round her and kissed her, and put her back into her chair. It was many minutes before they could settle to rational talk, for Mrs. Jex must come hurrying in, and Jim kissed her too, and seemed inclined to go round the whole company. But then they came to soberness with the inevitable question: "And Jack?" And an expressive gesture of Jim's left hand prepared them for the worst. "The shell that took this," he said, glancing down at his empty sleeve, "took Jack too. I did my best"--and he looked anxiously at Gracie and Eager--"I tried to fling it away, but it burst, and--and-- that was the end. It was days before I knew." By degrees he told them all the story; and saddened as they were by the loss of one, they could not but soberly rejoice that one at all events had been spared to them. He told them of the Greskis and all their kindnesses, and how he had brought them hone with him, since Greski was set on ending his servitude with Russia, and now it would be supposed that they had perished in the bombardment, and so no consequences could be visited on their friends in Poland because of his desertion. He had settled them for the time being in a quiet hotel in Liverpool, and later on they would decide further as to their future. Eager had been very thoughtful while Jim talked. Now he said: "Do you feel able to come along with me to Caine, my boy? Mrs. Jex was telling me that old Mrs. Lee is lying at the point of death. It is just possible--But I don't know," he said musingly, with a tumult of thoughts behind his fixed gaze at Jim "It does not matter now. . . . Still, I imagine your grandfather. . . . Yes, I think we must go." "I'm ready," said Jim, and they two set off at once for Carne, and the others gathered round the fire and talked by snatches of it all, and Gracie mopped her eyes at thought of all those two boys had suffered, and of Jack, and of Jim's poor arm--and everything. "He has become a very fine man," said Sir George. "A man to be proud of, my dear." And Meg kissed her warmly and whispered, "Make him happy, dear!" CHAPTER LXIX "THE RIGHT ONE" A woman from the village opened the door, and stared at Eager and Jim in vast surprise. "How is Mrs. Lee to-night, Mrs. Kenyon?" asked Eager. "'Oo's varry low. 'Oo just lies an' nivver spakes a word." "Well now"--very emphatically--"I want you not to go in, or speak to her, till we come down again. You understand?" "I understand, and I dunnot want to spake to her." They went quietly along the stone passage, past the door of the room where the sick woman lay, and tapped on the door of Sir Denzil's apartments. Kennet opened it with a wide stare, and they went in. Sir Denzil was lingering over his dinner. "So you've got home, Mr. Eager----" he lifted his glass of wine to his health. Then catching sight of Jim behind--"Ah, Jim, my boy, so you've come home at last!" "All that's left of me, sir." "Ah--I see. Well, well! Better half a loaf than no bread." And he stood up and got out his snuff-box, tapped it into good order inside, and extracted a pinch. "I've been expecting you ever since we got news of the fall of Sebastopol. And Jack----? "Jack is dead, sir." "So!" And the grizzled brows went up in inquiry for more. "He was killed by the same shell that took my arm. Why it did not take us both I do not know." "Dear, dear! The ways of Providence are past our finding out. Let us accept her gifts without questioning. I am delighted to see you, my dear boy--delighted. Now that we have got you safe home we must make the most of you." And for the first time in his life Eager got glimpse of a Sir Denzil he had never known before, and could hardly have imagined, had it not been his custom to credit every man with more possibilities of grace than outside appearances might seem to warrant. "And now," continued Sir Denzil, with anxious warmth, "I hope you've had enough of war, and are ready to settle down here and make the most of what is left to you." "It has been a trying time, sir. I shall be glad of a rest." But Sir Denzil was gazing at him with something of the fixity of Charles Eager's look before they left the Rectory. He took a thoughtful pinch of snuff, with a sudden relapse into his old manner. Then he nodded his head slowly several times, and said, "No . . . I think not . . . No need--now. . . ." And he looked across at Eager and said: "It occurred to me that if he went down and saw that old woman . . . but it is not necessary now. Nothing she could say----" "I would like to see her, by your leave, sir," said Jim. "After all, she was good to us boys, in her own way, you know." "Very well," said Sir Denzil, after a moment's hesitation, as though he shrunk from subjecting his new-found satisfaction to any test whatever. "Only--remember! Her whole life has been a lie, and we cannot trust a word she says." And they went downstairs, and along the stone passage, to the side-room in which Nance Lee's baby had slept his first sleep at Carne, that black night one-and-twenty years before. "Yon other woman will have told her," said Sir Denzil, stopping short of the door as the thought struck him. "No; I told her not to," said Eager. "Ah!"--with a quick look at him--"then you had the same idea." And they went quietly in. Mrs. Lee was lying motionless on her back, and her thin gray face in its frilled white nightcap looked so set and rigid that at first they thought her dead. Sir Denzil nodded to Eager to speak to her, and stepped back out of sight. "Mrs. Lee," said Eager, bending over her, "here is one of our boys come back from death. He wished to see you." The dim old eyes opened and stared wildly at them all for a moment, then settled on Jim in a long, thin, piercing gaze. "Don't you know me, Mrs. Lee?" he asked. "Ay--shore! . . . Yo're----" and she struggled up to her bony elbow to look closer, and caught a glimpse of Sir Denzil behind--"yo're Jack!" and fell back on to her pillow. They thought she was gone; but she suddenly opened her eyes again and laughed a thin, shrill little laugh, and said: "So t'reet un's come back, after aw!" And then her meagre body straightened itself in the bed, and she lay still. "I knew we'd get nothing out of her," said Sir Denzil, when they had got back to his room. "But whatever she said would have made no difference. You are Carron of Caine, my boy; and, thanks to our friend here, Carne will have a better master than it has had for many a day." CHAPTER LXX ALL'S WELL! "Gracie, dear!" said Jim, "will you make me the happiest man in all the world? I've hungered and thirsted for you all these months, and I believe old Jack would wish it so if he knew." "Oh, Jim"--and she put up her arms and drew down his head, and kissed him with a little sob--"if you had both come back, it would have killed me to part you; but truly, truly, my love, I love you with all my heart." "God bless you, dear! I will do my best to make you happy." "I'm as happy as I can be, Jim; but perhaps if you gave me another kiss----" So that great matter settled itself in the great settlement, an there is little more to tell. Sir George insisted on the Greskis coming out to Knoyle for a time, until he should find some suitable opening for Louis. Nothing was too good for such friends-in-need [t?] their recovered Jim, and they all delighted in Mme Greski's fine foreign manners and the lively Tatia's exuberant joy after their deliverance from Russia. Lord Deseret came down from London to the wedding, and brought with him two magnificent presents--diamonds from himself, which must have represented an unusually good night's winnings at the green board, and a wonderful rope of pearls from Mme Beteta, at which Gracie was inclined at first to look askance, though her eyes could not help shining at sight of them. "You may take them without any qualms, my dear," said Lord Deseret. "It is possible that you owe your husband to madame"--and he may have added, to himself, "in more senses than one." "Why? How is that?" asked Gracie quickly. "Madame is now the morganatic wife of one of the Russian Grand Dukes, and I have every reason to believe that it was due to urgent representations on her part, some time before she consented to marry him, that our two boys were not allowed out of Sebastopol. She thought they would be safer inside, and I have no doubt she was right. The chance inside were about ten to one in their favour, I should say." "Then, indeed, I thank her," said Gracie heartily; "though old Jim does look so glum at having been cotton-woolled like that. But I don't quite understand why the lady put herself about so much on their account." And that was one of the things she never did understand. Lord Deseret waived the question lightly with: "Woman's whims are past all understanding, my dear. Perhaps she fell in love with Jim, as the rest of us did." "Why, she was old enough to be his mother," said Gracie, with little idea how near she may have come to the truth. "You understand, I suppose?" he said to Jim that night, as they sat smoking together. And Jim nodded soberly. "When did she marry?" he asked presently. "Last March. Your father was kilted in January." "And Kattie is still with her?" "Still with her, and going to make as fine a dancer as she is pretty a girl. You did well for her when you placed her in the Beteta's hands, my boy." "Poor little Kattie!" said Jim. "I'm glad she came to me that night." And here this chronicle may end. The more one ponders this strange and complex coil of life, with its broken hopes and unexplained mysteries, its short-cut strands and long-spun ropes, the more one draws to simple hope and trust in the Higher Powers. The knots and tangles twisted by man's ill doing defy at times all human efforts at their straightening. In face of such, the utmost that a man may do is to bear himself bravely, to do his duty to God and his neighbour, and leave the issue in the hands of a higher understanding than his own. PRINTED BY HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD., LONDON AND AYLESBURY. 
53874	----	Google Books (Cornell University Library) Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: Google Books https://books.google.com/books?id=bZ4xAQAAMAAJ (Cornell University Library) UNDER THE RED DRAGON. A Novel. By JAMES GRANT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "ONLY AN ENSIGN," ETC. LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET. 1873. CONTENTS. CHAP. I. THE INVITATION. II. THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE. III. BY EXPRESS. IV. WINNY AND DORA LLOYD. V. CRAIGADERYN COURT. VI. THREE GRACES. VII. PIQUE. VIII. SUNDAY AT CRAIGADERYN. IX. THE INITIALS. X. A PERILOUS RAMBLE. XI. THE FETE CHAMPETRE. XII. ON THE CLIFFS. XIII. A PROPOSAL. XIV. THE UNFORESEEN. XV. WHAT THE MOON SAW. XVI. THE SECRET ENGAGEMENT. XVII. WHAT FOLLOWED IT. XVIII. GUILFOYLE. XIX. TWO LOVES FOR ONE HEART. XX. FEARS. XXI. GEORGETTE FRANKLIN. XXII. GEORGETTE FRANKLIN'S STORY. XXIII. TURNING THE TABLES. XXIV. BITTER THOUGHTS. XXV. SURPRISES. XXVI. WITHOUT PURCHASE. XXVII. RECONCILIATION. XVIII. ON BOARD THE URGENT. XXIX. "ICH DIEN." XXX. NEWS OF BATTLE. XXXI. UNDER CANVAS. XXXII. IN THE TRENCHES. XXXIII. THE FLAG OF TRUCE. XXXIV. GUILFOYLE REDIVIVUS. XXXV. THE NIGHT BEFORE INKERMANN. XXXVI. THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. XXXVII. THE ANGEL OF HORROR. XXXVIII. THE CAMP AGAIN. XXXIX. A MAIL FROM ENGLAND. XL. A PERILOUS DUTY. XLI. THE CARAVANSERAI. XLII. THE TCHERNIMORSKI COSSACKS. XLIII. WINIFRED'S SECRET. XLIV. THE CASTLE OF YALTA. XLV. EVIL TIDINGS. XLVI. DELILAH. XLVII. VALERIE VOLHONSKI. XLVIII. THE THREATS OF TOLSTOFF. XLIX. BETROTHED. L. CAUGHT AT LAST. LI. FLIGHT. LII. BEFORE SEBASTOPOL STILL. LIII. NEWS FROM CRAIGADERYN. LIV. THE ASSAULT. LV. INSIDE THE REDAN. LVI. A SUNDAY MORNING IN THE CRIMEA. LVII. IN THE MONASTERY OF ST. GEORGE. LVIII. HOME. LIX. "A DREAM WHICH WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." LX. A HONEYMOON. LXI. "FOR VALOUR." UNDER THE RED DRAGON. CHAPTER I.--THE INVITATION. "And _she_ is to be there--nay, is there already; so one more chance is given me to meet her. But for what?--to part again silently, and more helplessly bewitched than ever, perhaps. Ah, never will she learn to love me as I love her!" thought I, as I turned over my old friend's letter, not venturing, however, to give utterance to this aloud, as the quizzical eyes of Phil Caradoc were upon me. "A penny for your thoughts, friend Harry?" said he, laughing; "try another cigar, and rouse yourself. What the deuce is in this letter, that it affects you so? Have you put a pot of money on the wrong horse?" "Been jilted, had a bill returned, or what?" suggested Gwynne. "Neither, fortunately," said I; "it is simply an invitation from Sir Madoc Lloyd, which rather perplexes me." At this time our regiment was then in the East, awaiting with the rest of the army some movement to be made from Varna, either towards Bessarabia or the Crimea--men's minds were undecided as to which, while her Majesty's Ministers seemed to have no thought on the subject. Our depôt belonged to the provisional battalion at Winchester, where Caradoc, Gwynne, two other subalterns, and I, with some two hundred rank and file, expected ere long the fiat of the fates who reign at the Horse Guards to send us forth to win our laurels from the Russians, or, what seemed more probable, a grave where the pest was then decimating our hapless army, in the beautiful but perilous vale of Aladdyn, on the coast of Bulgaria. We had just adjourned from mess, to have a quiet cheroot and glass of brandy-and-water in my quarters, when I received from my man, Owen Evans, the letter the contents of which awakened so many new hopes and tantalising wishes in my heart, and on which so much of my fate in the future might hinge. The bare, half-empty, or but partially-furnished single room accorded by the barrack authorities to me as a subaltern, in that huge square edifice built of old by Charles II. for a royal residence, seemed by its aspect but little calculated to flatter the brilliant hopes in question. Though ample in size, it was far from regal in its appurtenances--the barrack furniture, a camp-bed, my baggage trunks piled in one corner, swords and a gun-case in another, books, empty bottles, cigar-boxes, and a few pairs of boots ostentatiously displayed in a row by Evans, making up its entire garniture, and by very contrast in its meagreness compelling me to smile sadly at myself for the ambitious ideas the letter of my old friend had suggested; and thus, for a minute or so ignoring, or rather oblivious of, the presence of my two companions, my eye wandered dreamily over the far-extended mass of old brick houses and the gray church towers of the city, all visible from the open window, and then steeped in the silver haze of the moonlight. Sipping their brandy-and-water, each with a lighted cheroot between his fingers, their shell-jackets open, and their feet unceremoniously planted on a hard wooden chair, while they lounged back upon another, were Phil Caradoc and Charley Gwynne. The first a good specimen of a handsome, curly-haired, and heedless young Englishman, who shot, fished, hunted, pulled a steady oar, and could keep his wicket against any man, while shining without effort in almost every manly sport, was moreover a finished gentleman and thorough good fellow. Less fashionable in appearance and less dashing in manner, though by no means less soldier-like, Gwynne was his senior by some ten years. He was more grave and thoughtful, for he had seen more of the service and more of the world. Already a gray hair or so had begun to mingle with the blackness of his heavy moustache, and the lines of thought were traceable on his forehead and about the corners of his keen dark-gray eyes; for he was a hard-working officer, who had been promoted from the ranks when the regiment lay at Barbadoes, and was every inch a soldier. And now they sat opposite me, waiting, with a half-comical expression, for farther information as to their queries; and though we were great friends, and usually had few secrets from each other, I began to find that I had _one_ now, and that a little reticence was necessary. "You know Sir Madoc's place in North Wales?" said I. "Of course," replied Caradoc; "there are few of ours who don't. Half the regiment have been there as visitors at one time or other." "Well, he wishes me to get leave between returns--for even longer if I can--and run down there for a few weeks. 'Come early, if possible,' he adds; 'the girls insist on having an outdoor fête, and a lot of nice folks are coming. Winny has arranged that we shall have a regimental band--the Yeomanry one too, probably; then we are to have a Welsh harper, of course, and an itinerant Merlin in the grotto, to tell every one's fortune, and to predict your promotion and the C.B., if the seer remains sober. While I write, little Dora is drawing up a programme of the dances, and marking off, she says, those which she means to have with _you_.'" Here I paused; but seeing they expected to hear more, for the writer was a friend of us all, I read on coolly, and with an air of as much unconsciousness as I could assume: "Lady Estelle Cressingham is with us--by the way, she seems to know you, and would, I think, like to see more of you. She is a very fine girl, though not pure Welsh; but that she cannot help--it is her misfortune, not her fault. We have also a fellow here, though I don't quite know how he got introduced--Hawkesby Guilfoyle, who met her abroad at Ems, or Baden-Baden, or one of those places where one meets everybody, and he seems uncommonly attentive--so much so, that I wonder her mother permits it; but he seems to have some special power or influence over the old lady, though his name is not as yet, or ever likely to be, chronicled by Burke or Debrett. In lieu of the goat which your regiment lost in Barbadoes, Winifred has a beautiful pet one, a magnificent animal, which she means to present to the Welsh Fusileers. Tell them so. And now, for yourself, I will take no refusal, and Winny and Dora will take none either; so pack your traps, and come off so soon as you can get leave. You need not, unless you choose, bring horses; we have plenty of cavalry here. Hope you will be able to stay till the 12th, and have a shot at the grouse. Meanwhile, believe me, my dear Hardinge, yours, &c., Madoc Meredyth Lloyd.'" "Kindly written, and so like the jolly style of the old Baronet," said Gwynne. "I have ridden with him once or twice in the hunting-field--on a borrowed mount, of course," added poor Charley; who had only his pay, and, being an enthusiast in his profession, was no lounger in the service. "But what is there in all this that perplexes you?" asked Caradoc, who, I suppose, had been attentively observing me. As he spoke, I coloured visibly, feeling the while that I did so. "The difficulty about leave, perhaps," I stammered. "You'll go, of course," said Caradoc. "His place--Craigaderyn Court--is one of the finest in North Wales; his daughters are indeed charming; and you are certain to meet only people of the best style there." "Yet he seems to doubt this--what is his name?--Guilfoyle, however," said I. "What of that? One swallow--you know the adage. I should go, if I had the invitation. His eldest daughter has, I have heard, in her own right, no end of coal-mines somewhere, and many grassy acres of dairy farms in the happy hunting-grounds of the midland counties." "By Jove," murmured Gwynne, as he lit a fresh cigar; "she should be the girl for me." "But I have another inducement than even the fair Winny," said I. "Oho! Lady--" "Sir Madoc," said I hastily, "is an old friend of my family, and having known me from infancy, he almost views me as a son. Don't mistake me," I added, reddening with positive annoyance at the hearty laugh my admission elicited; "Miss Lloyd and I are old friends too, and know each other a deuced deal too well to tempt the perils of matrimony together. We have no draughts ready for the East, nor will there be yet awhile; even our last recruits are not quite licked into shape." "No," sighed Gwynne, who had a special charge of the said "licking into shape." "And so, as the spring drills are over, I shall try my luck with old R----." The person thus bluntly spoken of was the lieutenant-colonel of the depôt battalion--one who kept a pretty tight hand over us all in general, and the subalterns in particular. "Stay," I exclaimed suddenly; "here is a postscript. 'Bring Caradoc of yours with you, and Gwynne, too, if you can. Winny has mastered the duet the former sent her, and is anxious to try it over with him." "Caradoc will only be too happy, if the genius who presides over us in the orderly-room is propitious," said Phil, colouring and laughing. "Thank Sir Madoc for me, old fellow," said Gwynne, half sadly. "Tell him that the Fates have made me musketry instructor, and that daily I have that 'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to _shoot_'-- to set up Taffy and Giles Chawbacon in the Hythe position, and drill them to fire without closing both eyes and blazing in the air." "'In the lawn,' adds Sir Madoc, 'we are to have everything--from waltzing to croquet (which, being an old fellow, and being above insteps and all that sort of thing, I think the slowest game known), and from cliquot and sparkling hock to bottled stout and bitter beer--unlimited flirtation too, according to that wag, Dora.'" "A tempting bill of fare, especially with two such hostesses," said Gwynne; "but for me to quit Winchester is impossible. Even the stale dodge of 'urgent private affairs' won't serve me. Such droll ideas of the service old Sir Madoc must have, to think that three of us could leave the depôt, and all at once too!" "I shall try my luck, however." "And I too," rejoined Caradoc. "I am entitled to leave. Price of ours will take my guards for me. Wales will be glorious in this hot month. I _did_ all the dear old Principality last year--went over every foot of Snowdonia, leaving nothing undone, from singing 'Jenny Jones' to dancing a Welsh jig at a harvest-home." "But you didn't go over Snowdonia with such a girl as Winifred Lloyd?" "No, certainly," said he, laughing, and almost reddening again. "Nature, even in my native Wales, must be more charming under such bright auspices and happy influence. So Wales be it, if possible. London, of course, is empty just now, and all who can get out of it will be yachting at Cowes, shooting in Scotland, fishing in Norway, backing the red at Baden-Baden, climbing the Matterhorn, or, it may be, the Peter Botte; killing buffaloes in America, or voyaging up the Nile in canoes. Rotten-row will be a desert, the opera a place of silence and cobwebs; and the irresistible desire to go somewhere and be doing something, no matter what, which inspires all young Britons about this time, renders Sir Madoc's invitation most tempting and acceptable." "Till the route comes for the East," said I. "Potting the Ruskies, and turning my musketry theory into practice, are likely to be my chief relaxations and excitement," said Gwynne, with a good-natured laugh, as he applied his hand to the brandy bottle. "At present I have other work in hand than flirting with countesses, or visiting heiresses. But I envy you both, and heartily wish you all pleasure," he added, as he shook hands and left us early, as he had several squads to put through that most monotonous of all drill (shot drill perhaps excepted)--a course of musketry--betimes in the morning. We knew that Gwynne, who was a tall, thin, close-flanked, and square shouldered, but soldier-like fellow, had nothing but his pay; and having a mother to support, he was fain to slave as a musketry instructor, the five shillings extra daily being a great pecuniary object to him. He was very modest withal, and feared that, nathless his red coat and stalwart figure, his chances of an heiress, even in Cottonopolis, were somewhat slender. CHAPTER II.--THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE. Philip Caradoc, perceiving that I was somewhat dull and disposed to indulge in reverie, soon retired also, and we separated, intending to mature our plans after morning parade next day, as I knew that secretly Caradoc was very much attached to Winifred Lloyd, though that young lady by no means reciprocated his affection. But I, seized by an irresistible impulse, could not wait for our appointed time; so, the moment he was gone, I opened my desk, wrote my application for leave, and desiring Evans to take it to the orderly-room among his first duties on the morrow, threw open a second window to admit the soft breeze of the summer night, lit another cigar, and sat down to indulge in the train of thought Sir Madoc's unexpected letter had awakened within my breast. Yet I was not much given to reflection--far from it, perhaps; and it is lucky for soldiers that they rarely indulge much in thought, or that the system of their life is apt to preclude time or opportunity for it. I had come home on a year's sick-leave from the West Indies, where the baleful night-dews, and a fever caught in the rainy season, had nearly finished my career while stationed at Up Park Camp; and now, through the friendly interest of Sir Madoc, I had been gazetted to the Welsh Fusileers, as I preferred the chances of the coming war and military service in any part of Europe to broiling uselessly in the land of the Maroons. Our army was in the East, I have said, encamped in the vale of Aladdyn, between Varna and the sea. There camp-fever and the terrible cholera were filling fast with graves the grassy plain and all the Valley of the Plague, as the Bulgarians so aptly named it; and though I was not sorry to escape the perils encountered where no honour could be won, I was pretty weary of the daily round at Winchester, of barrack life, of in-lying pickets, guards, parades, and drill. I had been seven years in the service, and deemed myself somewhat of a veteran, though only five-and-twenty. I was weary too of belonging to a provisional battalion, wherein, beyond the narrow circle of one's own depôt, no two men have the slightest interest in each other, or seem to care if they ever meet again, the whole organisation being temporary, and where the duties of such a battalion--it being, in effect, a strict military school for training recruits--are harassing to the newly-fledged, and a dreadful bore to the fully-initiated, soldier. So, till the time came when the order would be, "Eastward, ho!" Sir Madoc had opportunely offered me a little relaxation and escape from all this; and though he knew it not, his letter might be perhaps the means of doing much more--of opening up a path to happiness and fortune, or leaving one closed for ever behind me in sorrow, mortification, and bitterness of heart. Good old Sir Madoc (or, as he loved to call himself, Madoc ap Meredyth Lloyd) had in his youth been an unsuccessful lover of my mother, then the pretty Mary Vassal, a belle in her second season; and now, though she had long since passed away, he had a strong regard for me. For her sake he had a deep and kindly interest in my welfare; and as he had no son (no heir to his baronetcy, with all its old traditional honours,) he quite regarded me in the light of one; and having two daughters, desired nothing more than that I should cut the service and become one in reality. So many an act of friendship and many a piece of stamped paper he had done for me, when in the first years of my career, I got into scrapes with rogues upon the turf, at billiards, and with those curses of all barracks, the children of Judea. Had I seen where my own good fortune really lay, I should have fallen readily into the snare so temptingly baited for me, a half-pennyless sub.; for Winifred Lloyd was a girl among a thousand, so far as brilliant attractions go, and, moreover, was not indisposed to view me favourably (at least, so my vanity taught me). But this world is full of cross purposes; people are too often blind to their profit and advantage, and, as Jaques has it, "thereby hangs a tale." All the attractions of bright-eyed Winny Lloyd, personal and pecuniary, were at that time as nothing to me. I had casually, when idling in London, been introduced to, and had met at several places, this identical Lady Cressingham, whom my friend had mentioned so incidentally and in such an offhand way in his letter; and that sentence it was which brought the blood to my temples and quickened all the pulses of my heart. She was very beautiful--as the reader will find when we meet her by-and-by--and I had soon learned to love her, but without quite venturing to say so; to love her as much as it was possible for one without hope of ultimate success, and so circumstanced as I was--a poor gentleman, with little more in the world save my sword and epaulettes. Doubtless she had seen and read the emotion with which she had inspired me, for women have keen perceptions in such matters; and though it seems as if it was on her very smile that the mainspring of my existence turned, the whole affair might be but a source of quiet amusement, of curiosity, or gratified vanity to her. Yet, by every opportunity that the chances and artificial system of society in town afforded, I had evinced this passion, the boldness of which my secret heart confessed. Her portrait, a stately full-length, was in the Academy, and how often had I gazed at it, till in fancy the limner's work seemed to become instinct with life! Traced on the canvas by no unskilful hand, it seemed to express a somewhat haughty consciousness of her own brilliant beauty, and somehow I fancied a deuced deal more of her own exalted _position_, as the only daughter of a deceased but wealthy peer, and as if she rather disdained alike the criticism and the admiration of the crowd of middle-class folks who thronged the Academy halls. Visions of her--as I had seen her in the Countess's curtained box at the opera, her rare and high-class beauty enhanced by all the accessories of fashion and costume, by brilliance of light and the subtle flash of many a gem amid her hair; when galloping along the Row on her beautiful satin-skinned bay; or while driving after in the Park, with all those appliances and surroundings that wealth and rank confer--came floating before me, with the memory of words half-uttered, and glances responded to when eye met eye, and told so much more than the tongue might venture to utter. Was it mere vanity, or reality, that made me think her smile _had_ brightened when she met me, or that when I rode by her side she preferred me to the many others who daily pressed forward to greet her amid that wonderful place, the Row? Her rank, and the fact that she was an heiress, had no real weight with me; nor did these fortuitous circumstances enhance her merit in my eyes, though they certainly added to the difficulty of winning her. Was it possible that the days of disinterested and romantic love, like those of chivalry, were indeed past--gone with the days when "It was a clerk's son, of low degree, Loved the king's daughter of Hongarie?" With the love that struggled against humble fortune in my heart, I had that keenly sensitive pride which is based on proper self-respect. Hope I seemed to have none. What hope could I, Harry Hardinge, a mere subaltern, with little more than seven-and-sixpence per diem, have of obtaining such a wife as Lady Estelle Cressingham, and, more than all, of winning the good wishes of her over-awing mamma? Though "love will venture in when it daurna weel be seen," I could neither be hanged nor reduced to the ranks for my presumption, like the luckless Captain Ogilvie; who, according to the Scottish ballad, loved the Duke of Gordon's bonnie daughter Jean. Yet defeat and rejection might cover me with certain ridicule, leaving the stings of wounded self-esteem to rankle all the deeper, by thrusting the partial disparity of our relative positions in society more unpleasantly and humiliatingly before me and the world; for there is a snobbery in rank that is only equalled by the snobbery of wealth, and here I might have both to encounter. And so, as I brooded over these things, some very levelling and rather democratic, if not entirely Communal, ideas began to occur to me. And yet, for the Countess and those who set store upon such empty facts, I could have proved my descent from Nicholas Hardinge, knight, of King's Newton, in Derbyshire; who in the time of Henry VII. held his lands by the homely and most sanitary tenure of furnishing clean straw for his Majesty's bed when he and his queen, Elizabeth of York, passed that way, together with fresh rushes from the margin of the Trent wherewith to strew the floor of the royal apartment. But this would seem as yesterday to the fair Estelle, who boasted of an ancestor, one Sir Hugh Cressingham, who, as history tells us, was defeated and _flayed_ by the Scots after the battle of Stirling; while old Sir Madoc Lloyd, who doubtless traced himself up to Noah ap Lamech, would have laughed both pedigrees to scorn. Leaving London, I had striven to stifle as simply absurd the passion that had grown within me, and had joined at Winchester in the honest and earnest hope that ere long the coming campaign would teach me to forget the fair face and witching eyes, and, more than all, the winning manner that haunted me; and now I was to be cast within their magic influence once more, and doubtless to be hopelessly lost. To have acted wisely, I should have declined the invitation and pleaded military duty; yet to see her once, to be with her once again, without that cordon of guardsmen and cavaliers who daily formed her mounted escort in Rotten-row, and with all the chances our quiet mutual residence in a sequestered country mansion, when backed by all the influence and friendship of Sir Madoc, must afford me, proved a temptation too strong for resistance or for my philosophy; so, like the poor moth, infatuated and self-doomed, I resolved once more to rush at the light which dazzled me. "She seems to know you, _and would like to see more of you_," ran the letter of Sir Madoc. I read that line over and over again, studying it minutely in every way. Were those dozen words simply the embodiment of his own ideas, or were they her personally expressed wish put literally into writing? Were they but the reflex of some casual remark? Even that conviction would bring me happiness. And so, after my friends left me, I sat pondering thus, blowing long rings of concentric smoke in the moonlight; and on those words of Sir Madoc raising not only a vast and aerial castle, but a "bower of bliss," as the pantomimes have it at Christmas time. But how about this Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle? was my next thought. Could _his_ attentions be tolerated by such a stately and watchful dowager as the Countess of Naseby? Could Sir Madoc actually hint that such as he might have a chance of success, when I had none? The idea was too ridiculous; for I had heard whispers of this man before, in London and about the clubs, where he was generally deemed to be a species of adventurer, the exact source of whose revenue no one knew. One fact was pretty certain: he was unpleasantly successful at billiards and on the turf. If he--to use his own phraseology--was daring enough to enter stakes for such a prize as Lord Cressingham's daughter, why should not I? Thus, in reverie of a somewhat chequered kind, I lingered on, while the shadows of the cathedral, its lofty tower and choir, the spire of St. Lawrence, and many other bold features of the view began to deepen or become more uncertain on the city roofs below, and from amid which their masses stood upward in a flood of silver sheen. Ere long the full-orbed moon--that seemed to float in beauty beneath its snow-white clouds, looking calmly down on Winchester, even as she had done ages ago, ere London was a capital, and when the white city was the seat of England's Saxon, Danish, and Norman dynasties, of Alfred's triumphs and Canute's glories--began at last to pale and wane; and the solemn silence of the morning--for dewy morning it was now--was broken only by the chime of the city bells and clocks, and by the tread of feet in the gravelled barrack-yard, as the reliefs went round, and the sentinels were changed. The first red streak of dawn was beginning to steal across the east; the bugles were pealing reveilles, waking all the hitherto silent echoes of the square; and just about the time when worthy and unambitious Charley Gwynne would be parading his first squad for "aiming drill" at sundry bull's-eyes painted on the barrack-walls, I retired to dream over a possible future, and to hope that if the stars were propitious, at the altar of that somewhat dingy fane, St. George's, Hanover-square, I might yet become the son-in-law of the late Earl of Naseby, Baron Cressingham of Cotteswold, in the county of Northampton, and of Walcot Park in Hants, Lord-lieutenant, _custos rotulorum_, and so forth, as I had frequently and secretly read in the mess-room copy of Sir Bernard Burke's thick royal octavo; "the Englishman's Bible" according to Thackeray, and, as I greatly feared, the somewhat exclusive _libro d'oro_ of Mamma Cressingham, who was apt to reverence it pretty much as the Venetian nobles did the remarkable volume of that name. CHAPTER III--By EXPRESS. Leave granted, our acceptance of Sir Madoc's invitation duly telegraphed--"wired," as the phrase is now--our uniforms doffed and mufti substituted, the morning of the second day ensuing saw Caradoc and myself on the Birmingham railway _en route_ for Chester; the exclusive occupants of a softly cushioned compartment, where, by the influence of a couple of florins slipped deftly and judiciously into the palm of an apparently unconscious and incorruptible official, we could lounge at our ease, and enjoy without intrusion the _Times_, _Punch_, or our own thoughts, and the inevitable cigar. Though in mufti we had uniform with us; we _believed_ in it then, and in its influence; for certain German ideas of military tailoring subsequent to the Crimean war had not shorn us of our epaulettes, and otherwise reduced the character of our regimentals to something akin to the livery of a penny postman or a railway guard. Somehow, I felt more hopeful of my prospects, when, with the bright sunshine of July around us, I found myself spinning at the rate of fifty miles per hour by the express train--the motion was almost as imperceptible as the speed was exhilarating--and swiftly passed the scenes on either side, the broad green fields of growing grain, the grassy paddocks, the village churches, the snug and picturesque homesteads of Warwick and Worcestershire. We glided past Rugby, where Caradoc had erewhile conned his tasks in that great Elizabethan pile which is built of white brick with stone angles and cornices, and where in the playing fields he had gallantly learned to keep his wicket with that skill which made him our prime regimental bat and bowler too. Coventry next, where of course we laughed as we thought of "peeping Tom" and Earl Leofric's pretty countess, when we saw its beautiful and tapering spires rise over the dark and narrow streets below. Anon, we paused amid the busy but grimy world of Birmingham, which furnishes half the world with the implements of destruction; Stafford, with its ruined castle on a well-wooded eminence; and ere long we halted in quaint old Chester by the Dee, where the stately red stone tower of the cathedral rises darkly over its picturesque thoroughfares of the middle ages. There the rail went no farther then; but a carriage sent by Sir Madoc awaited us at the station, and we had before us the prospect of a delightful drive for nearly thirty miles amid the beautiful Welsh hills ere we reached his residence. "This whiff of the country is indeed delightful!" exclaimed Caradoc, as we bowled along on a lovely July evening, the changing shadows of the rounded hills deepening as the sun verged westward; "it makes one half inclined to cut the service, and turn farmer or cattle-breeding squire--even to chuck ambition, glory, and oneself away upon a landed heiress, if such could be found ready to hand." "Even upon Winifred Lloyd, with her dairy-farms in the midland counties, eh?" Phil coloured a little, but laughed good-humouredly as he replied, "Well, I must confess that she is somewhat more than my weakness--at present." At Aber-something we found a relay of fresh horses, sent on by Sir Madoc, awaiting us, the Welsh roads not being quite so smooth as a billiard-table; and there certain hoarse gurgling expletives, uttered by ostlers and stable-boys, might have warned us that we were in the land of Owen and Hughes, Griffiths and Davies, and all the men of the Twelve Royal Tribes, even if there had not been the green mountains towering into the blue sky, and the pretty little ivy-covered inn, at the porch of which sat a white-haired harper (on the watch for patrons and customers), performing the invariable "Jenny Jones" or _Ar-hyd-y-nos_ (the live-long night), and all the while keeping a sharp Celtic eye to the expected coin. Everything around us indicated that we were drawing nearer to the abode of Sir Madoc, and that ere long--in an hour or so, perhaps--I should again see one who, by _name_ as well as circumstance, was a star that I feared and hoped would greatly influence all my future. The Eastern war, and, more than all, the novelty of any war after forty years of European peace, occupied keenly the minds of all thinking people. My regiment was already gone, and I certainly should soon have to follow it. I knew that, individually and collectively, all bound for the seat of the coming strife had a romantic and even melancholy interest, in the hearts of women especially; and I was not without some hope that this sentiment might add to my chances of finding favour with the rather haughty Estelle Cressingham. It was a glorious summer evening when our open barouche swept along the white dusty road that wound by the base of Mynedd Hiraethrog, that wild and bleak mountain chain which rises between the Dee and its tributaries the Elwey and the Aled. Westward in the distance towered blue Snowdon, above the white floating clouds of mist, with all its subordinate peaks. In the immediate foreground were a series of beautiful hills that were glowing, and, to the eye, apparently vibrating, under a burning sunset. The Welsh woods were in all the wealth of their thickest foliage--the umbrageous growth of centuries; and where the boughs cast their deepest shadows, the dun deer and the fleet hare lurked among the fragrant fern, and the yellow sunlight fell in golden patches on the passing runnel, that leaped flashing from rock to rock, to mingle with the Alwen, or crept slowly and stealthily under the long rank grass towards Llyn-Aled. That other accessories might not be wanting to remind us that we were in the land of the Cymri, we passed occasionally the _Carneddau_, or heaps of stones that mark the old places of battle or burial; and perched high on the hills the _Hafodtai_ or summer farms, where enormous flocks of sheep--the boasted Welsh mutton--were pasturing. Then we heard at times the melancholy sound of the horn, by which inmates summon the shepherds to their meals, and the notes of which, when waking the echoes of the silent glen, have an effect so weird and mournful. "By Jove, but we have a change here, Phil," said I, "a striking change, indeed, from the hot and dusty gravelled yard of Winchester barracks, the awkward squads at incessant drill with dumb-bell, club, or musket; the pipeclay, the pacing-stick, and the tap of the drum!" Through a moss-grown gateway, the design of Inigo Jones, we turned down the long straight avenue of limes that leads to Craigaderyn; a fine old mansion situated in a species of valley, its broad lawn overlooked by the identical craig from which it takes its name, "the Rock of Birds," a lofty and insulated mass, the resort of innumerable hawks, wood-pigeons, and even of hoarse-croaking cormorants from the cliffs about Orme's Head and Llandulas. On its summit are the ruins of an ancient British fort, wherein Sir Jorwerth Goch (_i. e_. Red Edward) Lloyd of Craigaderyn had exterminated a band of Rumpers and Roundheads in the last year of Charles I., using as a war-cry the old Welsh shout of "Liberty, loyalty, and the long head of hair!" On either side of the way spread the lawn, closely shorn and carefully rolled, the turf being like velvet of emerald greenness, having broad winding carriage-ways laid with gravel, the bright red of which contrasted so strongly with the verdant hue of the grass. The foliage of the timber was heavy and leafy, and there, at times, could be seen the lively squirrel leaping from branch to branch of some ancient oak, in the hollow of which lay its winter store of nuts; the rabbit bounding across the path, from root to fern tuft; and the _bela-goed_, or yellow-breasted martin (still a denizen of the old Welsh woods), with rounded ears and sharp white claws, the terror of the poultry-yard, appeared occasionally, despite the gamekeeper's gun. In one place a herd of deer were browsing near the half-leafless ruins of a mighty oak--one so old, that Owen Glendower had once reconnoitred an English force from amid its branches. We had barely turned into the avenue, when a gentleman and two ladies, all mounted, came galloping from a side path to meet us. He and one of his companions cleared the wire fence in excellent style by a flying leap; but the other, who was less pretentiously mounted, adroitly opened the iron gate with the handle of her riding switch, and came a few paces after them to meet us. They proved to be Sir Madoc and his two daughters, Winifred and Dora. "True in the direction of time, 'by Shrewsbury clock'!" said he, cantering up; "welcome to Craigaderyn, gentlemen! We were just looking for you." He was a fine hale-looking man, about sixty years old, with a ruddy complexion, and a keen, clear, dark eye; his hair, once of raven blackness, was white as silver now, though very curly or wavy still; his eyebrows were bushy and yet dark as when in youth. He was a Welsh gentleman, full of many local prejudices and sympathies; a man of the old school--for such a school has existed in all ages, and still exists even in ours of rapid progress, scientific marvels, and moneymaking. His manners were easy and polished, yet without anything either of style or fashion about them; for he was simple in all his tastes and ways, and was almost as plainly attired as one of his own farmers. His figure and costume, his rubicund face, round merry eyes, and series of chins, his amplitude of paunch and stunted figure, his bottle-green coat rather short in the skirts, his deep waistcoat and low-crowned hat, were all somewhat Pickwickian in their character and _tout-ensemble_, save that in lieu of the tights and gaiters of our old friend he wore white corded breeches, and orthodox dun-coloured top-boots with silver spurs, and instead of green goggles had a gold eyeglass dangling at the end of a black-silk ribbon. Strong riding-gloves and a heavy hammer-headed whip completed his attire. "Glad to see you, Harry, and you too, Mr. Caradoc," resumed Sir Madoc, who was fond of remembering that which Phil--more a man of the world--was apt to forget or to set little store on--that he was descended from Sir Matthew Caradoc, who in the days of Perkin Warbeck (an epoch but as yesterday in Sir Madoc's estimation) was chancellor of Glamorgan and steward of Gower and Helvie; for what true Welshman is without a pedigree? "Let me look at you again, Harry. God bless me! is it possible that you, a tall fellow with a black moustache, can be the curly fair-haired boy I have so often carried on my back and saddle-bow, and taught to make flies of red spinner and drakes' wings, when we trouted together at Llyn Cwellyn among the hills yonder?" "I think, papa, you would be more surprised if you found him a curly-pated boy still," said Miss Lloyd. "And it is seven years since he joined the service; what a fine fellow he has grown!" "Papa, you are quite making Mr. Hardinge blush!" said Dora, laughing. "Almost at the top of the lieutenants, too; there is luck for you!" he continued. "More luck than merit, perhaps; more the Varna fever than either, Sir Madoc," said I, as he slowly relinquished my hand, which he had held for a few seconds in his, while looking kindly and earnestly into my face. It was well browned by the sun and sea of the Windward Isles, tolerably well whiskered and moustached too; so I fear that if the good old gentleman was seeking for some resemblance to the sweet Mary Vassal of the past times, he sought in vain. Our horses were all walking now; Sir Madoc rode on one side of the barouche, and his two daughters on the other. "You saw my girls last season in town," said he; "but when you were last here, Winifred was in her first long frock, and Dora little more than a baby." "But Craigaderyn is all unchanged, though _we_ may be," said Winifred, whose remark had some secret point in it so far as referred to me. "And Wales is unchanged too," added Dora; "Mr. Hardinge will find the odious hat of the women still lingers in the more savage regions; the itinerant harper and the goat too are not out of fashion; and we still wear our leek on the first of March." "And long may all this be so!" said her father; "for since those pestilent railways have come up by Shrewsbury and Chester, with their tides of tourists, greed, dissipation, and idleness are on the increase, and all our good old Welsh customs are going to Caerphilly and the devil! Without the wants of over-civilisation we were contented; but now--_Gwell y chydig gait rad, na llawr gan avrard_," he added with something like an angry sigh, quoting a Welsh proverb to the effect that a little with a blessing is better than much with prodigality. CHAPTER IV.--WINNY AND DORA LLOYD. Both girls were very handsome, and for their pure and brilliant complexion were doubtless indebted to the healthful breeze that swept the green sides of the Denbigh hills, together with an occasional _soupçon_ of that which comes from the waters of the Irish Sea. It is difficult to say whether Winifred could be pronounced a brunette or a blonde, her skin was so exquisitely fair, while her splendid hair was a shade of the deepest brown, and her glorious sparkling eyes were of the darkest violet blue. Their normal expression was quiet and subdued; they only flashed up at times, and she was a girl that somehow every colour became. In pure white one might have thought her lovely, and lovelier still, perhaps, in black or blue or rose, or any other tint or shade. Her fine lithe figure appeared to perfection in her close-fitting habit of dark-blue cloth, and the masses of her hair being tightly bound up under her hat, revealed the contour of her slender neck and delicately formed ear. Dora was a smaller and younger edition of her sister--more girlish and more of a hoyden, with her lighter tresses, half golden in hue, floating loose over her shoulders and to beneath her waist from under a smart little hat, the feather and fashion of which imparted intense piquancy to the character of her somewhat irregular but remarkably pretty face and--we must admit it--rather _retroussé_ nose. Pride and a little reserve were rather the predominant style of the elder and dark-eyed sister; merriment, fun, and rather noisy flirtation were that of Dora, who permitted herself to laugh at times when her sister would barely have smiled, and to say things on which the other would never have ventured; but this _espièglerie_ and a certain bearing of almost rantipole--if one may use such a term--were thought to become her. Winifred rode a tall wiry nag, a hand or two higher than her father's stout active hunter; but Dora preferred to scamper about on a beautiful Welsh pony, the small head, high withers, flat legs, and round hoofs of which it no doubt inherited, as Sir Madoc would have said, from the celebrated horse Merlin. "Hope you'll stay with us till the twelfth of next month," said he. "The grouse are looking well." "Our time is doubtful, our short leave conditional, Sir Madoc," replied Phil Caradoc, who, however, was not looking at the Baronet, but at Winifred, in the hope that the alleged brevity of his visit might find him some tender interest in her eyes, or stir some chord by its suggestiveness in her breast; but Winny, indifferent apparently to separation and danger so far as he was concerned, seemed intent on twirling the silky mane of her horse with the lash of her whip. "Then, in about a fortnight after, we shall be blazing at the partridges," resumed Sir Madoc, to tempt us. "But matters are looking ill for the pheasants in October, for the gamekeeper tells me that the gapes have been prevalent among them. The poults were hatched early, and the wet weather from the mountains has made more havoc than our guns are likely to do." "Long before that time, Sir Madoc, I hope we shall be making havoc among the Russians," replied Phil, still glancing covertly at Miss Lloyd. "Ah, I hope not!" said she, roused apparently this time. "I look forward to this most useless war with horror and dismay. So many dear friends have gone, so many more are going, it makes one quite sad! O, I shall never forget that morning in London when the poor Guards marched!" This was addressed, not to Phil Caradoc, but to _me_. "We knew that we should meet you," said she, colouring, and adding a little hastily, "We asked Lady Estelle to accompany us; but--" "She is far too--what shall I call it?--aristocratic or unimpressionable to think of going to meet any one," interrupted her sister. "Don't say so, Dora! Yet I thought the loveliness of the evening would have tempted her. And Bob Spurrit the groom has broken a new pad expressly for her, by riding it for weeks with a skirt." So there was no temptation but "the loveliness of the evening," thought I; while Dora said, "But she preferred playing over to Mr. Guilfoyle that piece of German music he gave her yesterday." All this was not encouraging. She knew that I was coming--a friend in whom she could not help having, from the past, rather more than a common interest--and yet she had declined to accompany those frank and kindly girls. Worse than all, perhaps she had at that moment this Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle hanging over her admiringly at the piano, while she played _his_ music, presented to her doubtless with some suggestive, secret or implied, meaning in the sentiment or the title of it. Jealousy readily suggested much of this, and a great deal more. That Lady Estelle was at Craigaderyn Court had been my prevailing idea when accepting so readily my kind friend's invitation. Then I should see her in a very little time now! I had been resolved to watch well how she received me, though it would be no easy task to read the secret thoughts of one so well and so carefully trained to keep all human emotions under perfect control, outwardly at least--a "Belgravian thoroughbred," as I once heard Sir Madoc term her; but if she changed colour, however faintly, if there was the slightest perceptible tremor in her voice, or a flash of the eye, which indicated that which, under the supervision of the usually astute dowager her mother, she dared scarcely to betray--an interest in one such as me--it would prove at least that my presence was not indifferent to her. Thus much only did I hope, and of such faint hope had my heart been full until now, when I heard all this; and if I was piqued by her absence, I was still more by the cause of it; though had I reflected for a moment, I ought to have known that the very circumstances under which I had last parted from her in London, with an expected avowal all but uttered and hovering on my lips when leading her to the carriage, were sufficient to preclude a girl so proud as she from coming to meet me, even in the avenue, and when accompanied by Winifred and Dora Lloyd. "Is Mr. Guilfoyle a musician?" I asked. "A little," replied Dora; "plays and sings too; but I can't help laughing at him--and it is so rude." "He says that he is a friend of yours, Harry Hardinge; is he so?' asked Sir Madoc, with his bushy brows depressed for a moment. "Well, if losing to him once at pool mysteriously, also on a certain horse, while he scratched out of its engagements another on which I stood sure to win, make a friend, he is one. I have met him at his club, and should think that he--he--" "Is not a good style of fellow, in fact," said Sir Madoc in a low tone, and rather bluntly. "Perhaps so; nor one I should like to see at Craigaderyn Court." I cared not to add "especially in the society of Lady Cressingham," after whom he dangled, on the strength of some attentions or friendly services performed on the Continent. "And so you lost money to him? We have a Welsh proverb beginning, _Dyled ar bawb_--" "We shall have barely time to dress, dear papa," said Miss Lloyd, increasing the speed of her horse, as she seemed to dread the Welsh proclivities of her parent; "and remember that we have quite a dinner-party to-day." "Yes," added Dora; "two country M.P.s are coming; but, O dear! they will talk nothing but blue-book with papa, or about the crops, fat pigs, and the county pack; and shake their heads about ministerial policy and our foreign prestige, whatever that may be. Then we have an Indian colonel with only half a liver, the doctor says, and two Indian judges without any at all." "Dora!" exclaimed Miss Lloyd in a tone of expostulation. "Well, it is what the doctor said," persisted Dora; "and if he is wrong can I help it?" "But people don't talk of such things." "Then people shouldn't have them." "A wild Welsh girl this," said Sir Madoc; "neither schooling in Switzerland nor London has tamed her." "And we are to have several county gentlemen who are great in the matters of turnips, top-dressing, and Welsh mutton; four young ladies, each with a flirtation on hand; and four old ones, deep in religion and scandal, flannel and coals for the poor; so, Mr. Hardinge, you and Mr. Caradoc will be quite a double relief to us--to me, certainly." "O, Dora, how your tongue runs on!" exclaimed Winifred. "And then we have Lady Naseby to act as materfamilias, and play propriety for us all in black velvet and diamonds. Winny, eldest daughter of the house, is evidently unequal to the task." "And the coming fête," said I, "is it in honour of anything in particular?" "Yes, something very particular indeed," replied Dora. "Of what?" "Me." "You!" "My birthday--I shall be eighteen," she added, shaking back the heavy masses of her golden hair. "And she has actually promised to have one round dance with Lord Pottersleigh," said Winny, laughing heartily. "I did but promise out of mischief; I trust, however, the Viscount will leave off his goloshes for that day, though we are to dance on the grass, or I hope he may forget all about it. Old Potter, I call him," added the young lady in a _sotto-voce_ to me, "at least, when the Cressinghams are not present." "Why them especially?" "Because he is such a particular friend of theirs." This was annoyance number two; for this wealthy but senile old peer had been a perpetual adorer of Lady Estelle, favoured too, apparently, by her mother, and had been on more than one occasion a _bête noire_ to me; and now I was to meet him here again! "Papa has told you that I mean to part with my poor pet goat--Carneydd Llewellyn, so called from the mountain whence he came. He is to be sent to the regiment--in your care, too." "Why deprive yourself of a favourite? Why deprive it of such care as yours? Among soldiers," said I, "the poor animal will sorely miss the kindness and caresses you bestow upon it." "I shall be so pleased to think that our Welsh Fusileers, in the lands to which they are going, will have something so characteristic to remind them of home, of the wild hills of Wales, perhaps to make them think of the donor. Besides, papa says the corps has never been without this emblem of the old Principality since it was raised in the year of the Revolution." "Most true; but how shall I--how shall _we_--ever thank you?" I could see that her nether lip--a lovely little pouting lip it was--quivered slightly, and that her eyes were full of strange light, though bent downward on her horse's mane; and now I felt that, for reasons apparent enough, I was cold, even unkind, to this warm-hearted girl; for we had been better and dearer friends before we knew the Cressinghams. She checked her horse a little abruptly, and began to address some of the merest commonplaces to Phil Caradoc; who, with his thick brown curly hair parted in the middle, his smiling handsome face and white regular teeth, was finding great favour in the eyes of the laughing Dora. But now we were drawing near Craigaderyn Court. The scenery was Welsh, and yet the house and all its surroundings were in character genuinely English, though to have hinted so much might have piqued Sir Madoc. The elegance and comfort of the mansion were English, and English too was the rich verdure of the velvet lawn and the stately old chase, the trees of which were ancient enough--some of them at least--to have sheltered Owen Glendower, or echoed to the bugle of Llewellyn ap Seisalt, whose tall grave-stone stands amid the battle-mounds on grassy Castell Coch. At a carved and massive entrance-door we alighted, assisted the ladies to dismount, and then, gathering up their trains, they swept merrily up the steps and into the house, to prepare for dinner; while Sir Madoc, ere he permitted us to retire, though the first bell had been rung, led us into the hall; a low-ceiled, irregular, and oak-panelled room, decorated with deers' antlers, foxes' brushes crossed, and stuffed birds of various kinds, among others a gigantic golden eagle, shot by himself on Snowdon. This long apartment was so cool that, though the season was summer, a fire burned in the old stone fireplace; and on a thick rug before it lay a great, rough, red eyed staghound, that made one think of the faithful brach that saved Llewellyn's heir. The windows were half shaded by scarlet hangings; a hunting piece or two by Sneyders, with pictures of departed favourites, horses and dogs, indicated the tastes of the master of the house and of his ancestors; and there too was the skull of the _last_ wolf killed in Wales, more than a century ago, grinning on an oak bracket. The butler, Owen Gwyllim, who occasionally officiated as a harper, especially at Yule, was speedily in attendance, and Sir Madoc insisted on our joining him in a stiff glass of brandy-and-water, "as a whet," he said; and prior to tossing off which he gave a hoarse guttural toast in Welsh, which his butler alone understood, and at which he laughed heartily, with the indulged familiarity of an old servant. I then retired to make an unusually careful toilette; to leave nothing undone or omitted in the way of cuffs, studs, rings, and so forth, in all the minor details of masculine finery; hearing the while from a distance the notes of a piano in another wing of the house come floating through an open window. The air was German;--could I doubt whose white fingers were gliding over the keys, and _who_ might be standing by, and feeling himself, perhaps, somewhat master of the situation? CHAPTER V.--CRAIGADERYN COURT. Apart from Welsh fable and tradition, the lands of Craigaderyn had been in possession of Sir Madoc's family for many ages, and for more generations of the line of Lloyd; but the mansion, the Court itself, is not older than the Stuart times, and portions of it were much more recent, particularly the library, the shelves of which were replete with all that a gentleman's library should contain; the billiard-room and gun-room, where all manner of firearms, from the old long-barrelled fowling-piece of Anne's time down to Joe Manton and Colt's revolver, stood side by side on racks; the kennels, where many a puppy yelped; and the stable-court, where hoofs rang and stall-collars jangled, and where Mr. Bob Spurrit--a long-bodied, short-and-crooked legged specimen of the Welsh groom--reigned supreme, and watered and corned his nags by the notes of an ancient clock in the central tower--a clock said to have been brought as spoil from the church of Todtenhausen, by Sir Madoc's grandfather, after he led the Welsh Fusileers at the battle of Minden. Masses of that "rare old plant, the ivy green," heavy, leafy, and overlapping each other, shrouded great portions of the house. Oriels, full of small panes and quaint coats of arms, abutted here and there; while pinnacles and turrets, vanes, and groups of twisted, fluted, or garlanded stone chimney stacks, rose sharply up to break the sky-line and many a panel and scutcheon of stone were there, charged with the bend, ermine, and pean of Lloyd--the lion rampant wreathed with oak, and armed with a sword--and the heraldic cognizance of many a successive matrimonial alliance. Some portions of the house, where the walls were strong and the lower storey vaulted, were associated, of course, with visits from Llewellyn and Owen Glendower; and there also abode--a ghost. The park, too, was not without its old memories and traditions. Many of its trees were descendants of an ancient grove dedicated to Druidic worship; and bones frequently found there were alleged by some to be the relics of human sacrifice, by others to be those of Roman or of Saxon warriors slain by the sturdy Britons who, under Cadwallader, Llewellyn of the Torques, or some other hero of the Pendragonate, had held, in defiance of both, the _caer_ or fort on the summit of Craigaderyn. But the woodlands on which Sir Madoc mostly prided himself were those of the old acorn season, when Nature planted her own wild forests, and sowed the lawn out of her own lawns, as some writer has it. They were unquestionably the most picturesque, but the trim and orderly chase was not without its beauties too, and there had many grand Eisteddfoddiau been held under the auspices of Sir Madoc, and often fifty harpers at a time had made the woods ring to "The noble Race of Shenkin," or "The March of the Men of Harlech." The old Court and its surroundings were such as to make one agree with what Lord Lyttelton wrote of another Welsh valley, where "the mountains seemed placed to guard the charming retreat from invasions; and where, with the woman one loves, the friend of one's heart, and a good library, one might pass an age, and think it a day." The ghost was a tall thin figure, dressed somewhat in the costume of Henry VIII.'s time; but his full-skirted doublet with large sleeves, the cap bordered with ostrich feathers, the close tight hose, and square-toed shoes, were all deep black, hence his, or _its_, aspect was sombre in the extreme, shadowy and uncertain too, as he was only visible in the twilight of eve, or the first dim and similarly uncertain light of the early dawn; and these alleged appearances have been chiefly on St. David's day, the 1st of March, and were preceded by the sound of a harp about the place--but a harp _unseen_. He was generally supposed to leave, or be seen quitting, a portion of the house, where the old wall was shrouded with ivy, and to walk or glide swiftly and steadily, without casting either shadow or foot-mark on the grass, towards a certain ancient tree in the park, where he disappeared--faded, or melted out of sight. On the wall beneath the ivy being examined, a door--the portion of an earlier structure--was discovered to have been built up, but none knew when or why; and tradition averred that those who had seen him pass--for none dared follow--towards the old tree, could make out that his figure and face were those of a man in the prime of life, but the expression of the latter was sad, solemn, resolute, and gloomy. The origin of the legend, as told to me by Winifred Lloyd, referred to a period rather remote in history, and was to the following effect. Some fifteen miles southward from Craigaderyn is a quaint and singular village named Dinas Mowddwy, situated very strangely on the shelf of a steep mountain overlooking the Dyfi stream--a lofty spot commanding a view of the three beautiful valleys of the Ceryst; but this place was in past times the abode and fortress of a peculiar and terrible tribe, called the Gwylliad Cochion, or Red-haired Robbers, who made all North Wales, but more particularly their own district, a by-word and reproach, from the great extent and savage nature of the outrages they committed by fire and sword; so that to this day, we are told, there may be seen, in some of the remote mountain hamlets, more especially in Cemmaes near the sea, the well-sharpened scythe-blades, which were placed in the chimney-corners overnight, to be ready for them in case of a sudden attack. They were great crossbowmen, those outlaws, and never failed in their aim; and so, like the broken clans upon the Highland border, they levied black mail on all, till the night of the 1st of March, 1534; when, during a terrific storm of thunder, lightning, and wind, Sir Jorwerth Lloyd of Craigaderyn, John Wynne ap Meredydd, and a baron named Owen, scaled the mountain at the head of their followers, fell on them sword in hand, and after slaying a great number, hung one hundred of them in a row. One wretched mother, a red-haired Celt, begged hard and piteously to have her youngest son spared; but Sir Jorwerth was relentless, so the young robber perished with the rest. Then the woman rent her garments, and laying bare her bosom, said it had nursed other sons and daughters, who would yet wash their hands in the blood of them all. Owen was waylaid and slain by them at a place named to this day Llidiart-y-Barwn, or the Baron's Gate, and Meredydd fell soon after; but for Lloyd the woman, who was a reputed witch, had prepared another fate, as if aiming at the destruction of his soul as well as his body; for after his marriage with Gwerfyl Owen, he fell madly in love with a golden-haired girl whom he met when hunting in the forest near Craigaderyn; and as he immediately relinquished all attendance at church and all forms of prayer, and seemed to be besotted by her, the girl was averred to be an evil spirit, as she was never seen save in his company, and then only (by those who watched and lurked) "in the glimpses of the moon." On the third St. David's eve after the slaughter at Dinas Mowddwy, he was seated with Gwerfyl in her chamber, listening to a terrific storm of wind and rain that swept through the valley, overturning the oldest trees, and shaking the walls of the ancient house, while the lightning played above the dim summits of Snowdon, and every mountain stream and _rhaidr_, or cataract, rolled in foam and flood to Llyn Alwen or the Conway. On a tabourette near his knee she sat, lovingly clasping his hand between her own two, for he seemed restless, petulant, and gloomy, and had his cloak and cap at hand, as if about to go forth, though the weather was frightful. "Jorwerth," said she softly, "the last time there was such a storm as this was on that terrible night--you remember?" "When we cut off the Gwylliad Cochion--yes, root and branch, sparing, as we thought, none, while the rain ran through my armour as through a waterspout. But why speak of it, to-night especially? Yes, root and branch, even while that woman vowed vengeance," he added, grinding his teeth. "But what sound is that?" "Music," she replied, rising and looking round with surprise; but his tremulous hand, and, more than that, the sudden pallor of his face, arrested her, while the strains of a small harp, struck wildly and plaintively, came at times between the fierce gusts of wind that shook the forest trees and the hiss of the rain on the window-panes without. Louder they seemed to come, and to be more emphatic and sharp; and, as he heard them, a violent trembling and cold perspiration came over all the form of Sir Jorwerth Lloyd. "Heaven pity the harper who is abroad to-night!" said Gwerfyl, clasping her white hands. "Let Hell do so, rather!" was the fierce response of her husband, as his eyes filled with a strange light. At that moment a hand knocked on the window, and the startled wife, as she crouched by her husband's side, could see that it was small and delicate, wondrously beautiful too, and radiant with gems or glittering raindrops; and now her husband trembled more violently than ever. Gwerfyl crossed herself, and rushed to the window. "Strange," said she; "I can see no one." "No one in human form, perhaps," replied her husband gloomily, as he lifted his cloak. "Look again, dear wife." The lady did so, and fancied that close to the window-pane she could see a female face--anon she could perceive that it was small and beautiful, with hair of golden red, all wavy, and, strange to say, unwetted by the rain, and with eyes that were also of golden red, but with a devilish smile and glare, and glitter in them and over all her features, as they appeared, but to vanish, as the successive flashes of lightning passed. With terror and foreboding of evil, she turned to her startled husband. He was a pale and handsome man, with an aquiline nose, a finely-cut mouth and chin; but now his lips were firmly compressed, a flashing and fiery light seemed to sparkle in his eyes, his forehead was covered with lines, and the veins of his temples were swollen, while his black hair and moustache seemed to have actually become streaked with gray. What unknown emotion caused all this? There were power and passion in his bearing; but something strange, and dark, and demon-like was brooding in his soul. The white drops glittered on his brow as he threw his cloak about him, and _then_ the notes of the harp were heard, as if struck triumphantly and joyously. "Stay, stay! leave me not!" implored his wife on her knees, in a sudden access of terror and pity, that proved greater even than love. "I cannot--I cannot! God pardon me and bless you, dear, dear wife, but go I must!" ("Exactly like Rudolph, as we saw him last night in the opera, breaking away from his followers when he heard the voice of Lurline singing amid the waters of the Rhine," added Winifred in a parenthesis, as she laid her hand timidly on my arm.) She strove on her knees to place in his hand the small ivory-bound volume of prayers which ladies then carried slung by a chain at their girdle, even as a watch is now; but he thrust it aside, as if it scorched his fingers. Then he kissed her wildly, and broke away. She sprang from the floor, but he was gone--gone swiftly into the forest; and with sorrow and prayer in her heart his wife stealthily followed him. By this time the sudden storm had as suddenly ceased; already the gusty wind had died away, and no trace of it remained, save the strewn leaves and a quivering in the dripping branches; the white clouds were sailing through the blue sky, and whiter still, in silvery sheen 'the moonlight fell aslant in patches through the branches on the glittering grass. Amid that sheen she saw the dark figure of her husband passing, gliding onward to the old oak tree, and Gwerfyl shrunk behind another, as the notes of the infernal harp--for such she judged it to be--fell upon her ear. "You have come, my beloved," said a sweet voice; and she saw the same strangely-beautiful girl with the red-golden hair, her skin of wondrous whiteness, and eyes that glittered with devilish triumph, though to Jorwerth Du they seemed only filled with ardour and the light of passionate love, even as the beauty of her form seemed all round and white and perfect; but lo! to the eyes of his wife, who was under _no spell_, that form was fast becoming like features in a dissolving view, changed to that of extreme old age--gray hairs and wrinkles seemed to come with every respiration; for this mysterious love, who had bewitched her husband, was some evil spirit or demon of the woods. "How long you have been!" said she reproachfully, for even the sweetness of her tone had suddenly passed away; "so long that already age seems to have come upon me." "Pardon me; have I not sworn to love you for ever and ever, though neither of us is immortal?" "You are ready?" said she, laying her head on his breast. "Yes, my own wild love!" "Then let us go." All beauty of form had completely passed away, and now Gwerfyl saw her handsome husband in the arms of a very hag; hollow-cheeked, toothless, almost fleshless, with restless shifty eyes, and grey elf-locks like the serpents of Medusa; a hag beyond all description hideous: and her long, lean, shrivelled arms she wound lovingly and triumphantly around him. Her eyes gleamed like two live coals as he kissed her wildly and passionately from time to time, the full blaze of the moonlight streaming upon both their forms. Gwerfyl strove to pray, to cry aloud, to move. But her tongue refused its office, and her lips were powerless; all capability of volition had left her, and she was as it were rooted to the spot. A moment more, and a dark cloud came over the moon, causing a deeper shadow under the old oak tree. Then a shriek escaped her, and when again the moon shone forth on the green grass and the gnarled tree, Gwerfyl alone was there--her husband and the hag had disappeared. Neither was ever seen more. North Wales is the most primitive portion of the country, and it is there that such fancies and memories still linger longest; and such was the little family legend told me by Winifred Lloyd. I was thinking over it now, recalling the earnest expression of her bright soft face and intelligent eyes, and the tone of her pleasantly modulated voice, when she, half laughingly and half seriously, had related it, with more point than I can give it, while we sat in a corner and somewhat apart from every one--on the first night I met the Cressinghams--in a crowded London ballroom, amid the heat, the buzz, and crush of the season--about the last place in the world to hear a story of _diablerie_; and "the old time" seemed to come again, as I descended to the drawing-room, to meet her and Lady Estelle. CHAPTER VI.--THREE GRACES. Already having met and been welcomed by my host and his daughters, my first glances round the room were in search of Lady Estelle and her mother. About eighteen persons were present, mostly gentlemen, and I instinctively made my way to where she I sought was seated, idling over a book of prints. Two or three gentlemen were exclusively in conversation with her; Sir Madoc, who was now in evening costume, for one. "Come, Harry," said he, "here is a fair friend to whom I wish to present you." "You forget, Sir Madoc, that I said we had met before; Mr. Hardinge and I are almost old friends--the friends of a season, at least," said Lady Estelle, presenting her hand to me with a bright but calm and decidedly conventional smile, and with the most perfect self-possession. "It makes me so very happy to meet you again," said I in a low voice, the tone of which she could not mistake. "Mamma, too, will be _so_ delighted--you were quite a favourite with her." I bowed, as if accepting for fact a sentiment of which I was extremely doubtful, and then after a little pause she added,-- "Mamma always preferred your escort, you remember." Of that I was aware, when she wished to leave some more eligible _parti_--old Lord Pottersleigh, for instance--to take charge of her daughter. "I am so pleased that we are to see a little more of you, ere you depart for the East; whence, I hear, you are bound," said she after a little pause. Simple though the words, they made my heart beat happily, and I dreaded that some sharp observer might read in my eyes the expression which I knew could not be concealed from her; and now I turned to look for some assistance from Winifred Lloyd; but, though observing us, she was apparently busy with Caradoc; luckily for me, perhaps, as there was something of awkwardness in my position with her. I had flirted rather too much at one time with Winny--been almost tender--but nothing more. Now I loved Lady Estelle, and that love was indeed destitute of all ambition, though the known difficulties attendant on the winning of such a hand as hers, added zest and keenness to its course. When I looked at Winifred and saw how fair and attractive she was, "a creature so compact and complete," as Caradoc phrased it, with such brilliance of complexion, such deep violet eyes and thick dark wavy hair; and when I thought of the girl's actual wealth, and her kind old father's great regard for me, it seemed indeed that I might do well in offering my heart where there was little doubt it would be accepted; but the more stately and statuesque beauty, the infinitely greater personal attractions of Lady Estelle dazzled me, and rendered me blind to Winny's genuine goodness of soul The latter was every way a most attractive girl Dora was quite as much so, in her own droll and jolly way; but Lady Estelle possessed that higher style of loveliness and bearing so difficult to define; and though less natural perhaps than the Lloyds, she had usually that calm, placid, and unruffled or settled expression of features so peculiar to many Englishwomen of rank and culture, yet they could light up at times; then, indeed, she became radiant; and now, in full dinner dress, she seemed to look pretty much as I had seemed to see her in that haughty full-length by the President of the R.A., with an admiring and critical crowd about it. The three girls I have named were all handsome--each sufficiently so to have been the belle of any room; yet, though each was different in type from the other, they were all thoroughly English; perhaps Sir Madoc would have reminded me that two were Welsh. The beauty of Winifred and Dora was less regular; yet, like Lady Estelle, in their faces each feature seemed so charmingly suited to the rest, and all so perfect, that I doubt much the story that Canova had sixty models for his single Venus, or that Zeuxis of Heraclea had even five for his Helen. Lady Estelle Cressingham was tall and full in form, with a neck that rose from her white shoulders like that of some perfect Greek model; her smile, when real, was very captivating; her eyes were dark and deep, and softly lidded with long lashes; they had neither the inquiring nor soft pleading expression of Winifred's, nor the saucy drollery of Dora's, yet at times they seemed to have the power of both; for they were eloquent eyes, and, as a writer has it, "could light up her whole _personnel_ as if her whole body thought." Her colour was pale, almost creamy; her features clearly cut and delicate. She had a well-curved mouth, a short upper lip and chin, that indicated what she did not quite possess--decision. Her thick hair, which in its darkness contrasted so powerfully with her paleness, came somewhat well down, in what is called "a widow's peak," on a forehead that was broad rather than low. Her taste was perfect in dress and jewelry; for though but a girl in years, she had been carefully trained, and knew nearly as much of the world--at least of _the_ exclusive world in which she lived--as her cold and unimpressionable mamma, who seemed to be but a larger, fuller, older, and more stately version of herself; certainly much more of that selfish world than I, a line subaltern of seven years' foreign service, could know. A few words more, concerning my approaching departure for the East, were all that could pass between us then; for the conversation was, of course, general, and of that enforced and heavy nature which usually precedes a dinner-party; but our memories and our thoughts were nevertheless our own still, as I could see when her glance met mine occasionally. War was new to Britain then, and thus, even in the society at Craigaderyn Court, Caradoc and I, as officers whose regiment had already departed--more than all, as two of the Royal Welsh Fusileers--found ourselves rather objects of interest, and at a high premium. "Ah, the dooce! Hardinge, how d'you do, how d'you do? Not off to the seat of war" (he pronounced it _waw_), "to tread the path of glory that leads to--where _does_ old Gray say it leads to?" said a thin wiry-looking man of more than middle height and less than middle age, his well-saved hair carefully parted in the centre, a glass in his eye, and an easy _insouciance_ that bordered on insolence in his tone and bearing, as he came bluntly forward, and interrupted me while paying the necessary court to "Mamma Cressingham," who received me with simple politeness, nothing more. I could not detect the slightest cordiality in her tone or eye. Though in the _Army List_, my name was unchronicled by Debrett, and might never be. I bowed to the speaker, who was the identical Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle of whom I have already spoken, and with whom I felt nettled for presuming to place himself on such a footing of apparent familiarity with me, from the simple circumstance that I had more than once--I scarcely knew how--lost money to him. "I am going Eastward ere long, at all events," said I; "and I cannot help thinking that some of you many idlers here could not do better than take a turn of service against the Russians too." "It don't pay, my dear fellow; moreover, I prefer to be one of the gentlemen of England, who live at home at ease. I shall be quite satisfied with reading all about it, and rejoicing in your exploits." I smiled and bowed, but felt that he was closely scrutinising me through his glass, which he held in its place by a muscular contraction of the left eye; and I felt moreover, instinctively and intuitively, by some magnetic influence, that this man was my enemy, and yet I had done him no wrong. The aversion was certainly mutual. It was somewhat of the impulse that led Tom Brown of old to dislike Dr. Fell, yet, in my instance, it was not exactly without knowing "why." I had quickly read the character of this Mr. Guilfoyle. He had cold, cunning, and shifty eyes of a greenish yellow colour. They seldom smiled, even when his mouth did, if that can be called a smile which is merely a grin from the teeth outwards. He was undoubtedly gentlemanlike in air and appearance, always correct in costume, suave to servility when it suited his purpose, but daringly insolent when he could venture to be so with impunity. He had that narrowness of mind which made him counterfeit regret for the disaster of his best friend, while secretly exulting in it, if that friend could serve his purposes no more; the praise or success of another never failed to excite either his envy or his malice; and doating on himself, he thought that all who knew him should quarrel with those against whom he conceived either spleen or enmity. A member of a good club in town, he was fashionable, moderately dissipated, and rather handsome in person. No one knew exactly from what source his income was derived; but vague hints of India stock, foreign bonds, and so forth, served to satisfy the few--and in the world of London few they were indeed--who cared a jot about the matter. Such was Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle, of whom the reader shall hear more in these pages. "And so you don't approve of risking your valuable person in the service of the country?" said I, in a tone which I felt to be a sneering one. "No; I am disposed to be rather economical of it--think myself too good-looking, perhaps, to fill a hole in a trench. Ha, ha! Moreover, what the deuce do I want with glory or honour?" said he, in a lower tone; "are not self-love or interest, rather than virtue, the true motives of most of our actions?" "Do you think so?" "Yes, by Jove! I do." "A horrid idea, surely!" "Not at all. Besides, virtues, as they are often called, are too often only vices disguised." "The deuce!" said Caradoc, who overheard us; "I don't understand this paradox." "Nor did I intend _you_ to do so," replied the other, in a tone that, to say the least of it, was offensive, and made Phil's eyes sparkle. "But whether in pursuit of vice or virtue, it is an awkward thing when the ruling passion makes one take a wrong turn in life." "The ruling passion?" said I, thinking of the money I had lost to him. "Yes, whether it be ambition, avarice, wine, or love," he replied, his eyes going involuntarily towards Lady Estelle; "but at all times there is nothing like taking precious good care of number one; and so, were I a king, I should certainly reign for myself." "And be left to yourself," said I, almost amused by this avowed cynicism and selfishness. "Well, as Prince Esterhazy said, when he did me the honour to present me with this ring," he began, playing the while with a splendid brilliant, which sparkled on one of his fingers. But what the Prince had said I was never fated to know; for the aphorisms of Mr. Guilfoyle were cut short by the welcome sound of the dinner-gong, and in file we proceeded through the corridor and hall to the dining-room, duly marshalled between two rows of tall liverymen in powder and plush, Sir Madoc leading the way with the Countess on his arm, her long sweeping skirt so stiff with brocade, that, as Caradoc whispered, it looked like our regimental colours. Lady Estelle was committed to the care of a stout old gentleman, who was the exact counterpart of our host, and whose conversation, as it evidently failed to amuse, bored her. Miss Lloyd was led by Caradoc, and Dora fell to my care. Of the other ladies I took little heed; neither did I much of the sumptuous dinner, which passed away as other dinners do, through all its courses, with entrées and relays of various wines, the serving up of the latter proving in one sense a nuisance, from the absurd breaks caused thereby in the conversation. The buzz of voices was pretty loud at times, for many of the guests were country gentlemen, hale and hearty old fellows some of them, who laughed with right good will, not caring whether to do so was good _ton_ or not. But while listening to the lively prattle of Dora Lloyd, I could not refrain from glancing ever and anon to where Estelle Cressingham, looking so radiant, yet withal "so delicately white" in her complexion, her slender throat and dazzling shoulders, her thick dark hair and tiny ears, at which the diamond pendants sparkled, sat listening to her elderly bore, smiling assents from time to time out of pure complaisance, and toying with her fruit knife when the dessert came, her hands and arms seeming so perfect in form and colour, and on more than one occasion--when her mamma was engrossed by courteous old Sir Madoc, who could "talk peerage," and knew the quartering of arms better than the Garter King or Rouge Dragon--giving me a bright intelligent smile, that made my heart beat happily; all the more so that I had been afflicted by some painful suspicion of coldness in her first reception of me--a coldness rather deduced from her perfect self-possession--while I had been farther annoyed to find that her somewhat questionable admirer, Guilfoyle, was seated by her side, with a lady whose presence he almost ignored in his desire to be pleasing elsewhere. Yet, had it been otherwise, if anything might console a man for fancied coldness in the woman he loved, or for a partial separation from her by a few yards of mahogany, it should be the lively rattle of a lovely girl of eighteen; but while listening and replying to Dora, my thoughts and wishes were with another. "I told you how it would be, Mr. Hardinge," whispered Dora; "that the staple conversation of the gentlemen, if it didn't run on the county pack, would be about horses and cattle, sheep, horned and South Down; or on the British Constitution, which must be a very patched invention, to judge by all they say of it." I confessed inwardly that much of what went on around me was so provincial and local--the bishop's visitation, the--parish poor, crops and game, grouse and turnips--and proved such boredom that, but for the smiling girl beside me, with her waggish eyes and pretty ways, and the longing and hope to have more of the society of Lady Estelle, I could have wished myself back at the mess of the depôt battalion in Winchester. Yet this restlessness was ungrateful; for Craigaderyn was as much a home to me as if I had been a son of the house, and times there were when the girls, like their father, called me simply "Harry," by my Christian name. The long and stately dining-room, like other parts of the house, was well hung with portraits. At one end was a full-length of Sir Madoc in his scarlet coat and yellow-topped boots, seated on his favourite bay mare, "Irish Jumper," with mane and reins in hand, a brass horn slung over his shoulder, and looking every inch like what he was--the M.F.H. of the county, trotting to cover. Opposite, of course, was his lady--it might almost have passed for a likeness of Winifred--done several years ago, her dress of puce velvet cut low to show her beautiful outline, but otherwise very full indeed, as she leaned in the approved fashion against a vase full of impossible flowers beside a column and draped curtain, in what seemed a windy and draughty staircase, a view of Snowdon in the distance. "Breed and blood," as Sir Madoc used to say, "in every line of her portrait, from the bridge of her nose to the heel of her slipper;" for she was a lineal descendant of _y Marchog gwyllt o' Cae Hywel_, or "the wild Knight of Caehowel," a circumstance he valued more than all her personal merits and goodness of heart. Some of Dora's remarks about the family portraits elicited an occasional glance of reprehension from the Dowager of Naseby, who thought such relics or evidences of descent were not to be treated lightly. On my enquiring who that lady in the very low dress with the somewhat dishevelled hair was, I had for answer, "A great favourite of Charles II., Mr. Hardinge--an ancestress of ours. Papa knows her name. There was some lively scandal about her, of course. And that is her brother beside her--he in the rose-coloured doublet and black wig. He was killed in a duel about a young lady--run clean through the heart by one of the Wynnes of Llanrhaidr, at the Ring in Hyde Park." "When men risked their lives so, love must have been very earnest in those days," said Lady Estelle. "And very fearful," said the gentler Winny. "It is said the lady's name was engraved on the blade of the sword that slew him." "A duel! How delightful to be the heroine of a duel!" exclaimed the volatile Dora. "And who is that pretty woman in the sacque and puffed cap?" asked Caradoc, pointing to a brisk-looking dame in a long stomacher. She was well rouged, rather _décolletée_, had a roguish kissing-patch in the corner of her mouth, and looked very like Dora indeed. "Papa's grandmother, who insisted on wearing a white rose when she was presented to the Elector at St. James's," replied Dora; "and her marriage to the heir of Craigaderyn is chronicled in the fashion of the Georgian era, by gossipping Mr. Sylvanus Urban, as that of 'Mistress Betty Temple, an agreeable and modest young lady with 50,000_l_. fortune, from the eastward of Temple Bar.' I don't think people were such tuft-hunters in those days as they are now. Do _you_ think so, Mr. Guilfoyle? O, I am sure, that if all we read in novels is true, there must have been more romantic marriages and much more honest love long ago than we find in society now. What do you say to this, Estelle?" But the fair Estelle only fanned herself, and replied by a languid smile, that somehow eluded when it might have fallen on _me_. So while we lingered over the dessert (the pineapples, peaches, grapes, and so forth being all the produce of Sir Madoc's own hothouses), Dora resumed: "And so, poor Harry Hardinge, in a few weeks more you will be far away from us, and face to face with those odious Russians--in a real battle, perhaps. It is something terrible to think of! Ah, heavens, if you should be killed!" she added, as her smile certainly passed away for a moment. "I don't think somehow there is very much danger of that--at least I can but hope--" "Or wounded! If you should lose a leg--two legs perhaps--" "He could scarcely lose _more_," said Mr. Guilfoyle. "And come home with wooden ones!" she continued, lowering her voice. "You will look so funny! O, I could never love or marry a man with wooden stumps!" "But," said I, a little irritated that she should see anything so very amusing in this supposed contingency, "I don't mean to marry _you_." "Of course not--I know that. It is Winny, papa thinks--or is it Estelle Cressingham you prefer?" Lowly and whispered though the heedless girl said this, it reached the ears of Lady Estelle, and caused her to grow if possible paler, while I felt my face suffused with scarlet; but luckily all now rose from the table, as the ladies, led by Winifred, filed back alone to the drawing-room; and I felt that Dora's too palpable hints must have done much to make or mar my cause--perhaps to gain me the enmity of both her sister and the Lady Estelle. Sir Madoc assumed his daughter's place at the head of the table, and beckoned _me_ to take his chair at the foot. Owen Gwyllim replenished the various decanters and the two great silver jugs of claret and burgundy, and the flow of conversation became a little louder in tone, and of course less reserved. I listened now with less patience to all that passed around me, in my anxiety to follow the ladies to the drawing-room. Every moment spent out of _her_ presence seemed doubly long and doubly lost. The chances of the coming war--_where_ our troops were to land, whether at Eupatoria or Perecop, or were to await an attack where they were literally rotting in the camp upon the Bulgarian shore; their prospects of success, the proposed bombardment of Cronstadt, the bewildering orders issued to our admirals, the inane weakness and pitiful vacillation, if not worse, of Lord Aberdeen's government, our total want of all preparation in the ambulance and commissariat services, even to the lack of sufficient shot, shell, and gunpowder--were all freely descanted on, and attacked, explained, or defended according to the politics or the views of those present; and Guilfoyle--who, on the strength of having been attaché at the petty German court of Catzenelnbogen, affected a great knowledge of continental affairs--indulged in much "tall talk" on the European situation till once more the county pack and hunting became the chief topic, and then too he endeavoured, but perhaps vainly, to take the lead. "You talk of fox-hunting, gentlemen," said he, raising his voice after a preliminary cough, "and some of the anecdotes you tell of wonderful leaps, mistakes, and runs, with the cunning displayed by reynard on various occasions, such as hiding in a pool up to the snout, feigning death--a notion old as the days of Olaus Magnus--throwing dogs off the scent by traversing a running stream, and so forth, are all remarkable enough; but give me a good buck-hunt, such as I have seen in Croatia! When travelling there among the mountains that lie between Carlstadt and the Adriatic, I had the good fortune to reside for a few weeks with my kind friend Ladislaus Count Mosvina, Grand Huntsman to the Emperor of Austria, and captain of the German Guard of Arzieres, and who takes his title from that wine-growing district, the vintage of which is fully equal to the finest burgundy. The season was winter. The snow lay deep among the frightful valleys and precipices of the Vellibitch range, and an enormous _rehbock_, or roebuck, fully five feet in height to the shoulder, with antlers of vast size--five feet, if an inch, from tip to tip--driven from the mountains by the storm and _la bora_, the biting north-east wind, took shelter in a thicket near the house. Several shots were fired; but no one, not even _I_, could succeed in hitting him, till at last he defiantly and coolly fed among the sheep, in the yard of the Count's home farm, where, by the use of his antlers, he severely wounded and disabled all who attempted to dislodge him. At last four of the Count's farmers or foresters--some of those Croatian boors who are liable to receive twenty-five blows of a cudgel yearly if they fail to engraft at least twenty-five fruit-trees--undertook to slay or capture the intruder. But though they were powerful, hardy, and brave men, this devil of a _rehbock_, by successive blows of its antlers, fractured the skulls of two and the thigh-bones of the others, smashing them like tobacco-pipes, and made an escape to the mountains. A combined hunt was now ordered by my friend Mosvina, and all the gentlemen and officers in the _generalat_ or district commanded by him set off, mounted and in pursuit. There were nearly a thousand horsemen; but the cavalry there are small and weak. _I_ was perhaps the best-mounted man in the field. We pursued it for twenty-five miles, by rocky hills and almost pathless woods, by ravines and rivers. Many of our people fell. Some got staked, were pulled from their saddles by trees, or tumbled off by running foul of wild swine. Many missed their way, grew weary, got imbogged in the half-frozen marshes, and so forth, till at last only the Count and I with four dogs were on his track, and when on it, we leaped no less than four frozen cataracts, each at least a hundred feet in height--'pon honour they were. We had gone almost neck and neck for a time; but the Grand Huntsman's horse began to fail him now (for we had come over terrible ground, most of it being uphill), and ultimately it fell dead lame. Then whoop--tally-ho! I spurred onward alone. Just as the furious giant was coming to bay in a narrow gorge, and, fastening on his flanks and neck, the maddened dogs were tearing him down, their red jaws steaming in the frosty air, the Count came up on foot, breathless and thoroughly blown, to have the honour of slaying this antlered monarch of the Dinovian Alps. But I was too quick for him. I had sprung from my horse, and with my unsheathed _hanshar_ or Croatian knife had flung myself, fearlessly and regardless of all danger, upon the buck, eluding a last and desperate butt made at me with his pointed horns. Another moment saw my knife buried to the haft in his throat, and a torrent of crimson blood flowing upon the snow, then I courteously tendered my weapon by the hilt to the Count, who, in admiration of my adroitness, presented me with this ring--a very fine brilliant, you may perceive--which his grandfather had received from the Empress Maria Theresa, and the pure gold of which is native, from the sand upon the banks of the Drave." And as he concluded his anecdote, which he related with considerable pomposity and perfect coolness, he twirled round his finger this remarkable ring, of which I was eventually to hear more from time to time. "So, out of a thousand Croatian horsemen, _you_ were the only one in at the death! It says little for their manhood," said an old fox-hunter, as he filled his glass with burgundy, and pretty palpably winked to Sir Madoc, under cover of an épergne. "This may all be true, Harry, or not--only _entre nous_, I don't believe it is," said Phil Caradoc aside to me; "for who here knows anything of Croatia? He might as well talk to old Gwyllim the butler, or any chance medley Englishman, of the land of Memnon and the hieroglyphics. This fellow Guilfoyle beats Munchausen all to nothing; but did he not before tell something _else_ about that ring?" "I don't remember; but now, Phil, that you have seen her," said I, in a tone of tolerably-affected carelessness, "what do you think of _la belle_ Cressingham?" "She is very handsome, certainly," replied Phil, in the same undertone, and luckily looking at his glass, and not at me, "a splendid specimen of her class--a proud and by no means a bashful beauty." "Most things in this world are prized just as they are difficult of attainment, or are scarce. I reckon beauty among these, and no woman holds it cheap," said I, not knowing exactly what to think of Caradoc's criticism. "There is Miss Lloyd, for instance--" "Ah," said he, with honest animation, "she is a beauty too, but a gentle and retiring one--a girl that is all sweetness and genuine goodness of heart." "With some dairy-farms in the midland counties, eh?" "The graces of such a girl are always the most attractive. We men are so constituted that we are apt to decline admiration where it is loftily courted or seemingly expected--as I fear it is in the case of Lady Cressingham--and to bestow it on the gentle and retiring." I felt there was much truth in my friend's remarks, and yet they piqued me so that I rather turned from him coldly for the remainder of the evening. "Her mother is haughty, intensely ambitious, and looks forward to a title for her as high, if not higher, than that her father bore," I heard Sir Madoc say to a neighbour who had been talking on the same subject--the beauty of Lady, Estelle; "the old lady is half Irish and half Welsh." "Rather a combustible compound, I should think," added Guilfoyle, as, after coffee and curaçoa, we all rose to join the ladies in the drawing-room. CHAPTER VII.--PIQUE. The moment I entered the drawing-room, where Winifred Lloyd had been doing her utmost to amuse her various guests till we came, and where undoubtedly the ladies' faces grew brighter when we appeared, I felt conscious that the remark of the hoydenish Dora had done me some little mischief. I could read this in the face of the haughty Estelle, together with her fear that _others_ might have heard it; thus, instead of seating myself near her, as I wished and had fully intended, I remained rather aloof, and leaving her almost exclusively to the industrious Guilfoyle, divided my time between listening to Winifred, who, with Caradoc, proceeded to perform the duet he had sent her from the barracks, and endeavouring to make myself agreeable to the Countess--a process rather, I am sorry to say, somewhat of a task to me. Though her dark hair was considerably seamed with gray, her forehead was without a line, smooth and unwrinkled as that of a child--care, thought, reflection, or sorrow had never visited _her_. Wealth and rank, with a naturally aristocratic indolence and indifference of mind, had made the ways of life and of the world--at least, the world in which she lived--easy, soft, and pleasant, and all her years had glided brilliantly but monotonously on. She had married the late earl to please her family rather than herself, because he was undoubtedly an eligible _parti_; and she fully expected their only daughter to act exactly in the same docile manner. Her mien and air were stately, reserved, and uninviting; her eyes were cold, inquiring, and searching in expression, and I fancied that they seemed to watch and follow me, as if she really and naturally suspected me of "views," or, as she would have deemed them, _designs_. Amid the commonplaces I was venturing to utter to this proud, cold, and decidedly unpleasant old dame, whose goodwill and favour I was sedulously anxious to gain, it was impossible for me to avoid hearing some remarks that Sir Madoc made concerning me, and to her daughter. "I am so glad you like my young friend, Lady Estelle," said the bluff baronet, leaning over her chair, his rubicund face beaming with smiles and happiness; for he was in best of moods after a pleasant dinner, with agreeable society and plenty of good wine. "Who told you that I did so?" asked she, looking up with fresh annoyance, yet not unmixed with drollery, in her beautiful face. "Dora and Winny too; and I am so pleased, for he is an especial friend of ours. I love the lad for his dead mother's sake--she was an old flame of mine in my more romantic days--and doesn't he deserve it? What do you think the colonel of his old corps says of him?" "Really, Sir Madoc, I know not--that he is quite a ladykiller, perhaps; to be such is the ambition of most young subalterns." "Better than that. He wrote me, that young Hardinge is all that a British officer ought to be; that he has a constitution of iron--could sleep out in all weathers, in a hammock or under a tree--till the fever attacked him at least. If provisions were scanty, he'd share his last biscuit with a comrade; on the longest and hottest march he never fell out or became knocked up; and more than once he has been seen carrying a couple of muskets, the arms of those whose strength had failed them. 'I envy the Royal Welsh their acquisition, and regret that _we_ have lost him'--these were the colonel's very words." Had I fee'd or begged him to plead my cause, he could not have been more earnest or emphatic. "For heaven's sake, Sir Madoc, do stop this overpowering eulogium," said I; "it is impossible for one not to overhear, when one's own name is mentioned. But did the colonel really say all this of me?" "All, and more, Harry." "It should win him a diploma of knight-bachelor," said Lady Estelle, laughing, "a C.B., perhaps a baronetcy." "Nay," said Sir Madoc; "such rewards are reserved now for toad-eaters, opulent traders, tuft-hunters, and ministerial tools; the days when true merit was rewarded are gone, my dear Lady Estelle." The duet over, Phil Caradoc drew near me, for evidently he was not making much progress with Miss Lloyd. "Well, Phil," said I, in a low voice, "among those present have you seen your ideal of woman?" "Can't say," said he, rather curtly; "but _you_ have, at all events, old fellow, and I think Sir Madoc has done a good stroke of business for you by his quotation of the colonel's letter. I heard him all through our singing--the old gentleman has no idea of a _sotto voce_, and talks always as if he were in the hunting-field. By Jove, Harry, you grow quite pink!" he continued, laughing. "I see how the land lies with you; but as for '_la mère_ Cressingham,' she is an exclusive of the first water, a match-maker by reputation; and I fear you have not the ghost of a chance with her." "Hush, Caradoc," said I, glancing nervously about me "remember that we are not at Winchester, or inside the main-guard, just now. But see, Lady Estelle and that fellow Guilfoyle are about to favour us," I added, as the pale beauty spread her ample skirts over the piano-stool, with an air that, though all unstudied, seemed quite imperial, and ran her slender fingers rapidly over the white keys, preluding an air; while Guilfoyle, who had a tolerable voice and an intolerable amount of assurance, prepared to sing by fussily placing on the piano a piece of music, on the corner of which was written in a large and bold hand, evidently his own--"To Mr. H. Guilfoyle, from H.S.H. the Princess of Catzenelnbogen." "You must have been a special favourite with this lady," said Estelle, "as most of your German music is inscribed thus." "Yes, we were always exchanging our pieces and songs," said he, languidly and in a low voice close to her ear, yet not so low as to be unheard by me. "I was somewhat of a favourite with her, certainly; but then the Princess was quite a privileged person." "In what respect?" "She could flirt farther than any one, and yet never compromise herself. However, when she bestowed this ring upon me, on the day when I saved her life, by arresting her runaway horse on the very brink of the Rhine, I must own that his Highness the Prince was the reverse of pleased, and viewed me with coldness ever after; so that ultimately I resigned my office of attaché, just about the time I had the pleasure--may I call it the joy?--of meeting you." "O fie, Mr. Guilfoyle! were you actually flirting with her?" "Nay, pardon me; I never flirt." "You were in love then?" "I was never in love till--" A crash of notes as she resumed the air interrupted whatever he was about to say; but his eye told more than his bold tongue would perhaps have dared to utter in such a time or place; and, aware that they had met on the Continent, and had been for some time together in the seclusion of Craigaderyn, I began to fear that he must have far surpassed me in the chances of interest with her.. Moreover, Dora's foolish remark might reasonably lead her to suppose that I was already involved with Winifred; and now, with a somewhat cloudy expression in my face (as a mirror close by informed me), and a keen sense of pique in my heart, I listened while she played the accompaniment to his pretty long German song, the burden of which seemed to be ever and always-- "Ach nein! ach nein! ich darf es nich. Leb wohl! Leb' wohl! Leb' wohl!" Sir Madoc, who had listened with some secret impatience to this most protracted German ditty, now begged his fair guest to favour him with something Welsh; but as she knew no airs pertaining to the locality, she resigned her place to Winifred, whom I led across the room, and by whose side I remained. After the showy performances of Lady Estelle, she was somewhat reluctant to begin: all the more so, perhaps, that her friend--with rather questionable taste, certainly--was wont, in a spirit of mischief or raillery--but one pardons so much in lovely woman, especially one of rank--to quiz Wales, its music and provincialism; just as, when in the Highlands, she had laughed at the natives, and voted "their sham chiefs and gatherings as delightfully absurd." Finding that his daughter lingered ere she began, and half suspecting the cause, Sir Madoc threatened to send for Owen Gwyllim, the butler, with his harp. Owen had frequently accompanied her with his instrument; but though that passed well enough occasionally among homely Welsh folks, it would never do when Lady Naseby and certain others were present. "It is useless for an English girl to sing in a foreign language, or attempt to rival paid professional artists, by mourning like Mario from the turret, or bawling like Edgardo in the burying-ground, or to give us 'Stride la vampa' in a fashion that would terrify Alboni," said Sir Madoc, "or indeed to attempt any of those operatic effusions with which every hand organ has made us familiar. So come, Winny, a Welsh air, or I shall ring for Owen." This rather blundering speech caused Lady Estelle to smile, and Guilfoyle, whose "Leb' wohl" had been something of the style objected to, coloured very perceptibly. Thus urged, Winifred played and sang with great spirit "The March of the Men of Harlech;" doubtless as much to compliment Caradoc and me as to please her father; for it was then our regimental march; and, apart from its old Welsh associations, it is one of the finest effusions of our old harpers. Sir Madoc beat time, while his eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and he patted his daughter's plump white shoulders kindly with his weather-brown but handsome hands; for the old gentleman rather despised gloves, indoors especially, as effeminate. Winifred had striven to please rather than to excel; and though tremulous at times, her voice was most attractive. "Thank you," said I, in a low and earnest tone; "your execution is just of that peculiar kind which leaves nothing more to be wished for, and while it lasts, Winny, inspires a sense of joy in one's heart." "You flatter me much--far too much," replied Miss Lloyd, in a lower and still more tremulous tone, as she grew very pale; for some girls will do so, when others would flush with emotion, and it was evident that my praise gave her pleasure; she attached more to my words than they meant. An undefinable feeling of pique now possessed me--a sensation of disappointment most difficult to describe; but it arose from a sense of doubt as to how I really stood in the estimation of the fair Estelle. Taking an opportunity, while Sir Madoc was emphatically discussing the points and pedigrees of certain horses and harriers with Guilfoyle and other male friends, while the Countess and other ladies were clustered about Winifred at the piano, and Dora and Caradoc were deep in some affair of their own, I leaned over her chair, and referring--I forget now in what terms--to the last time we met, or rather parted, I strove to effect that most difficult of all moves in the game of love--to lead back the emotions, or the past train of thought, to where they had been dropped, or snapped by mischance, to the time when I had bid her lingeringly adieu, after duly shawling and handing her to the carriage, at the close of a late rout in Park-lane, when the birds of an early June morning were twittering in the trees of Hyde Park, when the purple shadows were lying deep about the Serpentine, when the Ring-road was a solitude, the distant Row a desert, and the yawning footmen in plush and powder, and the usually rubicund coachmen, looking weary, pale, and impatient, and when the time and place were suited neither for delay nor dalliance. Yet, as I have elsewhere said, an avowal of all she had inspired within me was trembling on my lips as I led her through the marble vestibule and down the steps, pressing her hand and arm the while against my side; but her mother's voice from the depths of the carriage (into which old Lord Pottersleigh had just handed her) arrested a speech to which she might only have responded by silence, then at least; and I had driven, _viâ_ Piccadilly, to the Junior U.S., when Westminster clock was paling out like a harvest moon beyond the Green Park, cursing my diffidence, that delayed all I had to say till the carriage was announced, thereby missing the chance that never might come again. And then I had but the memory of a lovely face, framed by a carriage window, regarding me with a bright yet wistful smile, and of a soft thrilling pressure returned by an ungloved hand, that was waved to me from the same carriage as it rolled away westward. The night had fled, and there remained of it only the memory of this, and of those glances so full of tenderness, and those soft attentions or half endearments which are so charming, and so implicitly understood, as almost to render language, perhaps, un necessary. "You remember the night we last met, and parted, in London?" I whispered. "Morning, rather, I think it wash" said she, fanning herself; "but night or morning, it was a most delightful ball. I had not enjoyed myself anywhere so much that season, and it was a gay one." "Ah, you have not forgotten it, then," said I, encouraged. "No; it stands out in my memory as one night among many happy ones. Day was almost breaking when you led me to the carriage, I remember." "Can you remember nothing more?' I asked, earnestly. "You shawled me most attentively--" "And I was whispering--" "Something foolish, no doubt; men are apt to do so at such times," she replied, while her white eyelids quivered and she looked up at me with her calm, bright smile. "Something foolish!" thought I, reproachfully; "and then, as now, my soul seemed on my lips." "Do you admire Mr. Guilfoyle's singing?" she asked, after a little pause, to change the subject probably. "His voice is unquestionably good and highly cultured," said I, praising him truthfully enough to conceal the intense annoyance her unexpected question gave me; "but, by the way, Lady Estelle, how does it come to pass that he has the honour of knowing you--to be _here_, too?" "How--why--what _do_, you mean, Mr. Hardinge?" she asked, and I could perceive that after colouring slightly she grew a trifle paler than before. "He is a visitor here, like you or myself. We met him abroad first; he was most kind to us when mamma lost all her passports at the Berlin Eisenbahnhof, and he accompanied us to the Alte Leipziger Strasse for others, and saw us safely to our carriage. Then, by the most singular chances, we met him again at the new Kursaal of Ems, at Gerolstein, when we were beginning the tour of the Eifel, and at Baden-Baden. Lastly, we met him at Llandudno, on the beach, quite casually, when driving with Sir Madoc, to whom he said that he knew you--that you were quite old friends, in fact." "Knew me, by Jove! that is rather odd. I only lost some money to him; enough to make me wary for the future." "Wary?" she asked, with dilated eyes. "Yes." "An unpleasant expression, surely. Sir Madoc, who is so hospitable, asked him here to see the lions of Craigaderyn, and has put a gun at his disposal for the twelfth." "How kind of unthinking Sir Madoc! A most satisfactory explanation," said I, cloudily, while gnawing my moustache. Guilfoyle had too evidently followed them. "If any explanation were necessary," was the somewhat haughty response, as the mother-of-pearl fan went faster than ever, and she looked me full in the face with her clear, dark, and penetrating eyes, to the sparkle of which the form of their lids, and their thick fringe of black lash, served to impart a softness that was indeed required. "Do you know anything of him?" she added. "No; that is--" "Anything against him?" "No, Lady Estelle." "What then?" she asked, a little petulantly. "Simply that I, pardon me, think a good deal." "More than you would say?" "Perhaps." "This is not just. Mamma is somewhat particular, as you know; and our family solicitor, Mr. Sharpus, who is his legal friend also, speaks most warmly of him. We met him in the best society--abroad, of course; but, Mr. Hardinge, your words, your manner, more than all, your tone, imply what I fear Mr. Guilfoyle would strongly resent. But please go and be attentive to mamma--you have scarcely been near her to-night," she added quickly, as a flush of anger crossed my face, and she perceived it. I bowed and obeyed, with a smile on my lips and intense annoyance in my heart. I knew that the soft eyes of Winifred Lloyd had been on us from time to time; but my little flirtation with _her_ was a thing of the past now, and I was reckless of its memory. Was she so? Time will prove. I felt jealousy of Guilfoyle, pique at Lady Estelle, and rage at my own mismanagement. I had sought to resume the tenor of our thoughts and conversation on the occasion of our parting after that joyous and brilliant night in Park-lane, when my name on her engagement card had appeared thrice for that of any one else; but if I had touched her heart, even in the slightest degree, would she have become, as it seemed, almost warm in defence of this man, a waif picked up on the Continent? Yet, had she any deeper interest in him than mere acquaintanceship warranted, would she have spoken of him so openly, and so candidly, to me? Heavens! we had actually been covertly fencing, and nearly quarrelling! Yet, if so, why should she be anxious for me to win the estimation of "mamma"? Lady Naseby had been beautiful in her time, and the utter vacuity and calm of her mind had enabled her to retain much of that beauty unimpaired; and I thought that her daughter, though with more sparkle and brilliance, would be sure to resemble her very much at the same years. She was not displeased to meet with attention, but was shrewd enough to see, and disdainful enough to resent, its being bestowed, as she suspected it was in my instance, on account of her daughter; thus I never had much success; for on the night of that very rout in London my attentions in that quarter, and their apparent good fortune, had excited her parental indignation and aristocratic prejudices against me. After all the visitors had withdrawn (as horses or carriages were announced in succession), save one or two fox-hunters whom Guilfoyle had lured into the billiard-room for purposes of his own, when the ladies left us at night Lady Estelle did not give me her hand. She passed me with a bow and smile only, and as she swept through the gilded folding doors of the outer drawing-room, with an arm round Dora's waist, her backward glances fell on all--but me. Why was this? Was this coldness of manner the result of Guilfoyle's influence, fear of her mamma, her alleged engagement with old Lord Pottersleigh, pique at myself caused by Dora's folly, or what? It was the old story of "trifles light as air." I felt wrathful and heavy at heart, and repented bitterly the invitation I had accepted, and the leave I had asked; for Lady Estelle seemed so totally unconcerned and indifferent to me now, considering the _empressement_ with which we had parted in London. The "family solicitor," too! He had been introduced as a mutual friend in the course of affairs--in the course of a friendship that had ripened most wonderfully. Was this Hawkesby Guilfoyle a fool, or a charlatan, or both? His various versions of the diamond ring would seem to show that he was the former. What fancy had the Countess for him, and why was he tolerated by Sir Madoc? Familiar though I was with my old friend, I felt that I could not, without a violation of good taste, ask a question about a guest, especially one introduced by the Cressinghams. His voice was soft in tone; his manner, when he chose, was suave; his laugh at all times, even when he mocked and sneered, which was not unfrequent, silvery and pleasing; yet he was evidently one who could "smile and smile and be"--I shall not exactly say what. While smoking a cigar, I pondered over these and other perplexing things in my room before retiring for the night, hearing ever and anon the click of the billiard-balls at the end of the corridor. Had I not the same chance and right of competition as this Guilfoyle, though unknown to the "family solicitor"? How far had he succeeded in supplanting me, and perhaps others? for that there were others I knew. How far had he gone in his suit--how prospered? How was I to construe the glances I had seen exchanged, the half speech so bluntly made, and so adroitly drowned at the piano? Who was he? what was he? The attaché of the mock embassy at a petty German Court! Surely my position in society was as good, if not better defined than his; while youth, appearance, health, and strength gave me every advantage over an "old fogie" like Viscount Pottersleigh. As if farther to inflame my pique, and confirm the chagrin and irritation that grew within me on reflection, Phil Caradoc, smoothing his moustache, came into my room, which adjoined his, to have, as he said, "a quiet weed before turning in." He looked ruffled; for he had lost money at billiards--that was evident--and to the object of my jealousy, too. "That fellow Guilfoyle is a thorough Bohemian if ever there was one!" said he, as he viciously bit off the end of his cigar prior to lighting it, "with his inimitable tact, his steady stroke at billiards, his scientific whist, his coolness and perfect breeding: yet he is, I am certain, unless greatly mistaken, a regular free-lance, without the bravery or brilliance that appertained to the name of old--a lawless ritter of the gaming-table, and one that can't even act his part well or consistently in being so. He has been spinning another story about that ring, with which I suppose, like Claude Melnotte's, we shall hear in time his grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic I am certain," continued Caradoc, who was unusually ruffled, "that though a vainglorious and boasting fellow, he is half knave, half fool, and wholly adventurer!" "This is strong language, Phil. Good heavens! do you really think so?" I asked, astonished to find him so boldly putting my own thoughts into words. "I am all but convinced of it," said he, emphatically. "But how in such society?" "Ah, that is the rub, and the affair of Sir Madoc, and of Lady Naseby, and of Lady Estelle, too, for she seems to take rather more than an interest in him--they have some secret understanding. . By Jove! I can't make it out at all." Caradoc's strong convictions and unusual bluntness added fuel to my pique and chagrin, and I resolved that, come what might, I would end the matter ere long; and I thought the while of the song of Montrose-- "He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all!" CHAPTER VIII.--SUNDAY AT CRAIGADERYN. The following day was Sunday; and ere it closed, there occurred a little contretemps which nearly lost me all chance of putting to the issue whether I was "to gain or lose it all" with Estelle Cressingham. I felt that it was quite possible, if I chose, to have my revenge through the sweet medium of Winifred Lloyd; yet, though Lady Estelle's somewhat pointed defence of Guilfoyle rankled in my memory, and Caradoc's hints had added fuel to the flame, I shrunk from such a double game, and hoped that the chances afforded by propinquity in general, and the coming fête in particular, would soon enable me to come to a decision. My mind was full of vague irritation against her; yet when I rose in the morning, my one and predominant thought was that I should see her again. Carriages and horses had been ordered from the stable for our conveyance to Craigaderyn church, a three miles' drive through lovely scenery, and I resolved to accompany the sisters in the barouche, leaving whom fate directed to take charge of Lady Estelle; yet great was my contentment when she fell to the care of Sir Madoc in the family carriage. Lady Naseby did not appear, her French soubrette, Mademoiselle Babette Pompon, announcing that she was indisposed. Guilfoyle and Caradoc rode somewhat unwillingly together, and I sat opposite Winny, who insisted on driving, and was duly furnished with the smartest of parasol whips--pink, with a white fringe. Quitting the park, we skirted a broad trout stream, the steep banks of which were clad with light-green foliage, and name _Nant-y-belan_, or the "Martens' dingle." At the bottom the river foamed along over broken and abutting rocks, or flowed in dark and noiseless pools, where the brown trout lurked in the shade, and where the overarching trees and grassy knolls were reflected downward in the depth. Hawkesby Guilfoyle sat his horse--one of Sir Madoc's hunters, fully sixteen hands high--so well, and looked so handsome and gentlemanly, his riding costume was so complete, even to his silver spurs, well-fitting buff gloves, and riding switch, that I felt regret in the conviction that some cloud hung over the fellow's antecedents, and present life too, perhaps; but with all that I could not forgive him his rivalry and, as I deemed it, presumption, with the strong belief that he was, in his secret heart; my enemy. He and Caradoc rode behind the open carriage; we led the way in the barouche; and a very merry and laughing party we were, as we swept by the base of the green hills of Mynedd Hiraethrog, and over the ancient bridge that spans Llyn Aled, to the church of Craigaderyn, where the entrance of Sir Madoc's family and their visitors caused periodically somewhat of a sensation among the more humble parishioners who were there, and were wont to regard with a species of respectful awe the great square pew, which was lined with purple velvet, and had a carved-oak table in the centre, and over the principal seat the lion's head erased, and the shield of Lloyd per bend sinister, ermine and pean, a lion rampant, armed with a sword. With a roof of carved oak, brought from some _other_ place (the invariable account of all such roofs in Wales), and built by Jorwerth ap Davydd Lloyd, in 1320, the church was a picturesque old place, where many generations of the Craigaderyn family had worshipped long before and since the Reformation, and whose bones, lapped in lead, and even in coffins of stone, lay in the burial vaults below. The oaken pews were high and deep, and were covered with dates, coats-of-arms, and quaint monograms. In some places the white slabs indicated where lay the remains of those who died but yesterday. Elsewhere, with helmet, spurs, and gloves of steel hung above their stony effigies, and covered by cobwebs and dust, lay the men of ages past and gone, their brasses and pedestal tombs bearing, in some instances, how stoutly and valiantly they had fought against the Spaniard, the Frenchman, and the Scot. One, Sir Madoc ap Meredyth Lloyd, whose sword hung immediately over my head, had wielded it, as his brass recorded, "contra Scotos apud Flodden et Musselboro;" and now the spiders were busy spinning their cobwebs over the rusted helmet through which this old Welsh knight had seen King James's host defile by the silver Till, and that of his fated granddaughter by the banks of the beautiful Esk. In other places I saw the more humble, but curious Welsh mode of commemorating the dead, by hanging up a coffin-plate, inscribed with their names, in the pews where they were wont to sit. Coats-of-arms met the eye on all sides--solid evidences of birth and family, which more than once evoked a covert sneer from Guilfoyle, who to his other bad qualities added the pride and the envy of such things, that seem inseparable from the character of the parvenu. There were two services in Craigaderyn church each Sunday, one in Welsh, the other in English. Sir Madoc usually attended the former; but in courtesy to Lady Estelle, he had come to the latter to-day. Over all the details of the village fane my eyes wandered from time to time, always to rest on the face of Estelle Cressingham or of Winifred Lloyd, who was beside me, and who on this day, as I had accompanied her, seemed to feel that she had me all to herself. We read off the same book, as we had done years before in the same pew and place; ever and anon our gloved fingers touched; I felt her silk dress rustling against me; her long lashes and snowy lids, with the soft pale beauty of her downcast face, and her sweetly curved mouth, were all most pleasing and attractive; but the _sense_ of Estelle's presence rendered me invulnerable to all but her; and my eyes could not but roam to where she stood or knelt by the side of burly Sir Madoc, her fine face downcast too in the soft light that stole between the deep mullions and twisted tracery of an ancient stained-glass window, her noble and equally pure profile half seen and half hidden by a short veil of black lace; her rounded chin and lips rich in colour, and beautiful in character as those of one of Greuze's loveliest masterpieces. There, too, were the rich brightness of her hair, and the proud grace that pervaded all her actions, and even her stillness. Thus, even when I did not look towards her, but in Winifred's face, or on the book we mutually held, and mechanically affected to read, a perception, a dreamy sense of Estelle's presence was about me, and I could not help reverting to our past season in London, and all that has been described by a writer as those "first sweet hours of communion, when strangers glide into friends; that hour which, either in friendship or in love, is as the bloom to the fruit, as the daybreak to the day, indefinable, magical, and fleeting;" the hours which saw me presented as a friend, and left me a lover. The day was intensely hot, and inside the old church, though some of the arched recesses and ancient tombs looked cool enough, there was a blaze of sunshine, that fell in hazy flakes or streams of coloured light athwart the bowed heads of the congregation. With heat and languor, there was also the buzz of insect life; and amid the monotonous tones of the preacher I loved to fancy him reading the marriage service for us--that is, for Estelle and myself--fancied it as an enthusiastic school-girl might have done; and yet how was it that, amid these conceits, the face and form of Winifred Lloyd, with her pretty hand in the tight straw-coloured kid glove, that touched mine, filled up the eye of the mind? Was I dreaming, or only about to sleep, like so many of the congregation--those toilers afield, those hardy hewers of wood and drawers of water, whose strong sinews, when unbraced, induced them to slumber now--the men especially, as the study of each other's toilets served to keep the female portion fully awake. When the clergyman prayed for the success of our arms in the strife that was to come, Winifred's dark eyes looked into mine for a moment, quick as light, and I saw her bosom swell; and when he prayed, "Give peace in our time, O Lord," her voice became earnest and tremulous in responding; and I could have sworn that I saw a tear oozing, but arrested, on the thick black eyelash of this impulsive Welsh girl, whom this part of the service, by its association and the time, seemed to move; but Lady Estelle was wholly intent on having one of her gloves buttoned by Guilfoyle, whose attendance she doubtless preferred to that of old Sir Madoc. "Look!" said Winifred Lloyd, in an excited whisper, as she lightly touched my hand. I followed the direction of her eye, and saw, seated at the end of the central aisle, modestly and humbly, among the free places reserved for the poor, a young woman, whose appearance was singularly interesting. Poorly, or rather plainly, attired in faded black, her face was remarkably handsome; and her whole air was perfectly ladylike. She was as pale as death, with a wild wan look in all her features; disease, or sorrow, or penury--perhaps all these together--had marked her as their own; her eyes, of clear, bright, and most expressive gray, were haggard and hollow, with dark circles under them. Black kid gloves showed her pretensions to neatness and gentility; but as they were frayed and worn, she strove to conceal her hands nervously under her gathered shawl. "She is looking at you, Winifred," said Dora. "No--at Estelle." "At us all, I think," resumed Dora, in the same whispered tone; "and she has done so for some time past. Heavens! she seems quite like a spectre." "Poor creature!" said Winifred; "we must inquire about her." "Do you know her, Mr. Hardinge?" asked Dora. "Nay, not I; it is Mr. Guilfoyle she is looking at," said I. Guilfoyle, having achieved the somewhat protracted operation of buttoning Lady Estelle's lavender kid glove, now stuck his glass in his eye, and turned leisurely and languidly in the direction that attracted us all, just as the service was closing; but the pale woman quickly drew down her veil, and quitted the church abruptly, ere he could see her, as I thought; and this circumstance, though I took no heed of it then, I remembered in the time to come. Winifred frankly took my arm as we left the church. "You promised to come with me after luncheon and see the goat I have for the regiment," said she. "Did I?--ah, yes--shall be most happy, I'm sure," said I, shamefully oblivious of the promise in question, as we proceeded towards the carriages, the people making way for us on all sides, the women curtseying and the men uncovering to Sir Madoc, who was a universal favourite, especially with the maternal portion of the parish, as he was very fond of children and flattered himself not a little on his power of getting on with them, being wont to stop mothers on the road or in the village street, and make knowing remarks on the beauty, the complexions, or the curly heads of their offspring while he was never without a handful of copper or loose silver for general distribution; and now it excited some surprise and even secret disdain in Guilfoyle--a little petulance in Lady Estelle too--to find him shaking hands and speaking in gutteral Welsh with some of the men cottagers, or peasant-women with jackets and tall odd hats. But one anecdote will suffice to show the character of Sir Madoc. In the very summer of my visit, it had occurred that he had to serve on a jury when a property of some three thousand pounds or so was at issue; and when the jury retired, he found that they were determined to decide in such manner as he did not deem equitable, and which in the end would inevitably ruin an honest farmer named Evan Rhuddlan, father of a sergeant in my company of Welsh Fusileers, who dwelt at a place called Craig Eryri, or "the Rock of Eagles." Finding that they were resolute, he submitted, or affected to acquiesce in their decision; but on announcing it to the court he handed the losing party a cheque on Coutts and Co. for the whole sum in litigation, and became more than ever the idol of the country people. "Romantic old place--casques, cobwebs, and all that sort of thing," said Guilfoyle, as he handed Lady Estelle into the carriage, and took the bridle of his horse from Bob Spurrit, the groom; "I thought Burke had written the epitaph of chivalry and all belonging to it." "Yes, but romance still exists, Mr. Guilfoyle," said Winifred, whose face was bright with smiles. "And love too, eh, Estelle?" added Dora, laughing. "Even in the region of Mayfair, you think?" said she. "Yes; and wherever there is beauty, that is rarest," said I. But she only replied by one of her calm smiles; for she had a reticence of manner which there seemed to be no means of moving. "Talking of love and romance, I should like to know more of that pale woman we saw in church to-day," said Dora. "Why so?" asked Guilfoyle, curtly. "Because I saw she must have some terrible story to tell.--What was the text, Mr. Caradoc?" she asked, as we departed homewards. "Haven't the ghost of an idea," replied Phil. "O fie!--or the subject?" "No," said Caradoc, reddening a little; for he had been intent during the whole service on Winifred Lloyd. "It was all about Jacob's ladder, of which we have had a most inaccurate notion hitherto," said Dora, as we drove down the long lime avenue, to find that, as the day was so sultry, luncheon had been laid for us by Owen Gwyllim under the grand old trees in the lawn, about thirty yards from the entrance-hall, under the very oak where the spectre of Sir Jorwerth Du was alleged to vanish, the oak of Owen Glendower; and where that doughty Cymbrian had perhaps sought to summon spirits from the vasty deep, we found spirits of another kind--brandy and seltzer, clicquot and sparkling moselle cooling in silver ice-pails on the greensward; and there too, awaiting us, sat Lady Naseby, smiling and fanning herself under the umbrageous shadows of the chase. Over her stately head was pinned a fall of rich Maltese lace, that hung in lappets on each side--a kind of demi-toilette that well became her lingering beauty and matronly appearance. In a mother-of-pearl basket by her side, and placed on the luncheon-table, lay Tiny, her shock, a diminutive cur, white as snow, spotless as Mademoiselle Babette with perfumed soap could make it, its long woolly hair dangling over its pink eyes, giving it, as Sir Madoc said, "a most pitiable appearance;" for with all his love of dogs, he disliked such pampered, waddling, and wheezing pets as this, and thought manhood never looked so utterly contemptible as when a tall "Jeames" in livery, with whiskers and calves, cane and nosegay, had the custody of such a quadruped, while his lady shopped in Regent-street or Piccadilly. CHAPTER IX.-THE INITIALS. While we were at luncheon, and the swollen champagne-corks were flying upward into the green foliage overhead, and while Owen Gwyllim was supplying us with iced claret-cup from a great silver tankard presented to Sir Madoc's uncle by his regiment, the Ancient Britons, after the Irish rebellion of 1798, and with which he, Sir Madoc, had been wont to dispense swig or "brown Betty" on St. David's day, when at Cambridge--Dora, with her hair flying loose, her eyes sparkling, and her face radiant with excitement and merriment came tripping down the perron from the entrance hall, and across the lawn towards us, with the contents of the household post-bag. She seemed to have letters for every one, save me--letters which she dropped and picked up as she came along. There was quite a pile of notes for herself, on the subject of her approaching fête; and how busy her pretty little hands immediately became! After the usual muttered apologies, all began to read. There was a letter for Guilfoyle, on reading which he grew very white, exhibited great trepidation, and thrust it into his coat-pocket. "What is up, sir?" asked Sir Madoc, pausing with a slice of cold fowl on his fork; "nothing unpleasant, I hope?' "Sold on a bay mare--that is all," he replied, with an affected laugh, as if to dismiss the subject. "How?" asked Sir Madoc, whom a "horsey" topic immediately interested. "Like many other handicap 'pots' this season, my nag came in worse than second." "A case of jockeying?" "Pure and simple." "When?" "O, ah--York races." "Why, man alive, they don't come off for a month yet!" responded Sir Madoc, somewhat dryly; but perceiving that his guest was awkwardly placed, he changed the subject by saying, "But your letter, Lady Estelle, gives you pleasure, I am glad to see." "It is from Lord Pottersleigh. He arrives here to-morrow and hopes his rooms have a southern exposure." "The fête-day--of course. His comforts shall be fully attended to." "Why did he write to _her_ about this, and not to Sir Madoc or Miss Lloyd?" thought I. "He is such an old friend," remarked Lady Estelle, as if she divined my mental query. "Yes, rather too old for my taste," said the somewhat mischievous Dora. "He wears goloshes in damp weather, his hat down on the nape of his neck; is in an agony of mind about exposures, draughts, and currents of air; makes his horse shy every time he attempts to mount, and they go round in circles, eyeing each other suspiciously till a groom comes; and when he does achieve his saddle, he drops his whip or his gloves, or twists his stirrup-leather. And yet it is this old fogie whose drag at Epsom or the Derby makes the greatest show, has the finest display of lovely faces, fans, bonnets, and parasols--a moving Swan and Edgar, with a luncheon spread that Fortnum and Mason might envy, and champagne flowing as if from a fountain; but withal, he is so tiresome!" "Dora, you quite forget yourself," said Winifred, while I could have kissed her for this sketch of my rival, at which Sir Madoc, and even Estelle Cressingham, laughed; but Lady Naseby said, with some asperity of tone, "Lord Pottersleigh is one of our richest peers, Miss Dora, and his creation dates from Henry VIII." "And he is to dance with me," said the heedless girl, still laughing. "O, won't I astonish his nerves if we waltz!" "Your cousin Naseby is to visit us, Estelle, at Walcot Park, so soon as we return, if he can," said the Countess, turning from Dora with a very dubious expression of eye, and closing a letter she had received; "his love-affair with that odious Irish girl is quite off, thank heaven!" "How?--love of change, or change of love?" "Neither." "What then, mamma?" "The Irish girl actually had a mind of her own, and preferred some one else even to a peer, an English peer!" "I drain this clicquot to the young lady's happiness," said Sir Madoc. "But all this is nothing to me, mamma," said Lady Estelle, coldly. But I could see at a glance, that if it was unimportant to _her_, it was not so to her mother, his aunt, who would rather have had the young earl for her son-in-law than the old viscount, even though the patent of the latter had been expede by the royal Bluebeard, most probably for services that pertained more to knavery than knighthood. "Well, Caradoc," said I, "is your despatch from the regiment?" "Yes; from Price of ours. Nothing but rumours of drafts going eastward to make up the death-losses at Varna, and he fears our leave may be cancelled. 'Deuced awkward if we go soon,' he adds, 'as I have a most successful _affaire du c[oe]ur_ on hand just now.'" "When is he ever without one?" said I; and we both laughed. Winifred's eyes were on me, and Caradoc's were on her, while I was sedulously attending to Lady Estelle. As for Guilfoyle, since the advent of his letter he had become quite silent. We were at the old game of cross-purposes; for it seems to be in love, as with everything else in life, that the obstacles in the way, and the difficulty of attainment, always enhance the value of the object to be won. Yet in the instance of Lady Estelle I was not so foolish as poor Price of ours, the butt of the mess, who always fell in love with the wrong person--to whom the pale widow, inconsolable in her first crape; the blooming bride, in her clouds of tulle and white lace; the girl just engaged, and who consequently saw but one man in the world, and that man her own _fiancé_; or any pretty girl whom he met just when the route came and the mess-plate was packed prior to marching--became invested with remarkable charms, and a sudden interest that made his susceptible heart feel sad and tender. The ladies' letters opened up quite a budget of town news and gossip. To Sir Madoc, a genuine country gentleman, full only of field-sports, the prospects of the turnip crop and the grouse season, the county-pack and so forth, a conversation that now rose, chiefly on the coming fête on dresses, music, routs and Rotten-row, kettledrums and drawing-rooms, and the town in general, proved somewhat of a bore. He fidgeted, and ultimately left for the stables, where he and Bob Spurrit had to hold a grave consultation on certain equine ailments. The ladies also rose to leave us; but Caradoc, Guilfoyle, and I lingered under the cool shadow of the oaks, and lit our cigars. With his silver case for holding the last-named luxuries, Guilfoyle unconsciously pulled forth a letter, which fell on the grass at my feet. Picking it up, I restored it to him; but brief though the action, I could not help perceiving it to be the letter he had just received, that it was addressed in a woman's hand, and had on the envelope, in coloured letters, the name "Georgette." "Thanks," said he, with sudden irritation of manner, as he thrust it into a breast-pocket this time; "a narrow squeak that!" he added, slangily, with a half-muttered malediction. I felt certain that there was a mystery in all this; that he feared something unpleasant might have been revealed, had that identical letter fallen into _other_ hands, or under more prying eyes; and I remembered those trivial circumstances at a future, and to me rather harassing, time. I must own that this man was to me a puzzle. With all his disposition to boast, he never spoke of relations or of family; yet he seemed in perfectly easy circumstances; his own valet, groom, and horses were at Craigaderyn; he could bear himself well and with perfect ease in the best society; and it was evident that, wherever they came from, he was at present a man of pretty ample means. He possessed, moreover, a keen perception for appreciating individuals and events at their actual value; his manners were, _when he chose_, polished, his coolness imperturbable, and his _insouciance_ sometimes amusing. For the present, it had left him. "Beautiful brilliant that of yours, Mr. Guilfoyle," said Caradoc, to fish for another legend of the ring; but in vain, for Guilfoyle was no longer quite himself, though he had policy enough to feed the snarling cur Tiny in her basket, with choice morsels of cold fowl, as Lady Naseby's soubrette, Mademoiselle Babette, was waiting to carry it away. Since the remarks or _contretemps_ concerning the York races he had been as mute as a fish; and now, when he did begin to speak in the absence of Sir Madoc, I could perceive that gratitude for kindness did not form an ingredient in the strange compound of which his character was made up. Perhaps secret irritation at Sir Madoc's queries about the letter which so evidently disturbed his usual equanimity might have been the real spirit that moved him now to sneer at the old baronet's Welsh foibles, and particularly his weakness on the subject of pedigrees. "You are to stay here for the 1st, I believe?" said I. "Yes; but, the dooce! for what? Such a labour to march through miles of beans and growing crop, to knock over a few partridges and rabbits" (partwidges and wabbits, he called them), "which you can pay another to do much better for you." "Sturdy Sir Madoc would hear this with incredulous astonishment," said I. "Very probably. Kind fellow old Taffy, though," said he, while smoking leisurely, and lounging back in an easy garden-chair; "has a long pedigree, of course, as we may always remember by the coats-of-arms stuck up all over the house. 'County people' in the days of Howel Dha; 'county ditto' in the days of Queen Victoria, and likely to remain so till the next flood forms a second great epoch in the family history. Very funny, is it not? He reminds me of what we read of Mathew Bramble in _Humphry Clinker_--a gentleman of great worth and property, descended in a straight line by the female side from Llewellyn, Prince of Wales." I was full of indignation on hearing my old friend spoken of thus, if not under his own roof, under his ancient ancestral oaks; but Philip Caradoc, more Celtic and fiery by nature, anticipated me by saying sharply, "Bad taste this, surely in you, Mr. Guilfoyle, to sneer thus at our hospitable entertainer; and believe me, sir, that no one treats lightly the pedigree of another who--who--" "Ah, well--who what?" "Possesses one himself," added Phil, looking him steadily in the face. "Bah! I suppose every one has had a grandfather." "Even you, Mr. Guilfoyle?" continued Caradoc, whose cheek began to flush; but the other replied calmly, and not without point, "There is a writer who says, that to pride oneself on the nobility of one's ancestors is like looking among the roots for the fruit that should be found on the branches." Finding that the conversation was taking a decidedly unpleasant turn, and that, though his tone was quiet and his manner suave, a glassy glare shone in the greenish-gray eyes of Guilfoyle, I said, with an assumed laugh, "We must not forget the inborn ideas and the national sentiments of the Welsh--call them provincialisms if you will. But remember that there are eight hundred thousand people inspired by a nationality so strong, that they will speak only the language of the Cymri; and it is among those chiefly that our regiment has ever been recruited. But if the foibles--I cannot deem them folly--of Sir Madoc are distasteful to you, the charms of the scenery around us and those of our lady friends cannot but be pleasing." "Granted," said he, coldly; "all are beautiful, even to Miss Dora, who looks so innocent." "Who _is_ so innocent by nature, Mr. Guilfoyle," said I, in a tone of undisguised sternness. "Then it is a pity she permits herself to say--sharp things." "With so much unintentional point, perhaps?" "Sir!" "Truth, then--which you will," said I, as we simultaneously rose to leave luncheon-table. And now, oddly enough, followed by Winifred, Dora herself came again tripping down the broad steps of the perron towards us, exclaiming, "Is not papa with you?--the tiresome old dear, he will be among the harriers or the stables of course!" "What is the matter?" I asked. "Only think, Mr. Hardinge, that poor woman we saw at church this morning, looking so pretty, so pale, and interesting, was found among the tombstones by Farmer Rhuddlan, quite in a helpless faint, after we drove away--so the housekeeper tells me; so we must find her out and succour her if possible." "But who is she?" asked Caradoc. "No one knows; she refused obstinately to give her name or tell her story ere she went away; but at her neck hangs a gold locket, with a crest, the date, 1st of September, on one side, and H. G. beautifully enamelled on the other. How odd--your initials, Mr. Guilfoyle!" "You are perhaps not aware that my name is Henry Hawkesby Guilfoyle," said he, with ill-concealed anger, while he played nervously with his diamond ring. "How intensely odd!" resumed his beautiful but unwitting tormentor; "H. H. G. were the three letters on the locket!" "Did no one open it?" he asked. "No; it was firmly closed." "By a secret spring, no doubt." Guilfoyle looked ghastly for a moment, or it might have been the effect of the sunlight flashing on his face through the waving foliage of the trees overhead; but he said laughingly, "A droll coincidence, which under some circumstances, might be very romantic, but fortunately in the present has no point whatever. If my initials hung at your neck instead of hers, how happy I should be, Miss Dora!" And turning the matter thus, by a somewhat clumsy compliment or bit of flattery, he ended an unpleasant conversation by entering the house with her and Caradoc. Winifred remained irresolutely behind them. "We were to visit my future comrade," said I. "Come, then," said she, with a beautiful smile, and a soft blush of innocent pleasure. CHAPTER X.--A PERILOUS RAMBLE. Winifred Lloyd was, as Caradoc had said, a very complete and perfect creature. The very way her gloves fitted, the handsome form of her feet, the softness of her dark eyes, the tender curve of her lips, and, more than all, her winning manner--the inspiration of an innocent and guileless heart--made her a most desirable companion at all times; but with me, at present, poor Winifred was only the means to an end; and perhaps she secretly felt this, as she lingered pensively for a moment by the marble fountain that stood before Craigaderyn Court, and played with her white fingers in the water, causing the gold and silver fish to dart madly to and fro. Above its basin a group of green bronze tritons were spouting, great Nile lilies floated on its surface, and over all was the crest of the Lloyds, also in bronze, a lion's head, gorged, with a wreath of oak. The notes of a harp came softly towards us through the trees as we walked onward, for old Owen Gwyllim the butler was playing in that most unromantic place his pantry, and the air was the inevitable "Jenny Jones." From the lawn I led her by walks and ways forgotten since my boyhood, and since I had gone the same route with her birdnesting and nutting in those glorious Welsh woods, by hedgerows that were matted and interwoven with thorny brambles and bright wild-flowers, past laden orchards and picturesque farms, nooks that were leafy and green, and little tarns of gleaming water, that reflected the smiling summer sky; past meadows, where the sleek brown, or black, or brindled cattle were chewing the cud and ruminating knee-deep among the fragrant pasture; and dreamily I walked by her side, touching her hand from time to time, or taking it fairly in mine as of old, and occasionally enforcing what I said by a pressure of her soft arm within mine, while I talked to her, saying heaven knows what, but most ungratefully wishing all the time that she were Estelle Cressingham. All was soft and peaceful around us. The woods of Craigaderyn, glowing in the heat of the August afternoon, were hushed and still, all save the hum of insects, or if they stirred it was when the soft west wind seemed to pass through them with a languid sigh; and so some of the influences of a past time and a boyish love came over me; a time long before I had met the dazzling Estelle--a time when to me there had seemed to be but one girl in the world, and she was Winifred Lloyd--ere I joined the --th in the West Indies, or the Welsh Fusileers, and knew what the world was. I dreaded being betrayed into some tenderness as a treason to Lady Estelle; and fortunately we were not without some interruptions in our walk of a mile or so to visit her horned pet, whom she had sent forth for a last run on his native hills. We visited Yr Ogof (or the cave) where one of her cavalier ancestors had hidden after the battle of Llandegai, in the Vale of the Ogwen, during the wars of Cromwell, and now, by local superstition, deemed an abode of the knockers, those supernatural guardians of the mines, to whom are known all the metallic riches of the mountains; hideous pigmy gnomes, who, though they can never be seen, are frequently heard beating, blasting, and boring with their little hammers, and singing in a language known to themselves only. Then we tarried by the heaped-up cairn that marked some long-forgotten strife; and then by the Maen Hir, a long boulder, under which some fabled giant lay; and next a great rocking stone, amid a field of beans, which we found Farmer Rhuddlan--a sturdy specimen of a Welsh Celt, high cheek-boned and sharp-eyed--contemplating with great satisfaction. High above the sea of green stalks towered that wizard altar, where whilom an archdruid had sat, and offered up the blood of his fellow-men to gods whose names and rites are alike buried in oblivion; but Strabo tells us that it was from the flowing blood of the victim that the Druidesses--virgins supposed to be endowed with the gift of prophecy--divined the events of the future; and this old stone, now deemed but a barrier to the plough, had witnessed those terrible observances. Poised one block upon the other, resting on the space a sparrow alone might occupy, and having stood balanced thus mysteriously for uncounted ages, lay the rocking stone. The farmer applied his strong hand to the spheroidal mass, and after one or two impulses it swayed most perceptibly. Then begging me not to forget his son, who was with our Fusileers far away at Varna, he respectfully uncovered his old white head, and left us to continue his tour of the crops, but not without bestowing upon us a peculiar and knowing smile, that made the blood mantle in the peachlike cheeks of Winifred. "How strange are the reflections these solemn old relics excite!" said she, somewhat hastily; "if, indeed, one may pretend to value or to think of such things in these days of ours, when picturesque superstition is dying and poetry is long since dead." "Poetry dead?" "I think it died with Byron." "Poetry can never die while beauty exists," said I, smiling rather pointedly in her face. My mind being so filled with Estelle and her fancied image, caused me to be unusually soft and tender to Winifred. I seemed to be mingling one woman's presence with that of another. I regarded Winifred as the dearest of friends; but I loved Estelle with a passion that was full of enthusiasm and admiration. "No two men have the same idea of beauty," said Winifred, after a pause. "True, nor any two nations; it exists chiefly, perhaps, in the mind of the lover." "Yet love has nothing exactly to do with it." "Prove this," said I, laughing, as I caught her hand in mine. "Easily. Ask a Chinese his idea of loveliness, and he will tell you, a woman with her eyebrows plucked out, the lids painted, her teeth blackened, and her feet shapeless; and what does the cynical Voltaire say?--'Ask a toad what is beauty, the supremely beautiful, and he will answer you, it is his female, with two round eyes projecting out of its little head, a broad flat neck, a yellow breast, and dark-brown back.' Even red hair is thought lovely by some; and did not Duke Philip the Good institute the order of the Golden Fleece of Burgundy in honour of a damsel whose hair was as yellow as saffron; and now, Harry Hardinge, what is _your_ idea?" "Can you ask me?" I exclaimed, with something of ardour, for she looked so laughingly bright and intelligent as she spoke; then divining that I was thinking of another, not of her, "for there is a thread in our thoughts even as there is a pulse in our hearts, and he who can hold the one knows how to think, and he who can move the other knows how to feel," she said, with a point scarcely meant. "The eye may be pleased, the vanity flattered, and ambition excited by a woman of beauty, especially if she is one of rank; yet the heart may be won by one her inferior. Talking of beauty, Lady Naseby has striven hard to get the young earl, her nephew, to marry our friend, Lady Estelle." "Would she have him?" I asked, while my cheek grew hot. "I cannot say--but he declined," replied Winifred, pressing a wild rose to her nostrils. "Declined--impossible!" "Why impossible? But in her fiery pride Estelle will never, never forgive him; though he was already engaged to one whom he, then at least, loved well." "Ah--the Irish girl, I suppose?" "Yes," said Winifred, with a short little sigh, as she looked down. "Such a girl as Estelle Cressingham must always find admirers." "Hundreds; but as the estates, like the title, have passed to the next male heir, and Lady Naseby has only a life-rent of the jointure house in Hants--Walcot Park, a lovely place--she is anxious that her daughter should make a most suitable marriage." "Which means lots of tin, I suppose?" said I, sourly. "Exactly," responded Winifred, determined, perhaps, if I had the bad taste to speak so much of Estelle, to say unpleasant things; "and the favoured _parti_ at present is Viscount Pottersleigh, who comes here to-morrow, as his letter informed her." "Old Pottersleigh is sixty if he is a day!" said I, emphatically. "What has age to do with the matter in view? Money and position are preferable to all fancies of the heart, I fear." "Nay, nay, Winifred, you belie yourself and Lady Estelle too; love is before everything!" She laughed at my energy, while I began to feel that, next to making love, there is nothing so pleasant or so suggestive as talking of it to a pretty girl; and I beg to assure you, that it was somewhat perilous work with one like Winifred Lloyd; a girl who had the sweetest voice, the most brilliant complexion, and the softest eyes perhaps in all North Wales. She now drew her hand away; till then I had half forgot it was _her_ hand I had been holding. "Remember that oft-quoted line in the song of Montrose," said she, pretty pointedly. "Which? for I haven't an idea." "'Love _one_--and love no more.'" "The great marquis was wrong," said I; "at least, if, according to a more obscure authority in such matters, Price of ours, one may love many times and always truly." "Indeed!" Her lip curled as she spoke. "Yes; for may not the same charms, traits, manner, and beauty which lure us to love once, lure us to love again?" Winifred actually sighed, with something very like irritation, as she said, "I think all this the most abominable sophistry, Mr. Hardinge, and I feel a hatred for 'Price of ours,' whoever he may be." "Mister! Why I was Harry a moment ago." "Well, here is the abode of Cameydd Llewellyn; and you must tell me what you think of your future Welsh comrade; his beard may be to the regimental pattern, though decidedly his horns and moustaches are not." As she said this, again laughingly, we found ourselves close to a little hut that abutted on a thatched cottage and cow-house, in a most secluded place, a little glen or dell, over which the trees were arching, and so forming a vista, through which we saw Craigaderyn Court, as if in a frame of foliage. She opened a little wicket, and at the sound of her voice the goat came forth, dancing on his hind legs--a trick she had taught him--or playfully butting her skirts with his horns, regarding me somewhat dubiously and suspiciously the while with his great hazel eyes. He was truly a splendid specimen of the old Carnarvonshire breed of goats, which once ran wild over the mountains there, and were either hunted by dogs or shot with the bullet so lately as Pennant's time. His hair, which was longer than is usual with those of England, led me to fancy there was a Cashmerian cross in his blood; his black horns were two feet three inches long, and more than two feet from one sharp tip to the other. He was as white as the new-fallen snow, with a black streak down the back, and his beard was as venerable in proportion and volume as it was silky in texture. "He is indeed a beautiful creature--a noble fellow!" I exclaimed, with genuine admiration. "And just four years old. I obtained him when quite a kid." "I am so loth that the Fusileers should deprive you of him." "Talk not of that; but when you see my goat, my old pet Carneydd Llewellyn, marching proudly at their head, and decked with chaplets on St. David's day, when you are far, far away from us, you will--" she paused. "What, Winifred?" "Think sometimes of Craigaderyn--of to-day--and of me, perhaps," she added, with a laugh that sounded strangely unlike one. "Do I require aught to make me think of you?" said I, patting kindly the plump, ungloved hand with which she was caressing the goat's head, and which in whiteness rivalled the hue of his glossy coat; and thereon I saw a Conway pearl, in a ring I had given her long ago, when she was quite a little girl. "I hope not--and papa--I hope not." The bright beaming face was upturned to me, and, as the deuce would have it, I kissed her: the impulse was irresistible. She trembled then, withdrew a pace or two, grew very pale, and her eyes filled with tears. "You should not have done that, Harry--I mean, Mr. Hardinge." There was something wild and pitiful in her face. "Tears?" said I, not knowing very well what to say; for "people often _do_ say very little, when they mean a great deal." "My old favourite will know the black ladders of Carneydd Llewellyn no more," said she, stooping over the goat caressingly to hide her confusion. "But, Winifred--Miss Lloyd--why tears?" "Can you ask me?" said she, her eyes flashing through them. "Why, what a fuss you make! I have often done so--when a boy!" "But you are no longer a boy; nor am I a girl, Mr. Hardinge." "Do please call me Harry, like Sir Madoc," I entreated. "Not now--after this; and here comes Lady Estelle." "Estelle!" At that moment, not far from us, we saw Lady Naseby, driven in a pony-phaeton by Caradoc, and Lady Estelle with Guilfoyle a little way behind them, on horseback, and unaccompanied by any groom, coming sweeping at a trot down the wooded glen. Such is the amusing inconsistency of the human heart--the male human heart, perhaps my lady readers will say--that though I had been more than flirting with Winifred Lloyd--on the eve of becoming too tender, perhaps--I felt a pang of jealousy on seeing that Guilfoyle was Lady Estelle's sole companion, for Dora was doubtless immersed in the details of her forthcoming fête. Had she seen us? Had she detected in the distance that little salute? If so, in the silly, kindly, half-flirting, and half-affectionate impulse which led me to kiss my beautiful companion and playfellow of the past years--the mere impulse of a moment--if mistaken, I might have ruined myself with her--perhaps with both. "A lovely animal'! I hope you are gratified, Mr. Hardinge?" said Lady Estelle, with--but perhaps it was fancy--a curl on her red lip, as she reined-in her spirited horse sharply with one firm hand, and caressed his arching neck gracefully with the other, while he rose on his hind legs, and her veil flew aside. Already dread of the future had chased away my first emotion of pique, nor was it possible to be long angry with Estelle; for with men and women alike, her beauty made her irresistible. Some enemies among the latter she undoubtedly had; they might condemn the regularity of her features as too classically severe, or have said that at times the flash of her dark eyes was proud or defiant; but the smile that played about her lip was so soft and winning that its influence was felt by all. Her perfect ease of manner seemed cold--very cold, indeed, when compared to the thoughts that burned in my own breast at that moment--dread that I might have been trifling with Winifred Lloyd, for whom I cherished a sincere and tender friendship; intense annoyance lest my friend Caradoc, who really loved her, might resent the affair; and, more than all, that she for whom I would freely have perilled limb and life might also resent, or mistake, the situation entirely. And in this vague mood of mind I returned with the little party to the house, where the bell had rung for tea, before dinner, which was always served at eight o'clock. As we quitted the goat, its keeper, an old peasant dame, wearing a man's hat and coat, with a striped petticoat and large spotted handkerchief, looked affectionately after Miss Lloyd, and uttered an exclamation in Welsh, which Caradoc translated to me as being, "God bless her! May feet so light and pretty never carry a heavy heart!" CHAPTER XI.--THE FÊTE CHAMPETRE. How wild and inconceivable, abrupt, yet quite practicable, were the brilliant visions I drew, the projects I formed! Mentally I sprang over all barriers, cleared at a flying leap every obstacle. In fancy I achieved all my desires. I was the husband of Estelle; the chosen son-in-law of her mother--the man of all men to whom she would have entrusted the future happiness of her only daughter. The good old lady had sacrificed pride, ambition, and all to love. Time, life-usage, all became subservient to me when in these victorious moods. I had distanced all rivals--she was mine; I hers. I had cut the service, bidden farewell to the Royal Welsh; she, for a time at least, to London, the court, the Row, "society," the world itself for me; and were rusticating hand-in-hand, amid the woods of Walcot Park, or somewhere else, of which I had a very vague idea. But from these daydreams I had to rouse myself to the knowledge that, so far from being accepted, I had not yet ventured to propose; that I had more than one formidable rival; that other obstacles were to be overcome; and that Lady Naseby was as cold and proud and unapproachable as ever. The day of Dora's fête proved a lovely one. The merry little creature--for she was much less in stature than her elder sister--with her bright blue eyes and wealth of golden hair, was full of smiles, pleasure, and impatience; and was as radiant with gems, the gifts of friends, as a young bride. I welcomed the day with vague hopes that grew into confidence, though I could scarcely foresee how it was to close for me, or all that was to happen. Though Caradoc and I had come from Winchester ostensibly to attend this fête, I must glance briefly at many of the details of it, and confine myself almost to the _dramatis personæ_. Suffice it to say that there was a militia band on one of the flower-terraces; there was a pretty dark-eyed Welsh gipsy, with black, dishevelled hair, who told fortunes, and picked up, but omitted to restore, certain stray spoons and forks; there was an itinerant Welsh harper, whom the staghound Brach, the same stately animal which I had seen on the rug before the hall-fire, inspired by that animosity which all dogs seem to have for mendicants, assailed about the calf of the leg, for which he seemed to have a particular fancy. So Sir Madoc had to plaster the bite with a fifty-pound note. Then there was a prophetic hermit, in a moss-covered grotto, cloaked like a gray friar, and bearded like the pard; a wizard yclept Merlin, who, having imbibed too much brandy, made a great muddle of the predictions and couplets so carefully entrusted to him for judicious utterance; and who assigned the initials of Lady Estelle Cressingham to the portly old vicar, as those of his future spouse, and those of his lady, a stout matron with eight bantlings, to me, and so on. The company poured in fast; and after being duly received by Sir Madoc and Miss Lloyd in the great drawing-room, literally crowded all the beautiful grounds, the band in white uniform on the terrace being a rival attraction to the great refreshment tent or marquee--a stately polychromed edifice, with gilt bells hanging from each point of the vandyked edging--wherein a standing luncheon was arranged, under the care of Owen Gwyllim; and over all floated a great banner, ermine and pean, with the lion rampant of the Lloyds. A ball was to follow in the evening. The floor of the old dining-hall had been waxed till it shone like glass for the dancers. Its walls were hung with evergreens and coloured lamps, and a select few were invited; but Fate ordained that neither Lady Estelle nor I were to figure in this, the closing portion of the festivities. A number of beautiful girls in charming toilettes were present. People of the best style, too, mingled with humble middle-class country folks--tenants and so forth. There were some officers from the detachments quartered in Chester, and several little half-known parsons, in Noah's-ark coats, who came sidling in, and intrenched themselves beside huge mammas in quiet corners, to discuss parish matters and general philanthropy through the medium of iced claret-cup and sparkling moselle. And there were present, too, as Guilfoyle phrased it, "some of those d--d fellows who write and paint, by Jove!" On this day Guilfoyle, though he had carefully attired himself in correct morning costume, seemed rather preoccupied and irritable. The presence of Pottersleigh and so many others placed his society somewhat at a discount; and, glass in eye, he seemed to watch the arrival of the lady guests, especially any who were darkly attired, with a nervous anxiety, which, somehow, I mentally connected with the pale woman in church, and Dora's story of the initials. There was undoubtedly some mystery about him. Viewed from the perron of the house, the scene was certainly a gay one--the greenness of the closely-mown lawn, dotted by the bright costumes of the ladies, and a few scarlet coats (among them Caradoc's and mine); the brilliance and the perfume of flowers were there; the buzz of happy voices, the soft laughter of well-bred women, and the strains of the band, as they ebbed and flowed on the gentle breeze of the sunny noon. Every way it was most enjoyable. Here on one side spread an English chase, with oaks as old, perhaps, as the days when "Beddgelert heard the bugle sound," leafy, crisp, and massive, their shadows casting a tint that was almost blue on the soft greensward, with the sea rippling and sparkling about a mile distant, where a portion of the chase ended at the edge of some lofty cliffs. On the other side rose the Welsh mountains, with all their gray rocks, huge boulders, and foaming waterfalls--mountains from where there seemed in fancy to come the scent of wild flowers, of gorse, and blackberries, to dispel the fashionable languor of the promenaders on the lawn. The leaves, the flowers, the trees of the chase, the ladies' dresses, and the quaint façade of the old Tudor mansion were all warm with sunshine. Old Morgan Roots the gardener, to his great disgust, had been compelled to rifle the treasures of his hothouses, and to strip his shelves of the most wonderful exotics, to furnish bouquets for the ladies; for Morgan was proud of his floral effects, and when displaying his slippings from Kew and all the best gardens in England, tulips from Holland and the Cape, peonies from Persia, rhododendrons from Asia, azaleas from America, wax-like magnolias, and so forth, he was wont to exult over his rival, the vicar's Scotch gardener, whom he stigmatised as "a sassenach;" and not the least of his efforts were some superb roses, named the "Dora," in honour of the fair-haired heroine of the day. And Caradoc--who was a good judge of everything, from cutlets and clicquot to horses and harness, and had a special eye for ankles, insteps, and eyelashes, style, and colour, &c.--declared the fête to be quite a success. As I looked around me, I could not but feel how England is pre-eminently, beyond all others, the land of fair women and of beauty. Lady Estelle, with her pale complexion and thick dark hair, her dress of light-blue silk, over which she wore a white transparent tunique, her tiny bonnet of white lace, her gloves and parasol of the palest silver-gray, seemed a very perfect specimen of her class; but until Lord Pottersleigh appeared, which was long after dancing had begun on the sward (by country visitors chiefly), she sat by the side of mamma, and declined all offers from partners. The Viscount--my principal _bête noire_--had arrived over-night in his own carriage from Chester, but did not appear at breakfast next morning, nor until fully midday, as he had to pass--so Dora whispered to me--several hours in an arm-chair, with his gouty feet enveloped in flannel, while he regaled himself by sipping colchicum and warm wine-whey, though he alleged that his lameness was caused by a kick from his horse; and now, when with hobbling steps he came to where Lady Naseby and her stately daughter were seated, he did not seem--his coronet and Order of the Garter excepted--a rival to be much dreaded by a smart Welsh Fusileer of five and twenty. Fully in his sixtieth year, and considerably wasted--more, perhaps, by early dissipation than by time--the Viscount was a pale, thin, and feeble-looking man, hollow-chested and slightly bent, with an unsteadiness of gait, an occasional querulousness of manner and restlessness of eye, as if nervous of the approach of many of those among whom he now found himself, and whom he viewed as "bumpkins in a state of rude health." Guilfoyle, of whom he evidently had misgivings, he regarded with a cold and aristocratic stare, after carefully adjusting a gold eyeglass on his thin, aquiline nose, and yet they had been twice introduced elsewhere. His features were good. In youth he had been deemed a handsome man; but now his brilliant teeth were of Paris, and what remained of his hair was carefully dyed a clear dark brown, that consorted but ill with the wrinkled aspect of his face, and the withered appearance of his thin white hands, when he ungloved, which was seldom. His whole air and style were so different from those, of hearty and jolly Sir Madoc, whose years were the same, and who was looking so bland, so bald, and shiny in face and brow, so full and round in waistcoat, with one of the finest camellias in his button-hole, "just like Morgan Roots the gardener going to church on Sunday," as Dora had it, while he watched the dancers, and clapped his hands to the music. "Ha, Pottersleigh," said he, "you and I have done with this sort of thing now; but I have seen the day, when I was young, less fleshy, and didn't ride with a crupper, I could whirl in the waltz like a spinning jenny." To this awkward speech the Viscount, who affected juvenility, responded by a cold smile; and as he approached and was welcomed by Lady Naseby and her daughter, the latter glanced at me, and I could detect an undefinable expression, that savoured of amusement, or disdain, or annoyance, or all together, ending with a haughty smile, hovering on her dark and ever-sparkling eyes; for she knew by past experience, that from thenceforward, with an air of proprietary that was very provoking, he would be certain to hover constantly beside her; and now, after paying the usual compliments to the two ladies, his lordship condescended to honour me with a glance and a smile, but not with his hand. "Ah, how do you do, Mr. Hardinge--or shall I have the pleasure of saying Captain Hardinge?" said he. "Fortune has not so far favoured me--I am only a sub still." "So was Wellington in his time," said Sir Madoc, tapping me on the shoulder. "Ah, but you'll soon be off to the East now, I suppose." (His eyes expressed the words, "I hope.") "We shall soon come to blows with those Russian fellows, and then promotions will come thick and fast. I have it as a certainty from Aberdeen himself, that a landing somewhere on the enemy's coast cannot be much longer delayed now." "And with one-half our army dead, and the other half worn out by camp-fever, cholera, and sufferings at Varna, we shall take the field with winter before us--a Russian winter, too!" said Sir Madoc, who was a bitter opponent of the ministry. Ere Pottersleigh could reply, to avert any discussion of politics, the Countess spoke. "I trust," said she, "that the paragraph in the _Court Journal_ and other papers, which stated that your title is about to be made an earldom, is something more than mere rumour?" "Much more, I have the pleasure to inform you," mumbled this hereditary legislator. "I have already received official notice of the honour intended me by her Majesty. I supported the Aberdeen ministry so vigorously throughout this Russian affair, clearing them, so far as in me lay, from the allegations of vacillation, that in gratitude they were bound to recognise my services." He played with his eyeglass, and glanced at Estelle. She seemed to be looking intently at the shifting crowd; yet she heard him, for a slight colour crossed her cheek. "So Potter is to be an earl," thought I; "and she perhaps is contrasting _his_ promotion with that which I have to hope for." Even this brief conversation by its import made me fear that my dreams might never come to pass--that my longings were too impossible for fulfilment. I envied Caradoc, who, having no distinction of rank to contend with in his love affair, seemed, to be getting on very well with Winifred Lloyd, who, to his great delight, had made him her _aide-de-camp_, and useful friend during the day. "Our troops will find it tough work encountering the Russians, I expect," said Lord Pottersleigh; "for although the rank and file are utter barbarians, Mr. Hardinge, many of their officers are men of high culture, and all regard the Czar as a demigod, and Russia as holy." "I met some of them when I was in the north of Europe," said Guilfoyle--who, being rather ignored by Pottersleigh, felt ruffled, if not secretly enraged and disposed to contradict him; "and though I think all foreigners usually absurd--" "Ah, that is a thoroughly English and somewhat provincial idea," said his lordship, quietly interrupting him; "but I have read of an old Carib who said, 'The only obstinate savages I have met are the English; they adopt none of our customs.'" "To adopt their _dress_ might have been difficult in those days; but all foreigners, and especially Russians, are somewhat strange, my lord, when judged by an English standard. I can relate a curious instance of attempted peculation in a Russian official, such as would never occur with one occupying a corresponding position here. When _attaché_ at the court of Catzenelnbogen, I once visited a wealthy Russian landowner, a Count Tolstoff, who lived near Riga, at a time when he was about to receive the sum of eighty thousand silver roubles from the imperial treasury, for hemp, timber, and other produce of his estate, sold for the use of the navy. Ivan Nicolaevitch, the Pulkovnich commanding the marine infantry stationed in the fortress of Dunamunde, was to pay this money; but that official informed Tolstoff verbally--he was too wary to commit anything to paper--that unless six thousand of the roubles were left in his hands, the whole might be lost by the way, as my friend's residence was in a solitary place, and the neighbourhood abounded with lawless characters. "On Tolstoff threatening to complain to the Emperor, the Pulkovnich most unwillingly handed over the entire sum, which was delivered in great state by a praperchich, or ensign, and six soldiers; and there we thought the matter would end. But that very night, as we sat at supper, smoking our meerschaums to digest a repast of mutton with mushrooms, _compote_ of almonds and stuffed carrots--carrots scooped out like pop-guns, and loaded with mincemeat--the dining-room was softly entered by six men dressed like Russian peasants, with canvas craftans and rope girdles, bark shoes and long beards, their faces covered with crape. They threatened me with instant death by the pistol if I dared to stir; and pinioning my friend to a chair, placed the barrel of another to his head, and demanded the treasure, or to be told where it was. "Tolstoff, who was a very cool fellow, gave me a peculiar smile, and told me in French to open the lower drawer of his escritoire, and give them every kopec I found there. "On obtaining permission from the leader, I crossed the room, and found in the drawer indicated no money, but a brace of revolver pistols. With these, which luckily were loaded and capped, I shot down two of the intruders, and the rest fled. On tearing the masks from the fallen men, we discovered them to be--whom think you? The Pulkovnich Nicholaevitch and the praperchich of the escort! There was an awful row about the affair, as you may imagine; but in a burst of gratitude my friend gave me this valuable ring, a diamond one, which I have worn ever since." "God bless my soul, what a terrible story!" exclaimed Pottersleigh, regarding the ring with interest; for Guilfoyle usually selected a new audience for each of these anecdotes, by which he hoped to create an interest in himself; and certainly he seemed to do so for a time in the mind of the somewhat simple old lord, who now entered into conversation with him on the political situation, actually took his arm, and they proceeded slowly across the lawn together. I was sorry Caradoc had not overheard the new version of the ring, and wondered how many stories concerning it the proprietor had told to others, or whether he had merely a stock on hand, for chance narration. Was it vanity, art, or weakness of intellect that prompted him? Yet I have known a Scotch captain of the line, a very shrewd fellow, who was wont to tell similar stories of a ring, and, oddly enough, over and over again to the _same_ audience at the mess-table. Being rid of both now, I resolved to lose no time in taking advantage of the situation. Sir Madoc and "mamma" were in the refreshment tent, where I hoped they were enjoying themselves; Dora was busy with a young sub from Chester--little Tom Clavell of the 19th--who evidently thought her fête was "awfully jolly;" Caradoc had secured Winifred for one dance--she could spare him but one--and his usual soldierly swing was now reduced to suit her measure, as they whirled amid the throng on the smoothly-shorn turf. CHAPTER XII.--ON THE CLIFFS. Lady Estelle received me with a welcome smile, for at that time all around her were strangers; and I hoped--nay, felt almost certain--that pleasure to see me inspired it, for on my approach she immediately rose from her seat, joined me, and as if by tacit and silent consent, we walked onward together. Pottersleigh's presence at Craigaderyn Court, and the rumours it revived; something cool and patronising in his manner towards me, for he had not forgotten _that_ night in Park-lane; Lady Naseby's influence against me; the chances that some sudden military or political contingency might cut short my leave of absence; the certainty that ere long I should have to "go where glory waited" me, and perhaps something less pleasant in the shape of mutilation--the wooden leg which Dora referred to--a coffinless grave in a ghastly battle trench--all rendered my anxiety to come to an understanding with Lady Estelle irrepressible. My secret was already known to Phil Caradoc, fully occupied though he was with his own passion for Winifred Lloyd; and I felt piqued by the idea of being less successful than I honestly hoped he was, for Phil was the king of good fellows, and one of my best friends. "You have seemed very _triste_ to-day--looking quite as if you lived in some thoughtful world of your own," said Lady Estelle, when she left her seat; "neither laughing nor dancing, scarcely even conversing, and certainly not with me. Why is this?" "You have declined all dancing, hence the music has lost its zest for me." "It is not brilliant; besides, it is somewhat of a maypole or harvest-home accomplishment, dancing on the grass; pretty laborious too! And then, as Welsh airs predominate, one could scarcely waltz to the Noble Race of Shenkin." "You reserve yourself for the evening, probably?" "Exactly. I infinitely prefer a well-waxed floor to a lawn, however well mown and rolled. But concerning your--what shall I term it--sadness!" "Why ask me when you may divine the cause, though I dare not explain--here at least?" After a little pause she disengaged two flowers from her bouquet, and presenting them to me with an arch and enchanting smile--for when beyond her mother's ken, she could at times be perfectly natural--she said, "At this floral _fête champêtre_, I cannot permit you to be the only undecorated man." "Being in uniform, I never thought of such an ornament." "Wear these, then," said she, placing them in a button-hole. "As your gift and for your sake?" "If you choose, do so." "Ah, who would not but choose?" said I, rendered quite bright and gay even by such a trifle as this. "But Lady Estelle, do you know what these are emblematic of?" "In the language of the flowers, do you mean?" "Of course; what else could he mean?" said a merry voice; and the bright face of Dora, nestled amid her golden hair, appeared, as she joined us, flushed with her dancing, and her breast palpitating with pleasure, at a time when I most cordially wished her elsewhere. "Yes," she continued, "there is a pansy; that's for thought, as Ophelia says--and a rosebud; that is for affection." "But I don't believe in such symbolism, Dora; do you. Mr. Hardinge?" "At this moment I do, from my soul." She laughed, or affected to laugh, at my earnestness; but it was not displeasing to her, and we walked slowly on. Among the multitude of strangers--to us they were so, at least--to isolate ourselves was comparatively easy now. Besides, it is extremely probable that under the eyes of so many girls she had been rather bored by the senile assiduity of her old admirer; so, avoiding the throng around the dancers, the band, and the luncheon marquee, we walked along the terraces towards the chase, accompanied by Dora, who opened a wicket in a hedge, and led us by a narrow path suddenly to the cliffs that overhung the sea. Here we were quite isolated. Even the music of the band failed to reach us; we heard only the monotonous chafing of the waves below, and the sad cry of an occasional sea-bird, as it swooped up or down from its eyrie. The change from the glitter and brilliance of the crowded lawn to this utter solitude was as sudden as it was pleasing. In the distance towered up Great Orme's Head, seven hundred and fifty feet in height; its enormous masses of limestone rock abutting against the foam, and the ruins of Pen-y-Dinas cutting the sky-line. The vast expanse of the Irish Sea rolled away to the north-westward, dotted by many a distant sail; and some eighty feet below us the surf was rolling white against the rocky base of the headland on which we stood. "We are just over the Bôd Mynach, or 'monk's dwelling,'" said Dora. "Have you not yet seen it, Estelle?" "No; I am not curious in such matters." "It is deemed one of the most interesting things in North Wales, quite as much so as St. Tudno's Cradle, or the rocking-stone on yonder promontory. Papa is intensely vain of being its proprietor. Gruffyd ap Madoc hid here, when he fled from the Welsh after his desertion of Henry III.; so it was not made yesterday. Let us go down and rest ourselves in it." "Down the cliffs?' exclaimed Lady Estelle, with astonishment. "Yes--why not? There is an excellent path, with steps hewn in the rock. Harry Hardinge knows the way, I am sure." "As a boy I have gone there often, in search of puffins' nests; but remember that Lady Estelle--" "Is not a Welsh girl of course," said Dora. "Nor a goat, like Carneydd Llewellyn," added her friend. "But with Mr. Hardinge's hand to assist you," urged Dora. "Well, let us make the essay at once, nor lose time, ere we be missed," said the other, her mind no doubt reverting to mamma and Lord Pottersleigh. I began to descend the path first, accepting with pleasure the office of leading Lady Estelle, who for greater security drew off a glove and placed her hand in mine, firmly and reliantly, though the path, a ladder of steps cut in the living rock, almost overhung the sea, and the descent was not without its perils. The headland was cleft in two by some throe of nature, and down this chasm poured a little stream, at the mouth of which, as in a diminutive bay, a gaily-painted pleasure-boat of Sir Madoc's, named the "Winifred," was moored, and it seemed to be dancing on the waves almost beneath us. We had barely proceeded some twenty feet down the cliff when Dora, instead of following us, exclaimed that she had dropped a bracelet on the path near the wicket, but we were to go on, and she would soon rejoin us. As she said this she disappeared, and we were thus left alone. To linger where we stood, almost in mid-air, was not pleasant; to return to the edge of the cliff and await her there, seemed a useless task. Why should we not continue to descend, as she must soon overtake us? I could read in the proud face of Lady Estelle, as we paused on that ladder of rock, with her soft and beautiful hand in mine, that she felt in a little dilemma. So did I, but my heart beat happily; to have her so entirely to myself, even for ten minutes, was a source of joy. While lingering thus, I gradually led our conversation up to the point I wished, by talking of my too probable speedy departure for another land; of the happy days like the present, which I should never forget; of herself. My lips trembled as my heart seemed to rise to them; and forgetting the perilous place in which we stood, and remembering only that her hand was clasped in mine, I began to look into her face with an expression of love and tenderness which she could not mistake; for her gaze soon became averted, her bosom heaved, and her colour came and went; and so, as the minutes fled, we were all unaware that Dora had not yet returned; that the sultry afternoon had begun to darken as heavy dun clouds rolled up from the seaward, and the air become filled with electricity; and that a sound alleged to be distant thunder had been heard at Craigaderyn Court, causing some of the guests to prepare, for departure, despite Sir Madoc's assurances that no rain would fall, as the glass had been rising. Dora was long in returning; so long that, instead of waiting or retracing our steps, proceeding hand in hand, and more than once Lady Estelle having to lean on my shoulder for support, we continued to descend the path in the face of the cliff--a path that ultimately led us into a terrible catastrophe. CHAPTER XIII.--A PROPOSAL. A long time elapsed and we did not return, but amid the bustle that reigned in and around Craigaderyn Court, our absence was not observed so soon as it might otherwise have been, the attention of the many guests being fully occupied by each other. The proposal of Dora's health devolved upon Lord Pottersleigh as the senior bachelor present, and it was drunk amid such cheers as country gentlemen alone can give. Then Sir Madoc, who had a horror of after-dinner speeches in general, replied tersely and forcibly enough, because the words of thanks and praise for his youngest girl came straight from his affectionate heart; but his white handkerchief was freely applied to the nervous task of polishing his forehead, which gave him a sense of relief; for the worthy old gentleman was no orator, and closed his response by drinking to the health of all present in Welsh. "Our good friend's ideas are somewhat antiquated," said Pottersleigh to Guilfoyle, who now stuck to him pretty closely; "but he is a thorough gentleman of an old school that is passing away." His lordship, however, looked the older man of the two. "Antiquated! By Jove, I should think so," responded the other, who instinctively disliked his host; "ideas old as the days when people made war without powder and shot, went to sea without compasses, and pegged their clothes for lack of buttons; but he is an hospitable old file, and his wine--this Château d'Yquem, for instance, is excellent." Pottersleigh gave the speaker a quiet stare, and then, as if disliking this style of comment, turned to Lady Naseby for the remainder of the repast. The overcasting of the day and a threatening of rain had put an end to much of the dancing on the flower-terrace, and of the promenading in the garden and grounds. The proposal of Dora's health had been deemed the close of the fête; the servants had begun to prepare for the ball, and many of the guests, whose invitation did not include that portion of the festivities--for the grounds of course, would hold more than the hall--were beginning to depart, while a few still lingered in the conservatories, the library, or the picture gallery; thus, though Caradoc was looking through them for me, with a shrewd idea that I was with Lady Estelle, he could not for the life of him imagine _where_; besides, Phil was anxious to make the most of his time with Miss Lloyd. The breaking of the guests into groups caused our absence to be long unnoticed, especially while carriages, gigs, drags, wagonnettes, and saddle-horses were brought in succession to the door; cloaks and shawls put on, ladies handed in, and the stream of vehicles went pouring down the long lime avenue and out of the park. "You have danced but once to-day with Mr. Caradoc, he has told me," said Dora in a low voice, as she passed her sister. "I had so many to dance with--so many to introduce; and then, think of the evening before us." "He loves you quite passionately, I think, Winny dear; more than words can tell." "So it would seem," replied Winifred, smiling over her fan. "Why--how?" "He has never spoken to me on the subject." "He will do so before this evening is over, or I am no true prophetess," said Dora, as she threw back the bright masses of her hair. "That I don't believe." "Why?" "Because he wears at his neck a gold locket, the contents of which no one has seen; and Mr. Guilfoyle assures me that it holds the likeness of a lady." "Well time will prove," replied Dora, as she was again led away by her new admirer, the little sub from Chester; but her prediction came true. Winifred felt instinctively that she was the chief attraction to Caradoc, and was exciting in his breast emotions to which she could not respond. Again and again when asking her to dance, she had urged in reply, that he would please her more by dancing with others, as there were present plenty of country girls to whom a red coat was quite a magnet; so poor Caradoc found plenty of work cut out for him. Pressed at last by him, Winifred said, while fanning herself, "Do excuse me; to-night I shall reward you fully; but meanwhile we may take a little promenade. I think all who are to remain must know each other pretty well now;" and taking his arm they passed from the great marquee along the now deserted terrace, to find that the sky was so overcast and the wind so high, that they turned into an alley of the conservatory, where she expected to find some of their friends, but it was empty; and as Caradoc's face, and the tremulous inflections of his voice, while he was uttering mere commonplaces about the sudden change of the weather, the beauty of the flowers, the elegance of the conservatory, and so forth, told her what was passing in his mind, she became perplexed annoyed with herself, and said hurriedly, "Let us seek Lady Naseby; I fear that we are quite neglecting her--and she is somewhat particular." "One moment, Miss Lloyd, ere we go; I have so longed for an opportunity to speak with you--alone, I mean--for a moment--even for a moment," said he. Winifred Lloyd knew what was coming; there was a nervous quivering of her upper lip, which was a short one, and showed a small portion of her white teeth, usually imparting an expression of innocence to her face, while its normal one was softness combined with great sweetness. Caradoc had now possessed himself of her right hand, thus without breaking away from him, and making thereby a species of "scene" between them, an episode to be avoided, she could not withdraw, but stood looking shyly and blushingly half into his handsome face, while he spoke to her with low and broken but earnest utterances. "I have decoyed you hither," said he, "and you will surely pardon me for doing so, when you think how brief is my time now, here, in this happy home of yours--even in England itself; and when I tell you how anxious I have been to--to address you--" "Mr. Caradoc," interrupted the girl, now blushing furiously behind her fan, "your moments will soon become minutes!" "Would that the minutes might become hours, and the hours, days and years, could I but spend them with you! Listen to me, Miss Lloyd--" "Not at present--do, pray, excuse me--I wish to speak with Dora." But instead of having her hand released, it was now pressed by Caradoc between both of his. "I will not detain you very long," said he, sadly, almost reproachfully; "you know that I love you; every time my eyes have met yours, every time I have spoken, my voice must have told you that I do dearly, and if the fondest emotions of my heart--" "A soldier's heart, of which little scraps and shreds have been left in every garrison town?" "Do not laugh at my honest earnestness!" urged Caradoc, with a deep sigh. "Pardon me, I do not laugh; O think not that I could be guilty of such a thing!" replied Winifred, colouring deeper than ever. Beautiful though she was, and well dowered too, this was the first proposal or declaration that had been made to her. The speaker was eminently handsome, his voice and eyes were full of passion and earnestness, and she could not hear him without a thrill of pleasure and esteem. "I know that I am not worthy of you, perhaps; but--" "I thank you, dear Mr. Caradoc, but--but--more is impossible." "Impossible--why?" She grew quite pale now, but he still retained her hand; and her change of colour was, perhaps, unseen by him, for there was little light in the conservatory, the evening clouds being dark and dense without. "Miss Lloyd--Winifred--dearest Winifred--I love you, love you with all my heart and soul!" "Do not say so, I implore you!" said she in an agitated voice, and turning away her head. "Do you mean to infer that you are already engaged?" "No." "Or that you love another?" "That is not a fair question," she replied, with a little hauteur of manner. "It is, circumstanced as I am, and after the avowal I have made." "Well, I do--not." "And yet you cannot love me? Alas, I am most unfortunate!" "Let this end, dear Mr. Caradoc," said Winifred, almost sobbing, and deeply repenting that she had taken his arm for a little promenade that was to end in a proposal. Phil, being in full uniform, played with, or swung somewhat nervously, the tassels of his crimson sash, a favourite resort of young officers when in any dubiety or dilemma. After a little pause-- "May I speak to Sir Madoc on the subject?" he asked. "No." "Perhaps my friend Harry Hardinge might advise--" "Nay, for Heaven's sake don't confer with him on the matter at all!" "Why?" said he, startled by her earnestness. "Would you make love to me through _him_--through another?" "You entirely mistake my meaning." "What _do_ you mean?" "Simply what I have said; that I love you, esteem and admire you; that you are, indeed, most dear to me, and that if I had the approval--" "Of the lady whose likeness is in your locket; so treasured that a secret spring secures it!" said she, suddenly remembering Dora's words as a means of escape. "Yes, especially with her approval. I should then be happy, indeed. I know not how you came to know of it; but shall I show you the likeness?" "If you choose," said Winifred, thinking in her heart, "Poor fellow, it must be his mother's miniature;" but when Phil touched a spring and the locket flew open she beheld a beautiful coloured photo of _herself_. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "how came you by this?" "Hardinge had two in the barracks, and I begged one from him." "Hardinge--Harry Hardinge! That was most unfair of him," said she, her agitation increasing; "he is one of our oldest friends." "May I be permitted to keep it?" "O, no; not there--not there, in a locket at your neck." "Be it so; your slightest wish is law to me; but be assured, Miss Lloyd, the heart near which it lies was never offered to woman before." "I can well believe you; but--hush, here are people coming!" Sir Madoc and Lady Naseby entered the conservatory somewhat hurriedly, followed by two or three of the guests. "Lady Estelle! Is Lady Estelle here?" they asked, simultaneously. "No," replied Caradoc. "Nor Harry Hardinge?" "We are quite alone, papa," said Winifred, in a voice the agitation of which, at another time, must have been apparent to all; for no woman can hear a declaration of love or receive a proposal quite unconcerned, especially from a handsome young fellow who was so earnest as Philip Caradoc; around whom the coming departure for the seat of war shed a halo of melancholy interest, and who, by the artless production of the locket, proved that he had loved her for some time past, and secretly too. "What the deuce is the meaning of this?" exclaimed Sir Madoc, with an expression of comicality, annoyance, and alarm mingling in his face; "the servants can nowhere find her!" "Find who?" asked Lord Pottersleigh, opening his snuffbox as he shambled forward. "Why, Lady Estelle." His lordship took a pinch, paused for the refreshing titillation of a sneeze, and then said, "Indeed--surprising--very!" "And Hardinge is missing, too, you say?" said Phil. "How odd!" "Odd! egad, I think it _is_ odd; they have not been seen by any one for more than two hours, and a regular storm has come on!" Phil and Miss Lloyd had been too much occupied, or they must have remarked the bellowing of the wind without and the sudden darkening of the atmosphere. "O papa, papa!" exclaimed Dora, now rushing in from the lawn, "something dreadful must have happened. I left them on the verge of the cliffs; returning to look for the bracelet you gave me, I met my partner, Mr. Clavell of the 19th; we began dancing again, and I forgot all about them." "On the cliffs!" exclaimed several voices, reprehensibly and fearfully. "Yes," continued Dora, beginning to weep; "I took them through the park wicket, and suggested a visit to the Bôd Mynach." "Suggested this to Estelle! She is not, as we are, used to such paths and places, and you tell us of it only now!" exclaimed Winifred, with an expression of reproach and anguish sparkling in her eyes. "My God, an accident must have occurred! The wind--weather--compose yourself, Lady Naseby; Gwyllim, ring the house-bell, and summon every one," cried Sir Madoc; "not a moment is to be lost." "O, what is all this you tell me now, Dora?" exclaimed Winifred, as she started from the conservatory, with her lips parted, her dark eyes dilated, and her hair put back by both her trembling hands. Poor Phil Caradoc and his proposal were alike forgotten now; and he began to fear that, like Hugh Price of ours, in making love he had made some confounded mistake. Querulous, and useless so far as searching or assisting went, Lord Pottersleigh nevertheless saw the necessity of affecting to do something, as a man, as a gentleman, and a very particular friend of the Naseby family. Accoutred in warm mufflings by his valet, with a mackintosh, goloshes, and umbrella, he left the house half an hour after every one else, and pottered about the lawn, exclaiming from time to time, "Such weather! such a sky! ugh, ugh! what the devil can have happened?" till a violent fit of coughing, caused by the keen breeze from the sea, and certain monitory twinges of gout, compelled him to return to his room, and wait the event there, making wry faces and sipping his colchicum, while sturdy old Sir Madoc conducted the search on horseback, galloping knee-deep among fern, searching the vistas of the park, and sending deer, rabbits, and hares scampering in every direction before him. Above the bellowing of the stormy wind, that swept the freshly torn leaves like rain against the walls and mullioned windows of the old house, or down those long umbrageous vistas where ere long the autumn spoil would be lying thick, rose and fell the clangour of the house-bell. Servants, grooms, gamekeepers, and gardeners were despatched to search, chiefly in the wild vicinity of the now empty Bôd Mynach; but no trace could be found of Lady Estelle or her squire, save a white-laced handkerchief, which, while a low cry of terror escaped her, Lady Naseby recognised as belonging to her daughter. On it were a coronet and the initials of her name. It had been found by Phil Caradoc with the aid of a lantern, when searching along the weedy rocks between the silent cavern and the seething sea, which was now black with the gathered darkness and a mist from the west. There was no ball at Craigaderyn Court that night. CHAPTER XIV.--THE UNFORESEEN. In this world, events unthought of and unforeseen are always happening; so, as I have hinted, did it prove with me, on the epoch of Dora's birthday fête. It was not without considerable difficulty and care on my side, trepidation and much of annoyance at Dora on that of Lady Estelle, mingled with a display of courage which sprang from her pride, that I conducted her by the hand down the old and time-worn flight of narrow steps--which had been hewn, ages ago, by some old Celtic hermit in the face of the cliff--till at last we stood on the little plateau that lies between the mouth of his abode and the sea, which was chafing and surging there in green waves, that the wind was cresting with snowy foam. On our right the headland receded away into a wooded dell, that formed part of Craigaderyn Park. There a little _rhaidr_ or cascade came plashing down a fissure in the limestone rocks, and fell into a pool, where a pointed pleasure-boat, named the Winifred, was moored. On our left the headland, that towered some eighty feet above us, formed part of the bluffs or sea-wall that stretched away to the eastward, and, sheer as a rampart, met the waves of the wide Irish Sea. Before us opened the arched entrance of the monk's abode--a little cavern or cell, that had been hollowed by no mortal hand. Its echoes are alleged to be wonderful; and it has been of old used as a hiding-place in times of war and trouble, and by smugglers for storing goods, where the knights of Craigaderyn could find them without paying to the king's revenue. It has evidently been what its name imports--the chapel and abode of some forgotten recluse. A seat of stones goes round the interior, save at the entrance. A stone pillar or altar had stood in its centre. A font or stone basin is there, and from it there flows a spring of clear water, with which the follower of St. David was wont to baptise the little savages of Britannia Secunda; and where now, in a more pleasant and prosaic age, it has supplied the tea and coffee kettles of many a joyous party, who came hither boating or fishing from Craigaderyn Court; and above that stone basin the hermit's hand has carved the somewhat unpronounceable Welsh legend: "Heb Dduw, heb ddim."[1] "A wonderful old place! But I have seen caverns enough elsewhere, and this does not interest me. I am no archæologist," said Lady Estelle--"besides, where is Dora?" she added, looking somewhat blankly up the ladder of steps in the cliff, by which we were to return: and she speedily became much less alive to the beauty of the scenery than to a sense of danger and awkwardness in her position. There was no appearance of Dora Lloyd, and we heard no sound in that secluded place, save the chafing of the surf, the equally monotonous pouring of the waterfall, and the voices of sea-birds as they skimmed about us. I thought that Lady Estelle leant upon my arm a little heavier than usual, and remembered that, when I took her hand in mine to guide her down, she left it there firmly and confidingly. "May I show you the grotto?" said I; and my heart beat tumultuously while I looked in her face, the rare beauty of which was now greatly enhanced by a flush, consequent on our descent and the sea-breeze. "O no, no, thanks very much; but let us return to the park ere we be missed. Give me your hand, Mr. Hardinge. If we came down so quickly, surely we may as quickly ascend again." "Shall I go first?" "Please, do. The caves of Fingal, or Elephanta and Ellora to boot, were not worth this danger." "I have come here many a time for a few sea-birds' eggs," said I, laughing, to reassure her. But the ascent proved somehow beyond her power. The wind had risen fast, and was sweeping round the headland now, blowing her dress about her ankles, and impeding her motions. She had only ascended a little way when giddiness or terror came over her. She lost all presence of mind, and began to descend again. Thrice, with my assistance, she essayed to climb the winding steps that led to the summit, and then desisted. She was in tears at last. As all confidence had deserted her, I proposed to bind her eyes with a handkerchief; but she declined. I also offered, if she would permit me to leave her for a few minutes, to reach the summit and bring assistance; but she was too terrified to remain alone on the plateau of rock, between the cell and the water. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, when, like myself, perhaps she thought of Lady Naseby, "what shall I do? And all this has been brought about by the heedless suggestions of Dora Lloyd--by her folly and impulsiveness! Will she never return to advise us?" Nearly half-an-hour had elapsed, and a dread that she, that I--that both of us--must now be missed, and the cause of surmise, roused an anger and pride in her breast, that kindled her eye and affected her manner, thus effectually crushing any attempt to intrude my own secret thoughts upon her. "What _are_ we to do, Mr. Hardinge? Here we cannot stay; I dare not climb; not a boat is to be seen; the sun has almost set, and see, how dense a mist is coming on!" I confess that I had not observed this before, so much had I been occupied by her own presence, by her beauty, and by entreating that she would "screw her courage to the sticking-point," and ascend where I had seen the two pretty Lloyds trip from step to step in their mere girlhood, to the horror, certainly, of their French governess; but knowing that a fog from the sea was rolling landward in dense masses, and that the evening would be a stormy one, I felt intense anxiety for Lady Estelle, and certainly left nothing unsaid to reassure her, firmly yet delicately--for good breeding becomes a second nature, and is not forgotten even in times of dire emergency; then how much less so when we love, and love as I did Estelle Cressingham?--but all my arguments were in vain. There was in her dark eyes a wild and startled brilliance, a hectic spot on each pale cheek. Her innate pride remained, but her courage was gone. She trembled, and her breath came short and quick as she said, "Who would have dreamt that I--_I_ should have acted thus? More heedlessly even than Dora, for she is a Welsh girl, and, like a goat, is used to such places. And now there is no aid--not even the smallest boat in sight!" "Of what have I been thinking!" I exclaimed. "The pleasure-boat which belongs to the grotto is moored yonder in the creek, where some visitor, who preferred the short cut up the cliff, has evidently left it. If you will permit me to place you in it, I can row across the mouth of the waterfall to the other side, where a Chinese bridge will enable us at once to reach the lawn." "Why did you not think of this before?" she asked, with something of angry reproach almost flashing in her eyes. "Will you make the attempt?" "Of course. O, would that you had thought of it before!" "Come, then, though the wind has risen certainly; and among so many guests, our absence may have been unnoticed yet." I reached the boat--a gaudily-painted shallop, seated for four oars. There were but two, however; these were enough; but as ill-luck would have it, she was moored to a ring-bolt in the rocks by a padlock and chain, which I had neither the strength nor the means of breaking. This was a fresh source of delay, and Lady Estelle's whole frame seemed to quiver and vibrate with impatience, while every moment she raised her eyes to the cliff, by which she expected succour or searchers to come. What the deuce was she--were _we_--to say to all this? With a girl possessed of more nerve and firmness of mind this matter could never have taken such a turn, and the delay had never occurred. This _malheur_ or mishap--this variation from the strict rules laid down by such matrons as the Countess of Naseby--looked so like a scheme, that I felt we were in a thorough scrape, and knew there was not a moment to be lost in making our appearance at the Court. By a stone I smashed the padlock, and casting loose the boat, brought it to where Lady Estelle stood, beating the rock impatiently with her foot; and, handing her on board, seated her in the stern-sheets, but with some difficulty, as the west wind was rolling the waves with no small fury now past the headland, in which the black Bôd Mynach gaped. "Pull with all your strength, Mr. Hardinge. Dear Mr. Hardinge, let us only be back in time, and I shall ever thank you!" she exclaimed. "All that man can do I shall," was my enthusiastic reply. I could pull a good stroke-oar, and had done so steadily in many a regimental and college boat-race and regatta; but now there ensued what I never could have calculated upon. Excited by the desire of pleasing Lady Estelle by landing her on the opposite side of the tiny bay with all speed--desirous, when seated opposite to her, face to face, of appearing to some advantage by an exhibition of strength and skill--at each successive stroke, as I shot the light boat seaward, I almost lifted it out of the water. I had to clear a rock, over which the water was foaming and gleaming in green and gold amid the sinking sunshine, ere I headed her due westward, and in doing so I cleared also the headland, which rose like a tower of rock from the sea, crowned by a clump of old elms, wherein some rooks had taken up their quarters in times long past. "O, Mr. Hardinge," said Lady Estelle, while grasping the gunwale with both hands, and looking up, "how had I ever the courage to come down such a place? It looks fearful from this!" Ere I could reply, the oar in my right hand broke in the iron rowlock with a crash. The wood had been faulty. By this mishap I lost my balance, and was nearly thrown into the sea, as the boat careered over on a wave. Thus the _other_ was torn from my grasp, and swept far beyond my reach. I was powerless now--powerless to aid either her or myself. The tide was ebbing fast. The strong west wind, and the current running eastward, influenced by the flow of the Clwyde, and even of the Dee, ten miles distant, swept the now useless boat past the abutting headland, and along the front of those cliffs which rise like a wall of rock from the sea, and where, as the mist gathered round us, our fate would be unseen, whether we were dashed against the iron shore or swept out into the ocean. The red sunset was fading fast on distant Orme's Head, where myriads of sea-birds are ever revolving, like gnats in the light amid its grand and inaccessible crags. It was dying, too, though tipping them with flame, on Snowdon's peaks, the eyrie of the golden eagle and the peregrine falcon, and on the smaller range of Carneydd Llewellyn. Purple darkness was gathering in the grassy vales between, and blue and denser grew those shadows as the cold gray mist came on, and the sombre glow of a stormy sunset passed away. Soon the haze of the twilight blurred, softened, and blended land and sea to the eastward. The sharp edge of the new moon was rising from a dark and trembling horizon, whence the mist was coming faster and more fast, and the evening star, pale Hesperus, shone like a tiny lamp amid the opal tints of a sky that was turning fast to dun and darkness. The rolling mist soon hid the star and the land, too, and I only knew that we were drifting helplessly away. CHAPTER XV.--WHAT THE MOON SAW. The absence of the boat from its mooring-place was soon observed, and surmises were rife that we must infallibly have gone seaward. But why? It seemed unaccountable--and at such a time, too! The idea that Lady Estelle's heart should fail her in attempting to return by the cliff never occurred to any save Winifred, who knew more of her friend's temperament than the rest, and for a time, with others, the ardent and courageous girl searched the shore, and several boats were put forth into the mist; but in vain, and ere long the strength and violence of the wind drove even Sir Madoc and all his startled guests to the shelter of the house. Muffled in silk cloaks and warm shawls or otter-skin jackets, the ladies had lingered long on the terraces, on the lawn and avenues, while the lights of the searchers were visible, and while their hallooing could be heard at times from the rocks and ravines, where they swung their lanterns as signals, in hopes that the lost ones might see them. Lord Pottersleigh snuffed and ejaculated from time to time, and ere long had betaken himself to his room. Caradoc, Guilfoyle--who seemed considerably bewildered by the affair--young Clavel of the 19th, and other gentlemen, with Gwyllim the butler, Morgan Roots the gardener, Bob Spurrit, and the whole male staff of the household, manfully continued their search by the shore. There the scene was wild and impressive. Before the violence of the bellowing wind, the mist was giving place to the pall-like masses of dark clouds, which rolled swiftly past the pale face of the new moon, imparting a weird-like aspect to the rocky coast, against which the sea was foaming in white and hurrying waves, while the sea-birds, scared alike by the shouts and the light of the searchers, quite as much as by the storm, screamed and wheeled in wild flights about their eyries. Moments there were when Caradoc thought the search was prosecuted in the wrong direction, and that, as there had probably been an elopement, this prowling along the seashore was absurd. "Can it be," said he, inaudibly, "that the little boy who cried for the moon has made off with it bodily? If so, this will be rather a 'swell' affair for the mess of the Royal Welsh." Slowly passed the time, and more anxious than all the rest--Lady Naseby of course excepted--the soft-hearted Winifred was full of dismay that any catastrophe should occur to two guests at Craigaderyn, and she listened like a startled fawn to every passing sound. Dora, as deeming herself the authoress of the whole calamity, was completely crushed, and sat on a low stool with her head bowed on Lady Naseby's knee, sobbing bitterly ever and anon, when the storm-gusts howled among the trees of the chase, shook the oriels of the old mansion, and made the ivy leaves patter on the panes, or shuddering as she heard the knell-like ding-dong of the house-bell occasionally. The masses of her golden hair had been dishevelled by the wind without; but she forgot all about that, as well as about her two solemn engagements made with Tom Clavell for the morrow; one, the mild excitement of fishing for sticklebacks in the horse-pond, and the other, a gallop to the Marine Parade of Llandudno, attended by old Bob Spurrit; for the little sub of the 1st York North Riding was, _pro tem_., the bondsman of a girl who was at once charming and childish, petulant and more than pretty. Heavily and anxiously were passed the minutes, the quarters, and the hours. Messenger after messenger to the searchers by the shore went forth and returned. Their tidings were all the same; nothing had been seen or heard of the boat, of Lady Estelle, or of her companion. Nine o'clock was struck by the great old clock in the stable court, and then every one instinctively looked at his or her watch. Half-past nine, ten, and even midnight struck, without tidings of the lost. By that time the mist had cleared away, the tide had turned, and the west wind was rolling the incoming sea with mightier fury on the rock-bound shore. The first hours of the morning passed without intelligence, and alarm, dismay, and grief reigned supreme among the pallid group at Craigaderyn Court. All could but hope that with the coming day a revelation might come for weal or woe; and as if to involve the disappearance of the missing ones in greater mystery, if it did not point to a terrible conclusion, the lost pleasure-boat was discovered by a coastguardsman, high and dry, and bottom up, on a strip of sandy beach, some miles from Craigaderyn; but of its supposed occupants not a trace could be found, save a lace cuff, recognised as Lady Estelle's, wedged or washed into the framework of the little craft, thus linking her fate with it. Ours was, indeed, a perilous situation. We were helplessly adrift on a stormy sea, off a rock-bound coast, in a tiny boat, liable to swamping at any moment, without oars or covering, the wind rising fast, while the darkness and the mist were coming down together. I had no words to express my anxiety for what one so delicately nurtured as Estelle might suffer. My annoyance at the surmises and wonder naturally excited by our protracted absence; quizzical, it might be equivocal, inferences drawn from it--I thought nothing of these. I was beyond all such minor considerations, and felt only solicitude for her safety and a terror of what her fate might be. All other ideas, even love itself--though that very solicitude was born of love--were merged for the time in the tenderest anxiety. If her situation with me was perilous, what had it been if with Lord Pottersleigh? But had she been with him, no such event as a descent to that unlucky pleasure grotto could have been thought of. Though pale and terrified, not a tear escaped her now; but her white and beautiful face was turned, with a haggard aspect, to mine. A life-buoy happened to be in the boat, and without a word I tied it to her securely. "Is there not one for you?" she asked, piteously, laying a hand on mine. "Think not of me, Lady Estelle; if you are saved, what care I for myself?" "You swim, then?" "A little, a very little; scarcely at all." "You are generous and noble, Mr. Hardinge! O, if kind God permits me to reach the land safely, I shall never be guilty of an act of folly like this again. Mamma says--poor mamma!--that it is birth, or blood, which carries people through great emergencies; but who could have foreseen such a calamitous contretemps as this? And who could have been a greater coward than I? I should have made a steady attempt at yonder pitiful cliff; to fail was most childish, and I have involved you in this most fatal peril." She sobbed as she spoke, and her eyes were full of light; but her lips were compressed, and all her soft and aristocratic loveliness seemed for a time to grow different in expression; to gather sternness, as a courage now possessed her, of which she had seemed deficient before, or it might be an obstinacy born of despair; for the light boat was swept hither and thither helplessly, by stem and stern alternately, on each successive wave; tossed upward on the crest of one watery ridge, or sunk downward between two that heaved up on each side as if to engulf us; while the spoondrift, salt and bitter, torn from their tops, flew over us, as she clung with one hand to the gunwale of the tiny craft, and with the other to me. That we were not being drifted landward was evident, for we could no longer hear the voices of the sea-birds among the rocks; and to be drifted seaward by ebb tide or current was only another phase of peril. The voice of Lady Estelle came in painful gasps as she said, "O, Mr. Hardinge, Mr. Hardinge, we shall perish most miserably; we shall certainly be drowned! Mamma, my poor mamma, I shall never see her more!" Though striving to reassure her I was, for a time, completely bewildered by anxiety for what she must suffer by a terror of the sudden fate that might come upon her; and I was haunted by morbid visions of her, the brilliant Estelle, a drowned and sodden corpse, the sport of the waves--of myself I never thought--tossing unburied in the deep, or, it might be, cast mutilated on the shore; and she looked so beautiful and helpless as she clung to me now, clasping my right arm with all her energy, her head half reclined upon my shoulder, and the passing spray mingling with her tears upon her cheek. "The drowning man is said to be confronted by a ghostly panorama of his whole life." It may be so generally; but then I had only the horror of losing Estelle, whom I loved so tenderly. We were now together and alone, so completely, suddenly, and terribly alone, it might be for life or for death--the former short indeed, and the latter swift and sudden, if the boat upset, or we were washed out of it into the sea; and yet in that time of peril she possessed more than ever for me that wondrous and undefinable charm and allurement which every man finds in the woman he loves, and in her only. "God spare us and help us!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Hardinge, I am filled with unutterable fear;" and then she added, unconsciously quoting some poet, "I find the thought of death, to one near death, most dreadful!" "With you, Estelle, love might make it indeed a joy to die!" I exclaimed, with a gush of enthusiasm and tenderness that, but for the terrible situation, had been melodramatic. "I did not think that you loved me so," said she, after a little pause; and my arm now encircled her waist, while something of an invocation to heaven rose to my lips, and I repeated, "Not think that I loved you! Do not be coquettishly unwilling to admit what you must know, that since that last happy night in London you have never been absent from my thoughts; and here, Estelle, dear, dear Estelle, when menaced by a grave amid these waters, I tell you that I loved you from the first moment that I knew you! Death stares us in the face, but tell me truly that you--that you--" "Love you in return? I do, indeed, dear Harry!" she sobbed, and then her beloved face, chilled and damp with tears and spray, came close to mine. "God bless you, O my darling, for this avowal!" said I in a thick voice, and even the terrors of our position could not damp the glow of my joy. In all my waking dreams of her had Estelle seemed beautiful; but never so much so as now, when I seemed on the eve of losing her for ever, and my own life, too; when each successive wave that rolled in inky blackness towards us might tear her from my clasp! How easily under some circumstances do we learn the language of passion! and now, while clasping her fast with one arm, as with both of hers she clung to me, I pressed her to my breast, and told her again and again how fondly I loved her, while--as it were in a dream, a portion of a nightmare--our boat, now filling fast with water, was tossed madly to and fro. And like a dream, too, it seemed, the fact that I had her all to myself--for life or death, as it were--this brilliant creature so loved by many, so prized by all, and hitherto apparently so unattainable; she who, by a look, a glance, a smile, by a flirt of her fan, by the dropping of a glove, or the gift of a flower, selected with point from her bouquet, had held my soul in thrall by all the delicious trifles that make up the sum and glory of love to the lover who is young. And where were we now? Alone on the dark, and ere long it was the midnight, sea! Alone, and with me; I who had so long eyed her lovingly and longingly, even as Schön Rohtrant, the German king's daughter, was gazed at and loved by the handsome page, who dared not to touch or kiss her till he gathered courage one day, as the ballad tells us, when they were under a shady old oak. "If God spares us to see her," said Lady Estelle, "what will mamma think of this terrible _fiasco_ of ours?" While Estelle loved me, I felt that I did not care very much for the dowager's views of the matter, especially at that precise moment. When on _terra firma_ there would be sufficient time to consider them. "And you are mine, darling?" said I, tenderly. "I am yours, Harry, and yours only." "Never shall I weary of hearing this admission; but the rumour of an engagement to Lord Pottersleigh?' "Absurd! It has grown out of his dangling after me and mamma's wish, as I won't have my cousin Naseby." "And you do not hold yourself engaged--" "Save to you, Harry, and you alone." And as her head again sank upon my shoulder, her pride and my doubts fled together; but now a half-stifled shriek escaped her, as the frail boat was nearly overturned by a larger wave than usual, which struck it on the counter. We were drenched and chilled, so ours was, indeed, love-making under difficulties; and the time, even with her reclining in my arms, passed slowly. How many a prayer and invocation, all too deep for utterance, rose to my lips for her! The hours drew on. Would day never dawn? With all the sweet but now terrible companionship of love--for it was love combined with gloomy danger--this was our utmost craving. The new moon, as she rose pale and sharp, like a silver sickle, from the Irish Sea, when the fog began to disperse, tipped for a little time with light the wave-tops as they rose or sank around us; but clouds soon enveloped her again; and when the tide turned, the sea ran inward, and broke wildly on the tremendous headlands of the coast. That our boat was not swamped seemed miraculous; but it was very buoyant, being entirely lined with cork, and had air-tight compartments under the seats. A gray streak at the far horizon had spread across a gap of pale green, announcing that the short August night was past, and rapidly it broadened and brightened into day, while crimson and gold began to tip the wave-tops with a fiery hue, the whole ocean seeming to be mottled, as it were; and I could see the coast-line, as we were not quite a mile from it. In the distance were plainly visible the little town of Abergele, and those hills where Castell Cawr and the Cefn Ogo are, tinged with pink, as they rose above the white vapour that rolled along the shore. The more distant mountain ranges seemed blue and purple against a sky where clouds of pearly-pink were floating. Estelle was exhausted now. Her pallor added to my misery. So many hours of pitiless exposure had proved too much for her strength, and with her eyes closed she lay helpless in my arms, while wave after wave was now impelling us shoreward, and, most happily it would seem, towards a point where the rocks opened and the water shoaled. One enormous breaker, white-crested and overarching, came rolling upon us. A gasp, a mutual cry to heaven, half-stifled by the bitter spray, and then the mighty volume of it engulfed us and our boat. We had a momentary sense of darkness and blindness, a sound as of booming thunder mingled with the clangour of bells in our ears, and something of the feeling of being swept by an express train through a tunnel filled with water, for we were fairly under the latter; but I clung to the boat with one hand and arm, while the other went round Estelle with a death-like embrace, that prevented her from being swept or torn from me. For some moments I knew not whether we were on the land or in the sea; but, though stunned by the shock, I acted mechanically. Then I remember becoming conscious of rising through the pale-green water, of inhaling a long breath, a gasping respiration, and of seeing the sunshine on the waves. Another shock came, and we were flung on the flat or sloping beach, to be there left by the receding sea. Instead of in that place, had we been dashed against the impending rocks elsewhere, all had then been over with us. I still felt that my right arm was clasped around Estelle; but she was motionless, breathless, and still; and though a terror that she was dead oppressed me, a torpor that I could not resist spread over all my faculties, and I sank into a state of perfect unconsciousness. CHAPTER XVI.--THE SECRET ENGAGEMENT. In making a circuit of his farm on the morning after the storm, Farmer Rhuddlan, while traversing a field that was bounded by a strip of the sea shore, on which the ebbing surf still rolled heavily, was very much scared to find lying there, and to all appearance but recently cast up from the ocean, among starfish, weed, and wreck, an officer in full dress, and a lady (in what had been an elegant demi-toilette of blue silk and fine lace), fair and most delicately white, but drenched, sodden, and to all appearance, as he thought, "dearanwyl--drowned"--as she was quite motionless, with her beautiful dark hair all dishevelled and matted among the sand. He knew me--in fact, he had known me since boyhood, having caught me many a time in his orchard at Craig Eryri--and thought he recognized the lady. Moreover, he had heard of the search overnight, and lost no time in spurring his fat little cob in quest of succour. Some wondering rustics promptly came from a neighbouring barnyard, and by the time they arrived, Estelle and I had recovered consciousness, and struggled into a sitting position on some stones close by, whence we were beginning to look about us. A benumbed sensation and total lack of power in my right arm warned me that an accident had occurred, and I endeavoured to conceal the circumstance from Estelle, but in vain; for when murmuring some thanks to God for our preservation, she suddenly lifted her face from my breast, and exclaimed, "You cannot move this arm! You have been hurt, darling! Tell me about it--speak!" "I think it is broken, Estelle," said I, with a smile; for while I felt something almost of pleasure in the conviction that I had undergone this in saving her, thereby giving me a greater title to her interest and sympathy, I could not forget my short leave from Winchester, the war at hand, the regiment already abroad, and the active duties that were expected of me. "Broken?" she repeated, in a faint voice. "My sword-arm--on the eve of marching for foreign service. Awkward, isn't it?" "Awkward! O Harry, it is horrible! And all this has occurred through me and my childish folly!" "One arm is at your service, dearest, still," said I, while placing it round her, and assisting her to rise, as the kind old farmer returned with his people, joyful to find that we were living, after all, and that by assisting us he might in some degree repay Sir Madoc Lloyd a portion of that debt of gratitude which he owed to him. After despatching a mounted messenger to Craigaderyn with tidings of our safety, he had us at once conveyed to his farm-house at Craig Eryri, where dry clothing was given us, and a doctor summoned to attend me. "You knew that we were missing--lost?" said I. "Too well, sir," replied the farmer, as he produced a brandy-bottle from an ancient oak cupboard. "With all my lads I assisted in the search," he continued in Welsh, as he could scarcely speak a word of English. "A gentleman came here over night with a groom, both mounted, to spread the news of you and a lady having been lost somewhere below the Bôd Mynach." "A gentleman mounted--Mr. Caradoc, perhaps?" "Caradoc is one of ourselves," said the farmer, his keen eyes twinkling; "this one was a Sassenach--he Sir Madoc gave that lovely ring to, with a diamond as big as a horse-bean, for winning a race at Chester." "O, Mr. Guilfoyle." "Yes, sir, that is his name, I believe," replied Rhuddlan; and despite the gnawing agony of my arm I laughed outright, for the quondam German _attaché_ would seem to have actually found time to relate something new about his brilliant to the simple old farmer, and while the fate of Lady Estelle was yet a mystery. As for _mine_, I shrewdly suspected he cared little about that. Attired by the farmer's wife in the best clothing with which she could provide her, Lady Estelle, pale, wan, and exhausted, was seated near a fire to restore warmth to her chilled frame, while I retired with the medical man, who found my unlucky arm broken above the elbow; fortunately, the fracture was simple, and in no way a compound one. The bones were speedily set, splinted, and bandaged; and clad in a suit provided for me by Farmer Rhuddlan--to wit, a pair of corduroy knee-breeches, a deeply-flapped double-breasted waistcoat, which, from its pattern, seemed to have been cut from a chintz bedcover, so gorgeous were the roses and tulips it displayed, a large loose coat of coarse gray Welsh frieze, with horn buttons larger than crown pieces, each garment "a world too wide"--I presented a figure so absurd and novel that Estelle, in spite of all the misery and danger we had undergone, laughed merrily as she held out to me in welcome a hand of marvellous form and whiteness, the hand that was to be mine in the time to come; and I seated myself by her side, while the farmer and his wife bustled about, preparing for the certain arrival of Sir Madoc and others from the Court. "How odd it seems!" said Estelle, in a low voice, and after a long pause, as she lay back in the farmer's black-leather elbow chair, where his wife had kindly placed and pillowed her; and while she spoke, her eyes were half closed and her lips were wreathed with smiles; "engaged to be married--and to you, Harry! I can scarcely' realise it. Is this the end of all our ballroom flirtations, our Park drives, and gallops in the Row?" "Nay, not the end of any; but a continuance of them all, I hope." "Scarcely; people don't flirt after marriage--together, at least. But it will be the end of all mamma's grand schemes for me. She always hoped I should twine strawberry leaves with my marriage wreath. Heavens, how nearly I was having a wreath of seaweed!" she added, with a shudder and a little gasping laugh as I kissed her hand. "O, my poor Harry, with an arm broken, and by my means I shall never forgive myself--never!" "Better an arm than if my heart had been broken by your means, Estelle," said I, in a low voice. After a little she said calmly and in an earnest tone, while her colour came and went more than once, "We must be _secret_, secret as we are sincere; and yet such a system is repugnant to me, and to my pride of heart." "Secret, Estelle!" (How delicious to call her simply Estelle!) "Why?" "It is most necessary--yet awhile, at least." "Your mamma's objections?" "More than that." "What--more?" "By papa's will mamma has entire control over all her fortune and mine, too, and should I marry without her full approbation and consent, she may bequeath both if she pleases to my cousin Naseby, leaving but a pittance to me." "But what will not one undergo for love?" said I, gazing tenderly into her eyes. She smiled sadly, but made no response; perhaps she thought of what love might have of luxury on a subaltern's pay and his "expectations." "Fear not, Estelle," said I, "for your sake our engagement shall be a secret one." All my doubts and fears had already given place to the confidence of avowed and reciprocated affection, and in the security of that I was blindly happy. How my heart had been wont to throb when I used mentally to imagine the last interview I should have with her ere going forth to the East, with the story of my love untold; leaving her in ignorance, or partially so, of the sweet but subtle link that bound my existence to hers! _Now_, the love was told; the link had become a tie, and pain of the anticipated parting became all the more keen apparently, and I prospectively reckoned one by one the weeks, the days, yea, almost the hours I might yet spend in the society of Estelle. I was not much given to daydreams or illusions, but, I asked of myself, was not all this most strange if I was not dreaming now? Could it be that, within a few hours--a time so short--Estelle and I had braved such peril together, and that I had achieved her plight, her troth; the promise of her hand; the acknowledgment of her love, and that all was fulfilled; the coveted and dearest object of my secret thoughts and tenderest wishes! Whether our engagement were secret or not mattered little to me now. Assured of her regard, I felt in her presence and society all that calm delight and sense of repose which were so pleasing after my late tumult of anxiety, pique, jealousy, and uncertainty. By chance or some intuition the farmer and his wife left us for a time alone, while waiting the arrival of our friends; and never while life lasts shall I forget the joy of that calm morning spent alone with Estelle in Rhuddlan's quaint little drawing-room, the windows of which faced the green Denbigh hills, on which the warm August sun shone cheerily; and often did the memory of it come back to me when I was far away, when I was shivering amid the misery of the half-frozen trenches before Sebastopol, or relieving the out pickets, when Inkermann lights were waxing pale and dim as dawn stole over those snow-clad wastes, where so thick lay the graves of men and horses, while the eternal boom and flash went on without ceasing from the Russian bastions and the allied batteries. I felt as if I had gained life anew, and with it Estelle Cressingham. Great, indeed, was the revulsion of feeling after such peril undergone; after a night of such horror and suffering, to sit by her side, to hang over her, inspired to the full by that emotion of tenderness and rapture which no man can feel but once in life, when the first woman he has really loved admits that he has not done so in vain. I placed on her finger--_the_ engaged finger--an emerald-and-diamond ring that I valued highly, as it had once been my mother's, and in its place took one of hers, a single pearl set in blue-and-gold enamel. The once proud beauty seemed so humble, gentle, and loving now, as she reclined with her head on my shoulder, and looked at me from time to time with a sweet quiet smile in the soft depths of her dark eyes I forgot that she was an earl's daughter, with a noble dowry and an ambitious mother, and that I was but a sub of the Royal Welsh, with little more than his pay. I forgot that the route for Varna hung over my head like the sword of Damocles; that a separation, certain and inevitable, was hourly drawing closer and closer, though the accident which had occurred might protract it a little now. Estelle Cressingham was a grand creature, certainly. She naturally seemed to adopt statuesque positions, and thus every movement, however careless and unstudied, was full of artistic grace. Even the misshapen garments of Mrs. Evan Rhuddlan could not quite disfigure her. The turn of her head was stately, and at times her glance, quick and flashing, had a pride in it that she was quite unconscious of. She was, as Caradoc had said, "decidedly a splendid woman--young lady, rather--but of the magnificent order." But there were tender and womanly touches, a gentler nature, in the character of Estelle, that lay under the artificial strata of that cumbrous society in which she had been reared. She had many pets at home in London and at Walcot Park--birds and dogs, which she fed with her own hands, and little children, who were her pensioners; and if her nose seemed a proud one, with an aristocratic curve of nostril, her short upper lip would quiver occasionally when she heard a tale of sorrow or cruelty. And now, from our mutual daydream, we were roused by the sound of wheels, of hoofs, and several voices, as some of our friends from the Court arrived. CHAPTER XVII.--WHAT FOLLOWED IT. To expatiate upon the joy of all when we found ourselves safe in Craigaderyn Court again were a needless task. Lady Estelle was conveyed at once to her own room, and placed in charge of Mademoiselle Pompon. For two entire days I saw nothing of her, and could but hover on the terrace which her windows overlooked, in the hope of seeing her; but the same doctor who came daily to dress my arm had to attend her, as she was weak, feverish, and rather hysterical after all she had undergone; while I, with my broken limb, found myself somewhat of a hero in our little circle. "This adventure of yours will make the Bôd Mynach the eighth wonder of Wales, if it gets into print," said Sir Madoc. This chance was Lady Naseby's fear. She was "full of annoyance and perplexity," as she said, "lest some of those busybodies who write for the ephemeral columns of the daily press should hear of the affair, and ventilate it in some manner that was garbled, sensational, and, what was worse than either, unpunishable." She thanked me with great courtesy, but without cordiality, for having saved her daughter's life at the expense of a broken limb, as it was by sheer strength that I prevented Estelle being torn from the boat and me. Her ladyship, however, soon dismissed the subject, and now Tiny, the snappish white shock, which for some hours had been forgotten and shamefully neglected, came in for as many caresses as her daughter, if not more. Anxious, for many obvious reasons, to gain the esteem of this cold and unapproachable dowager--even to love her, for her daughter's sake, most unlovable though she was--I was ever assiduous in my attentions; and these seemed to excite quietly the ridicule of Winifred Lloyd, while Dora said that she believed Lady Estelle must have quarrelled with me, and that I had transferred my affections to her mamma. But little Dora saw and knew more than I supposed. On the second day after the affair, when she came with her light tripping step down the perron of the mansion, and joined me on the terrace, where I was idling with a cigar, I said, "By the bye, why _did_ you leave us, Dora, in that remarkable manner, and not return?" "Mr. Clavell overtook me, and insisted upon my keeping an engagement to him. Moreover," she added, waggishly, "under my music-master I have learned that many a delightful duet becomes most discordant when attempted as a trio." "And for that reason you left us?" "Precisely," replied the lively girl, as she removed her hat, and permitted the wealth of her golden hair to float out on the wind. "Save for your poor arm being broken, and the terrible risks you ran, I might laugh at the whole affair; for it was quite romantic--like something out of a play or novel; but it quite put an end to the ball." "And now that Tom Clavell has gone back to his depôt at Chester, you can scarcely forgive me?" "I saw that you were dying to be alone with Lady Estelle," she retorted, "and _now_ don't you thank me?" I certainly felt a gratitude I did not express, but doubted whether her elder sister would have approved of Dora's complicity in the matter; and affecting to misunderstand her I said, "Why thank you now?" "Because," said Dora, looking at me, with her blue eyes half closed, "if on the top of a mountain an acquaintance ripens fast, good heavens, how must it have been with you two at the bottom of the sea!" And she laughed merrily at her own conceit, while swinging her hat to and fro by its ribbons. Lord Pottersleigh shook his head as if he disliked the whole affair, and nervously scanned the daily papers with spectacles on his thin aquiline nose, in expectation of seeing some absurd, perhaps impertinent, paragraph about it; and such was the old man's aristocratic vanity, that I verily believe, had he seen such, he would there and then have relinquished all his expectations--for he undoubtedly had them--of making Estelle Lady Pottersleigh, and the partner of his higher honours that were to come. "Lady Naseby owes you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Hardinge, for saving the life of her daughter--and I, too," he added, "owe you an everlasting debt of gratitude." "You, my lord?" said I, turning round in the library, where we happened to be alone. "Yes; for in saving her you saved one in whom I have the deepest interest. So, my dear Mr. Hardinge," he continued, pompously, looking up from the _Times_, "if I can do aught for you at the Horse Guards, command me, my young friend, command me." "Thanks, my lord," said I, curtly; for his tone of patronage, and the cause thereof, were distasteful to me. "You have of course heard the rumour of--of an engagement?" "With Lady Estelle Cressingham?" "Exactly," said he, laughing till he brought on a fit of coughing-- "exactly--ha, ha--ugh, ugh! How the deuce these things ooze out at clubs and in society, I cannot conceive; for even the world of London seems like a village in that way. Ah, nowhere out of our aristocracy could a man find such a wife as Lady Estelle!" "I quite agree with you; but there is a point beyond that." "Indeed! what may that be?" "To get her!" said I, defiantly, enraged by the old man's cool presumption. Was this reference to "a rumour" merely his senile vanity, or had Estelle ignored something that really existed? Caradoc's congratulations, though I carefully kept my own counsel, were as warm in reality as those of Guilfoyle were in pretence. "Wish you every joy," said the latter, in a low tone, as we met in the billiard-room, where he was practising strokes with Sir Madoc. "I don't quite understand." "You hold the winning-cards now, I think," said he, with a cold glare in his eye. "Sir?" "I congratulate you on escaping so many perils with the Lady Estelle, and being thereby a winner." I had just left Pottersleigh, and was not disposed to endure much from Guilfoyle. "The winner of what?" I asked. "The future esteem of the Countess," he sneered. "Perhaps she will present me with a diamond ring on the head of it," said I, turning on my heel, while Sir Madoc laughed at the hit; but whatever he felt, Guilfoyle cloaked it pretty well by laughing, and, as a Parthian shot, quoting, with some point, and with unruffled exterior, a line or two from the fourth book of the _Æneid_, concerning the storm which drew Dido and her hero into the cave. The bearing of Winifred Lloyd now became somewhat of a riddle to me; and on the morning of the third day, when we all met at the breakfast table (which was littered by cards and notes of congratulation), and when Lady Estelle appeared, looking so pale and beautiful, declining Mademoiselle Babette's cosmetics and pearl-powder alike, in the loveliest morning-dress that Swan and Edgar could produce, I was conscious that she watched us with an interest that seemed wistful, tearful, and earnest. Whether I had a tell-tale face, I know not. Nothing, however, could be gathered from that of Estelle, or her mode of greeting me and inquiring about the progress of my broken arm towards recovery. My ring was on her finger; but as she wore several, it passed unnoticed, and even Dora's quick eye failed to detect it. Winifred had become very taciturn; and when I asked her to drive with me in the open carriage--as for a time I could not ride--she declined rather curtly, and with something of petulance, even disdain, in her tone. She never had the usual inquiries made by others concerning my fracture, nor joined with Dora in the playful rivalry of the ladies cutting for me, if no servant was near; for at table I was of course helpless. She smiled seldom, but laughed frequently; and yet it struck me there was something unwonted in the ring of her laughter, as if it came not from her heart. The girl had a secret sorrow evidently. Was Master Phil Caradoc at the bottom of this? If not, who then? I watched her from time to time, and observed that once, when our eyes met, she seemed confused, and coloured perceptibly. "Surely," thought I, "she is not resenting my half-flirtation with her the other day, when we visited her pet goat!" She was restless, absent, listlessly indifferent, and occasionally preoccupied in manner; and in vain did I say to her more than once, "Miss Lloyd--Winifred--what troubles you? what has vexed you?" "Nothing troubles me, Mr. Hardinge." "_Mr.?_" "Well, then, Harry--and nothing vexes me. What leads you to think so?" Her full-fringed dark eyes looked clearly into mine; they seemed moist, yet defiant, and she tossed her pretty little head wilfully and petulantly. I felt that I had in some way displeased her; but dared not press the matter, for, with all her softness of heart, she had a little Welsh temper of her own. Phil Caradoc gave me his entire confidence, especially after dinner, when men become full of talk, and inspired by bland and generous impulses. He related, without reserve, the whole episode that occurred in the conservatory; and I felt some compunction or annoyance that circumstances prevented me from having the same frankness with him, for none would have rejoiced in my success more warmly than he. "For the life of me, Harry, I can't make out what Miss Lloyd means," said Phil, in a low voice, as he made his Cliquot effervesce, by stirring it with a macaroon; "she was ready enough to love me as a friend, and all that sort of thing." "You have asked her, then?" "Pointedly--hardly know what I said, though--one feels so deuced queer when making love--in earnest, I mean." "A man can do no more than ask." "Except asking again; but tell me, old fellow, have I a chance?" "How should I know, Phil? But I think that the pattern sub of the Royal Welsh Fusileers, made up, like Don Juan, "'By love, by youth, and by an army tailor,' should have a particularly good chance." "_You_ can afford to laugh at me, Harry." "Far from it, Phil; I haven't such a thought, believe me." "Seeing how friendly you are with these girls--with her especially--I thought you might know this. Is any other fellow spooney upon Miss Lloyd?" "A good many may well be; she is lovely." "Well, does any one stand in her good graces?" "Can't say, indeed, Caradoc," said I, as my thoughts reverted to that episode at the goat's-house, and others not dissimilar, with some emotions of compunction, as I looked into Phil's honest brown eyes. He fancied that Winifred avoided him. In that idea he erred. She admired and loved him as a friend--a gentleman who had done her great honour; but she never thought of analysing his emotions farther than to wish him well, and to wish him away from Craigaderyn, after that scene in the conservatory; and remembering it in all its points, she was careful not to trust herself alone with him, lest the subject might be renewed; and yet she found the necessity of approaching it one day, when a sudden recollection struck her, as they were riding home together, and had cantered a little way in advance of their party. "Now that I think of it, Mr. Caradoc," said she, "you must give me that likeness which you wear. I really cannot permit you to keep it, even in jest." "Jest!" repeated Phil, sadly and reproachfully; "do you think so meanly of me as to imagine that I would jest with you or with it?" "But I can see no reason why you should retain it." "Perhaps there is none--and yet, there is. It is the face of one I shall never, never forget; and it is a memento of happy days spent with you--a memento that other eyes than mine shall never look upon." "Do not speak thus, Mr. Caradoc, I implore you!" said Winifred, looking down on her horse's mane. "You will permit me to keep it?" "For a time," said she, trying to smile, but her lips quivered, "Thank you, dear Winifred." "If shown to none." "'While I live none shall see; and if I die in action--as many shall surely do, and why not I as well as happier fellows?--it will be heard of no more?" Caradoc's voice became quite tremulous, either because of Miss Lloyd's obduracy, or that he felt, as many people do, rather pathetic at the thought of his own demise. He had already possessed himself of her whip-hand, when her horse began to rear, and in a minute more they were in the lime avenue; and this proved the last opportunity he had of reasoning with her on the subject that was nearest his heart. He now wished that he had never met Winifred Lloyd, or that, having met, and learned to love her--oddly enough, when his passion was not returned--he could be what her _ideal_ was. "In what," thought he, "am I wanting? Am I too rough, too soldierly, too blunt, unwinning, or what?" It was none of these; for Caradoc was a well-mannered, courteous, gentle, and pleasing young fellow, and by women unanimously deemed handsome and _distingué_. All that day he was unusually cast down and taciturn, though he strove to take an interest in the conversation around him. "By Jove, Hardinge," said he, "I wish you had never brought me here, to renew the hopes I had begun to entertain in London." "Don't lose heart yet, Phil," said I. "But I have to leave for the seat of war--leave her to the chance of being loved by others, without even a promise--" "To what troubles we are exposed in life!" said I, sententiously, and feeling perhaps selfishly secure in my own affair. "Greater troubles perhaps in death," added Phil, gloomily, as he gnawed his moustache. "I sometimes wonder whether man was made for the world, or the world was made for man." "In what respect," said I, surprised by the train of thought so unusual in him. "Look at the newly-born infant, and you will find it difficult to determine. 'He begins his life,' as Pliny says, 'in punishment, and only for being born.'" "Come Phil," said I, "don't get into the blues; and as for Pliny, I left him with Euclid, Straith's _Fortification_, and gunnery, at Sandhurst." The morning mail brought letters from the depôt-adjutant to Phil and me. Their official aspect, as Owen Gwyllim laid them on the breakfast table, attracted the attention of all. The eyes of Winifred were on me, and mine turned instinctively and sadly to Lady Estelle, who grew ashy pale, but seemed intent on some letters of her own. The adjutant's epistles were brief. Caradoc was requested to join at once, his short leave being cancelled, as he had to go with a draft of eighty rank-and-file for the East. My leave was, extended for a fortnight, in consequence of a medical certificate received concerning the accident that had befallen me. So that night saw poor good-hearted Phil depart; and the memory of his thick brown hair and handsome brown moustache, his clear hazel eyes and honest English face dwelt not in the thoughts of her with whom he had left his heart behind. He had the regimental goat in his custody; and when Winifred caressed and kissed her pet, ere it was lifted into the vehicle that was to convey it to Chester, Phil eyed her wistfully; and I knew that he would have given the best of his heart's blood to have felt but one of those kisses on his nut-brown cheek! CHAPTER XVIII.--GUILFOYLE. My Lord Pottersleigh and the adventurer Hawkesby Guilfoyle--for an artful, presumptuous, and very singular adventurer he eventually proved to be--could not detect that there was a secret understanding, and still less that there was any engagement, between Lady Estelle and me; yet both were sharp enough to fancy that there was something wrong so far as they were concerned--something understood by us which to them was incomprehensible; and the latter now referred in vain to Baden, Berlin, Catzenelnbogen, and other places where they had met so pleasantly on the Continent. Engaged solemnly and tenderly to Estelle, I had yet the absurd annoyance of beholding Pottersleigh, who was assured of her mother's countenance and favour (though he would have been a more seemly suitor for herself), and whose years and position gave him perfect confidence, hovering or shambling perpetually about her, absorbing her time if not her attention, mumbling his overstrained compliments into her unwilling ear, touching her hand or tapered arm, and even patting her lovely white shoulders from time to time with his withered paws, and every way giving himself such fatherly and lover-like airs of proprietary oddly mingled that I could with pleasure have punched his aristocratic old head. We frequently laughed at all this even when he was present; for by a glance rather than a word, Estelle could convey to me all she thought and felt. There was something delightful in this secret understanding, this secret community of thought and interest, with one so young and beautiful--more than all, when blended with it was the charm of the most perfect success in a first affair of love; and I thought myself one of the happiest fellows in the world. Superb as her toilettes were at all times, she seemed to make little Babette Pompon take extra pains with them now, and I felt delighted accordingly, for such infinite care seemed to express a desire to please me. Our next departure from the Court was Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle, whom Sir Madoc and all his visitors had begun to view with a coolness and disfavour of which the party in question found it convenient to seem quite oblivious; but it reached its culminating point through a very small matter. One day after luncheon we had gone so far as Penmaen Mawr. The four ladies were in the open carriage; I occupied the rumble; Sir Madoc, Lord Pottersleigh, and Guilfoyle were mounted, and we were all enjoying to the fullest extent that glorious combination of marine and mountain scenery peculiar to the Welsh coast; the air was full of ozone and the sky was full of sunshine. We were all happy, and even Winifred seemed in unusually high spirits; as for Dora, she was never otherwise. The well-hung carriage rolled pleasantly along, between the beautiful green hills, past quiet villages and ancient churches, vast yawning slate quarries, green mounds and gray stones that marked where battles had been, with occasional glimpses of the Irish Sea, that stretched away to the dim horizon like a sheet of glittering glass. Estelle, by arrangement, sat with her back to the horses, so that she and I could freely converse with our eyes, from time to time, under the shade of her skilfully-managed parasol. Sir Madoc on this day was peculiarly enthusiastic, and having mounted what the girls called his "Welsh hobby," was disposed to give it full rein. We halted in a little sequestered glen, a lovely spot embosomed among trees, on the southern slope of the hill. The horses were unbitted; Owen Gwyllim had put the champagne' bottles to cool in a runnel, where their long gilded necks and swollen corks stood invitingly up amid the rich green grass that almost hid the murmuring water. We had come by Caerhun, through an old and little-frequented road, where Sir Madoc insisted on pointing out to us all the many erect old battle-stones by the wayside; for his mind was now full of quaint stories, and the memory of heroes with barbarous names. Thus when Owen uncorked the Cliquot, he drank more than one guttural Welsh toast, and told us how, often in his boyhood, the road had been obstructed for weeks by masses of rock that fell thundering from the mountain above; and in his love of the olden time or detestation of change, I believe he would have preferred such barriers to progress still, rather than have seen the lines of road and rail that now sweep between the mountain and the sea on the way to Holyhead. "It was in this dell or _glyn_," said Sir Madoc, as he seated his sturdy figure on the grass, though the ladies did not leave the carriage, "that Llewellyn ap Jorwerth took prisoner the luckless William de Breas, whom he hanged at Aber, in the time of Henry III." "Why did he hang him?" asked Guilfoyle, holding his glass for Owen to refill it. "Because he was a handsome fellow, and found too much favour in the eyes of his princess, whom he dragged to the window that she might see his body hanging lifeless on the gibbet." "Deuced hard lines," said Guilfoyle, laughing. "I thought he might have been hung because he hadn't a pedigree, or some other enormity in Welsh eyes." As Sir Madoc looked at the speaker his eyes sparkled, for the remark was a singularly gratuitous one. "You English," said he, "laugh at what you are pleased to consider our little weakness in that respect; and yet the best names in the peerage are apt to be deduced from some corporal or sergeant of William's Norman rabble." "Heavens, papa! when I change my name of Lloyd, I hope it won't be for that of Mrs. John Smith or Robinson?" said Dora, merrily, as she heard that Sir Madoc's tone was sharp. "Well, but you must admit that these fortuitous circumstances are deemed of small account now; for as Dick Cypher sings, "'A peer and a 'prentice now dress much the same, And you can't tell the difference excepting by name.'" "I don't know who your friend Dick Cypher may be," replied Sir Madoc, quietly, though evidently greatly ruffled, "but Burke and Debrett record as ancient, names we deem but those of yesterday, and when compared with ours are as the stunted gorsebush to pine or oak--yes, sir! or as the donkey that crops thistles by the wayside when compared to the Arab horse!" "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Pottersleigh, letting his hat sink farther on the nape of his neck, as he placed his gold glasses on his long thin nose and gazed at Sir Madoc, who tossed an empty bottle into the runnel, and continued:--"In Wales we have the lines of Kynaston, who descend from Rhodric Mawr, King of all Wales, and the daughter and coheir of the Bloody Wolf; the Mostyns, from the Lord of Abergeleu who founded the eighth noble tribe; the Vaughans, who come from that King Rhodric who married the daughter of Meuric ap Dyfnwall ap Arthur ap Sitsylt, though that was only in the year 800; and we have the Lloyds----" "O, papa," exclaimed Winifred, seeing that Estelle was laughing heartily, "we cannot listen to more; and I am sure that your muster-roll of terrible names must have quite convinced Mr. Guilfoyle of his error." "If it ever existed--I did but jest," said he, bowing and smiling as he turned to her. Sir Madoc's gust of patriotic ire passed away at the sound of his daughter's voice; but from that moment his manner to Guilfoyle underwent a marked change, for he had already more than once contrived to wound him on this his most tender point. So the usually suave and kind old man became very cool to him as they rode homeward; and early that evening Guilfoyle retired to his room, alleging that he had to write letters. After dinner, as we idled for a little time in the smoking-room prior to joining the ladies, Lord Pottersleigh led the conversation gradually back to our evening excursion, and with some hesitation began to speak of Guilfoyle. "You will pardon me, my dear Sir Madoc, for venturing to speak slightingly of any friend of yours; but----" "Mr. Guilfoyle is no friend of mine," said the other, hastily; "he dropped among us from the clouds, as it were. When with Lady Naseby I met him on the beach at Llandudno. He had done her some service on the Continent, at Catzeneln--what's-its-name?--I invited him on the strength of their past acquaintance--that's all." "Then, briefly, get rid of him if you can." "What do _you_ say, Harry?" "I say with Lord Pottersleigh." Sir Madoc fidgeted, for his Welsh ideas of hospitality were somewhat shocked by the idea of "getting rid" of a guest. "I assure you, Sir Madoc," resumed the peer, "that he is quite out of his place amongst us, quite; and despite his usually assumed suavity--for it is assumed--he lacks intensely _l'odeur de la bonne société_, though he affects it; and I overheard two of your late guests making some very dubious remarks concerning him." "The deuce you did!" exclaimed Sir Madoc, tossing away his half-smoked cigar. "They spoke quite audibly, as if they cared not who might hear them." "Who were they?" "Officers of the 19th, from Chester. 'Guilfoyle!' I heard that fast boy Clavell exclaim, as if with surprise, to another; 'is that fellow, who--' 'The very same.' 'Then how comes he to be a guest here?' 'Just what I was asking of myself, as he is tabooed everywhere. You know they say--' '_They_--who?' 'O, that ubiquitous and irresponsible party so difficult to grapple with--that though he was attaché at some German place, he has been in several conspiracies to pigeon young muffs just come of age. There was particularly one poor fellow of ours whom he rooked at Hamburg of every sixpence, and who was afterwards found drowned in the Alster. And lately I have heard that he was proprietor, or part proprietor, of a gaming-hell in Berlin.' 'By Jove!' exclaimed little Clavell, but can all this be proved?' 'No.' 'Why?' 'He lays his plans too deeply and surely.' Then they walked towards the marquee, and I thought I had hear, enough--quite," added his lordship, snuffing. Long before Pottersleigh was done, Sir Madoc had blushed purple with stifled rage and mortification. He said, "My lord, you should have mentioned all this instantly." "Truth is, I knew not how to approach the subject." "And I have introduced this fellow to my daughters, to my friends, and to Craigaderyn! D--n me, I shall choke!" he exclaimed, as he started from his chair. "He is deep as Llyn Tegid! I have already lost considerable sums to him at billiards, and I always thought his success at cards miraculous. But an end shall be put to this instantly!--Owen! Owen Gwyllim!" He kicked a spittoon to the other end of the room, rang the bell furiously for the butler, and dashed off a note to Mr. Guilfoyle. It was sufficiently curt and pointed. He expressed "regret that a gun would not be at his service on the coming 1st of September; but that the carriage would await his orders, for Chester or elsewhere." Guilfoyle had doubtless been accustomed to meet with affronts such as this. Desiring his baggage to be sent after him, he departed that night with his two horses, his groom (and diamond ring); but, prior to doing so, he had the effrontery to leave P.P.C. cards for Lady Naseby and Estelle, saying that "he should not forget their kind invitation to Walcot Park;" and rode off, scheming vengeance on me, to whom he evidently attributed the whole matter, as he informed Owen Gwyllim that he "would yet repay me, through his solicitor, perhaps, for the interest I had taken in his affairs." This threw a temporary cloud over our little party, and good Sir Madoc felt a kind of sorrow for Guilfoyle as he surmised how little money he might have in his purse, forgetting that he was proprietor of a pair of horses. To prevent her _amour propre_ being wounded, we most unfortunately did not reveal this man's real character to Lady Naseby; thus, to Sir Madoc's hot temper was attributed his sudden departure. Though Lady Estelle was excessively provoked that, through her and her mother, whom his service on the Continent had prejudiced in his favour, and through his alleged acquaintance with me, he had become Sir Madoc's guest, in a day or two the whole _contretemps_ was forgotten; but I was fated not to have seen or heard the last of Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle. CHAPTER XIX.--TWO LOVES FOR ONE HEART. By the peculiarity of our position kept much apart, or seldom finding opportunities, even in a house like Craigaderyn Court, for being alone, as it was perpetually thronged by visitors, we had to content ourselves with the joy of stolen glances that lit up the eye with an expression we alone could read, or that was understood by ourselves only; by tender touches of the hand that thrilled to the heart; and by inflections of the voice, which, do as we might, would at times become soft and tremulous. Our life was now full of petty stratagems and pretty lover-like enigmas, especially when in the presence of Lady Naseby; and now I also became afraid of Winifred Lloyd, who, unoccupied, so far as I could see, by any love-affair of her own, was almost certain, I thought, to see through mine. "There is no conquest without the affections," said Ninon de l'Enclos; "and what mole is so blind as a woman in love?" Yet Estelle was careful to a degree in her bearing, and never permitted her fondness of me to lull her into a sense of security from observation. I learned, however, from my ally Dora, that Lady Naseby was so provoked by what Estelle not inaptly termed our "late _fiasco_," that, save for the weight such a proceeding might have given it, they and the Viscount, too, would have quitted Craigaderyn Court, So they remained; but, thought I, what right had _he_ to be concerned in the matter? And unless I greatly erred, I felt certain that the Countess cared not how soon I received my marching orders for that fatal shore where so many of us were to leave our bones. Yet many a stolen kiss and snatched caress or pressure of the hand, many a whispered assurance of love, made Estelle and me supremely happy, while the few days that remained of my leave glided quickly--ah, too quickly!--past; and all desire for "glory" apart, I was not sorry when I saw that my fractured arm would prevent my being sent with the next draft, and cause my retention for a little time longer in England. "They who love must drink deeply of the cup of trembling," says some one; "for at times there will arise in their hearts a nameless terror, a sickening anxiety for the future, whose brightness all depends upon this one cherished treasure, which often proves a foreboding of some real anguish looming in the distant hours." As yet no forebodings came to mar my happiness; it was without alloy, save the prospect of a certain and, as we trusted to Providence, a temporary separation; yet it was well that I saw not the future, or what those distant hours had in store for me. "Estelle," said I, one day when a happy chance threw us together for a few minutes in an arbour of the garden, where we sometimes met at a certain hour, and separated after by different paths, like a pair of conspirators, "when shall a period be put to all this mystery--this painful, though joyous, false position in which we find ourselves?" "We can but wait and hope, Harry--wait and hope!" said she, while her head drooped on my shoulder, and my arm went round her. "Wait and hope, dearest, for what? My promotion?" "That would bring the end no nearer," said she, with a sad, sickly smile. "No, certainly; even to be colonel of the Royal Welsh instead of a mere sub would not enhance my value much in Lady Naseby's estimation," said I, with some bitterness. "For what then, darling?" "Some change in mamma's views regarding me." "She will never change!" "You know, Harry, that were you rich, I might marry you now--yes, and go to Turkey with you, too!" said she, with a brightness in her eyes. "Would to Heaven, then, that I were rich! But being poor--" "It is impossible." And we both sighed heavily. "I am under orders for the East, and _must_ take my turn of duty there, risking all the chances of war, ere I can think of home or marriage, Estelle; but when we part, if I am not to write to you, how shall I ever know that you think of me? how hear of your health and welfare? that you remain true to me--" "O, doubt not that!" "Nor do I; but it would be so sweet to see your writing, and imagine your voice reiterating the troth you plighted to me in that terrible time." "I shall write to you, dear, dear Harry, for I can do that freely and openly; but of you, alas! alas! I can only hear through our friends at the Court here, for you can neither write to me in London nor at Walcot Park." "May I not ask Miss Lloyd to receive enclosures for you? I shall be writing to her, and we are such old friends that she would think nothing of it." "Too old friends, I fear," said she, with a half-smiling but pointed glance; "but for Heaven's sake think not of that. She would never consent, nor should I wish her to do so. I can of course receive what letters I choose; but servants will pry, and consider what certain coats of arms, monograms, and postal marks mean; so my Crimean correspondent would be shrewdly suspected, and myself subjected to much annoyance by mamma and her views." "Her _views!_ This is the second time you have referred to them," said I, anxiously; "and they are--" "That I should marry my cousin Naseby, whom I always disliked," said Estelle, in a sad and sweetly modulated voice; "or Lord Pottersleigh, whose wealth and influence are so great that a short time must see him created an earl; but he has no chance _now_, dear Harry!" Long, lovingly, and tenderly she gazed into my eyes, and her glance and her manner seemed so truthful and genuine that I felt all the rapture of trusting her fearlessly, and that neither time nor distance would alter or lessen her regard for me; and a thousand times in "the distant hours" that came did I live over and over again that scene in the arbour, when the warm flush of the August evening was lying deep on the Welsh woods and mountains, when all the mullioned windows of the quaint old mansion were glittering in light, and the soft coo of the wild pigeons was heard as they winged their way to the summit of Craigaderyn, which is usually alive with them, and there the fierce hawk and the ravenous cormorant know well when to find their prey. The time for my departure drew near; and already but a day remained to me. Caradoc and Charley Gwynne had already sailed in a troopship for Varna, from which the entire army was about to embark for a landing on the Russian coast, and ill or well, my presence with the regimental depôt was imperative. My bullock trunks had been packed by Owen Gwyllim, and the carriage was ordered to convey me next evening, after an early dinner. The latter passed slowly and heavily enough, and afterwards, instead of remaining all together, as might have been expected, circumstances separated us for an hour or so. Lady Naseby was indisposed; so was Lord Pottersleigh, whom his old enemy had confined by the feet to this rooms, yet he hoped to be in service order, to enact the sportsman on the coming 1st of September, a period to which he looked forward with disgust and horror, as involving an enormous amount of useless fatigue, with the chances of shooting himself or some one else. Sir Madoc had certain country business to attend; and on the three young ladies retiring to the drawing-room, I was left to think over my approaching departure through the medium of burgundy and a cigar. My sword arm was nearly well now; but still I should have made but a poor affair of it, if compelled to resort to inside and outside cuts, to point and parry, with a burly Muscovite. To know that I had but a few hours left me now, and not to spend them with Estelle Cressingham, seemed intolerable! Before me, from the window, spread the far extent of grassy chase steeped in the evening sunshine; above the green woods were the peaks of Snowdon and Carneydd Llewellyn, dim and blue in the distance; and while gazing at them wistfully, I reflected on all I should have to see and undergo, to hope and fear and suffer--the miles I should have to traverse by sea and land--ere I again heard, if ever, the pleasant rustle of the leaves in these old woods, the voice of the wild pigeon or the croak of the rooks among the old Tudor gables and chimneys of Craigaderyn. And then again I thought of Estelle. "I _must_ see her, and alone, too, at all risks; perhaps dear little Dora will assist me," I muttered, and went towards the drawing-room, which was now considerably involved in shadow, being on the western side of the Court; and I felt with the tender Rosalind, when her lover said, "For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee," "Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours." I entered the room and found only Winifred Lloyd. She was seated in the deep bay of a very picturesque old oriel window, which seemed to frame her as if in a picture. Her chin was resting in the hollow of her left hand, and she was gazing outward dreamily on vacancy, or along the flower-terraces of the house; but she looked hastily round, and held out a hand to me as I approached. I caressed the pretty hand, and then dropped it; and not knowing very well what to say, leaned over the back of her chair. "I suppose," she began, "you are thinking--thinking--" "How far more pleasing to the eye are a pair of fair white shoulders to the same amount of silk or satin," said I smilingly, as I patted her neck with my glove. She shrugged the white shoulders in question, and said petulantly, with half averted face, "Is it possible that your departure has no place in your thoughts?" "Alas, yes! for do I not leave Craigaderyn by sunset? and its golden farewell rays are lingering on blue Snowdon even now," said I, with a forced smile; for though I had come in quest of Estelle, something--I know not what--drew me to Winifred just then. Her eyebrows were very black, but slightly arched, and they almost met over her nose; and I gazed into the orbs below them, so dark, so clear, and beautiful--eyes that could neither conceal the emotions of her heart, nor the pleasure or sorrow she felt; and I thought how easily a man might be lured to forget the world for her, as friendship between the sexes--especially in youth--is perilous; and some such thought, perhaps, occurred to her, for she turned her face abruptly from me. "You are surely not angry with me?" said I, bending nearer her ear. "Angry--I with you?" "Yes." "Why should I be so?" she asked, looking down upon her folded hands that trembled in her lap--for she was evidently repressing some emotion; thinking, perhaps, of poor Phil Caradoc, who was then ploughing the waters of the Mediterranean with Carneydd Llewellyn to console him. "You should not have come here," said she, after a pause. "Not into the drawing-room?" "Unless to meet Estelle Cressingham." "Do not say this," said I, nervously and imploringly, in a low voice; "what is Estelle to me?" "Indeed!" said the little scornful lip. "Her mamma summoned her, but she may be here shortly." Doubtless Lady Naseby had some dread of the leave-taking. "I shall be so glad to see her once again ere I go." "Of course." "I hope that you and she will often think and speak of me when I am gone." "You are a delightful egotist, Harry Hardinge; but I trust our memories may be reciprocal." "We have ever been such friends, and must be, you know, Winifred." "Yes, Harry; why should we _not_ be friends?" she asked, with a dash of passionate earnestness in her tone, while she gazed at me with a curious expression in her large, soft, and long-lashed eyes. "Have you any message for--for----" "Whom?" she asked, sharply. "Philip Caradoc." "None." "None!" "Save kindest regards and warmest wishes. What is Mr. Caradoc to me?" Then she gave a little shiver, as she added, "Our conversation is taking a very strange tone." "I cannot conceive in how I have annoyed you," said I, with something of sorrow and wonder in my heart. "Perhaps; but you have not annoyed me, though you are not quite what you used to be; and none are so blind as those who will not see." "I am quite perplexed. I think we know each other pretty well, Winifred?" said I, very softly. "I know you certainly," was the dubious response. "Well--and I you?" said I, laughing. "Scarcely. Woman, you should be aware, is a privileged enigma." "Well, I was about to say that, whatever happens, we must ever be dear friends, and think of each other kindly and tenderly, for the pleasant times that are past and gone." "What can happen to make us otherwise?" she asked, in a strange voice. "I--may be killed," said I, not knowing very well what to say or suggest; "so, while there is a chance of such a contingency, let us part kindly; not so coldly as this, dear Winifred; and kiss me ere I go." Her lips, warm and tremulous, touched mine for an instant; but her eyes were sad and wild, and her poor little face grew ashy white as she hastened away, leaving me with Estelle, who was approaching through the long and shaded room; and when with her, Winifred Lloyd and the momentary emotion that had sprung up--emotion that I cared not and dared not _then_ to analyse--were utterly forgotten. Our interview was a very silent one. We had barely time for a few words, and heavy on my heart as lead weighed the conviction that I had to part from her--my love so recently won, so firmly promised and affianced. I knew that the days of my sojourn at Winchester must be few now; and with the chances of war before me, and temptations and aristocratic ambition left behind with her, how dubious and how remote were the chances of our meeting again! Moments there were when I felt blindly desperate, and with my arms round Estelle. When returning, would she still love me, as Desdemona loved her Moor, for the dangers I had dared? The days of chivalry and romance have gone; but the "old, old story" yet remains to us, fresh as when first told in Eden. "For life or death, for good or for evil, for weal or woe, darling Estelle, I leave my heart in your keeping!" said I, in a low passionate whisper; "in twelve months, perhaps, I may claim you as my wife." "L'homme propose, et Dieu dispose," said she, quietly and tenderly. "I yet hope to see you, were it but for a day, at Walcot Park, ere you sail." "Bless you for the hope your words give me!" said I, as Owen Gwyllim came to announce that the carriage was at the door, and to give me Lady Naseby's and Lord Pottersleigh's cards and farewell wishes. And from that moment all the rest of my leave-taking seemed purely mechanical; and not only Sir Madoc, his two daughters, and Estelle, were on the terrace of the mansion to bid me adieu, but all the hearty, hot-tempered, high-cheekboned old Welsh domestics, most of whom had known me since boyhood, were also there. The impulsive Dora brought me my courier-bag, a flask filled with brandy, and dainty sandwiches cut and prepared by Winifred's own kind little hands (for in doing this for me she would trust neither the butler nor Mrs. Gwenny Davis the housekeeper), and then she held up her bright face to be kissed; but inspired by I know not what emotion of doubt or dread, I only touched with my lips the hands of Lady Estelle and Miss Lloyd. Both girls stood a little apart from each other, pale as death, tremulous with suppressed emotion, and with their lashes matted and their eyes filled with tears, that pride and the presence of others restrained from falling. They were calm externally, but their hearts were full of secret thoughts, to which I was long in getting the clue. In the eyes of Estelle there was that glance or expression of loving intensity which most men have seen _once_--it may be twice--in a woman's eye, and have never, never forgotten. Sir Madoc's brown manly hand shook mine heartily, and he clapped me on the back. "I hope to see you yet ere you leave England, my boy, and such hopes always take the sting from an adieu," said he, with a voice that quivered nevertheless. "Sorry you can't stay for the 1st of September--the partridges will be in splendid order; but there is shooting enough of another kind in the preserves you are going to." "And may never come back from," was the comforting addendum of old Mrs. Davis, as she applied her black-silk apron to her eyes. "Ah, Harry," said Sir Madoc, "you gave a smile so like your mother just now! She was handsome; but you will be never like her, were you as beautiful as Absalom." "It is well that poor mamma can't hear all this," said Dora, laughing through her tears. "Your dear mamma, my girl, was very fond of her and of him, too," said honest Sir Madoc; and then he whispered, "If ever you want cash, Harry, don't forget me, and Coutts and Co.--the dingy den in the Strand. Farewell--anwylbach!--good-bye!" A few minutes more and all the tableau on the steps had passed away. I was bowling along the tall lime avenue and down the steep mountain road, up which Phil Caradoc and I had travelled but a few weeks before. How much had passed since _then!_ and how much was inevitably to pass ere I should again see these familiar scenes! What had I said, or left unsaid? What had I done, what had passed, or how was it, that as the train sped with me beyond brave old Chester, on and on, on and on, monotonously clanking, grinding, jarring, and occasionally shrieking, while intrenched among railway rugs, with a choice cigar between my teeth, and while I was verging into that pleasant frame of mind when soft and happy visions are born of the half-drowsy brain, lulled as it were by rapidity of motion and the sameness of recurring sounds--how was it, I say, that the strange, unfathomable expression I had seen in the soft pleading eyes of dear Winifred--distance was already making her "dear"--mingled in my memory with the smileless, grave, and tender farewell glance of my pale Estelle; and that the sweet innocent kiss of the former was remembered with sadness and delight? I strove to analyse my ideas, and then thrust them from me, as I lowered the carriage window and looked forth upon the flying landscape and the starry night, and muttered, "Poor Winny--God bless her! But _two loves for one heart_ will never, never do. I have been at Craigaderyn too long!" And I pictured to myself the drawing-room there: Estelle, perhaps, at the piano to conceal her emotions; or listening, it might be, to the twaddle of old Pottersleigh. Winny gazing out upon the starlit terrace, trying to realise the prospect--as women proposed to will do--if she had married Phil Caradoc; or thinking of--heaven knows what! And old Sir Madoc in his arm-chair, and dreaming, while Dora nestled by his side, of the old times, and the boy--to wit, myself--he loved so well. CHAPTER XX.-FEARS. Caradoc and many other good fellows were gone eastward, and save Hugh Price and a newly-fledged ensign, I was the only officer with the depôt, and being senior had the command. The former had always some affair of the heart on the tapis; the latter was a mere boy, fresh from Harrow, so neither was companion for me. Back once more to the prosaic life of heavy drill and much useless duty in Winchester barracks, the picturesque and joyous past at Craigaderyn--after I had written a letter to Sir Madoc full of remembrances to the ladies-- seemed somewhat like a dream. My engagement with Estelle--our rides, drives, and rambles by the wild green hills of Mynedd Hiraethrog; in the chase and long lime avenue; our chance meetings in the garden arbour; by the fountain, where the lilies floated and the gold fish shot to and fro; over all, that wild boat adventure, by which our lives were to be knit up as one in the future--seemed too like a dream, of which her ring on my finger alone remained to convince me of the reality, as no letters could pass between us--at least none from me to her. Thus I grew fond of courting solitude after the duties of the day were over, and I could fling sword, sash, and belt aside; and usually I quitted early the jollity of the battalion mess, that I might indulge in visions and conjure up bright fancies amid the gray smoke wreaths of a quiet cigar, in that humble bachelor's quarter already described; while the moonlight silvered the spires and red-tiled roofs of Winchester, and when all became still in the crowded barrack, after the tattoo-drums had beaten, and the notes of the last bugle had warned--like the Norman curfew of old--the extinction of all lights and fires. I had seen many a drama and read many a romance; but now I seemed to be personally the hero of either one or other. Engaged to the daughter of an earl; but in _secret_, and unknown to all! And how or when was that engagement to end--to be brought to a successful issue? On these points my ideas were painfully vague and full of anxiety. Were we yet to meet--were it but for an hour--ere war separated us more completely, by sea as well as land? Returning, it might be mutilated and disfigured, should I still find her loving, tender, and true? and if I fell in action, how long might I hope to be remembered ere Estelle--But I could not with patience contemplate the chances of another replacing or supplanting me. Occasionally, as if to kill time, I was seized by fits of unwonted zeal, and found plenty of work to do, apart from parades, guards, sword-exercise, and revolver-pistol practice--for hourly recruits, many of whom could not speak a word of English, were coming in to replace those that had sailed with Phil Caradoc; and it is one of the essential parts of the duty of the officer commanding a regimental depôt to see after the arms, accoutrements, and clothing of his men; and also, that so far as drill goes, they are made perfect soldiers. Few or none of these recruits were natives of the counties outside Offa's Dyke; but when the news of the Alma came, and all England thrilled with the story of the uphill charge of the Royal Welsh, more than one London paper enviously spread the rumour, that our regiment was Cambrian only in name; till it was flatly contradicted by the colonel--but the story nearly gave hot peppery Sir Madoc a fit of apoplexy. Besides other duties there was no small number of books--goodly sized folios--of which I had the supervision, ten at least exactly similar to those which are kept at headquarters; and all these tasks were varied by an occasional ball or rout such as a cathedral and garrison town can furnish; or a court-martial, or one of inquiry, concerning Mrs. Private Jones resenting--_vi et armis_--that the canteen-keeper should cut her bacon and tobacco, butter and bread, with the same knife; or to give some Giles Chawbacon fifty lashes about daybreak for a violation of the Red-book, in a hollow square, where men's teeth chattered in the chilly air, or they yawned behind their glazed stocks and shivered with disgust, at a punishment for which the army was indebted to William of Orange, and which is now happily a thing of the past. So the month of August drew to a close, and a box of partridges duly came from Sir Madoc--the spoil of his gun on the slopes of Mynedd Hiraethrog, perhaps; with a letter which acquainted me that Lady Naseby and her daughter had been for fully a fortnight at Walcot Park in Hampshire, but that he supposed I was probably aware of the circumstance, and that Pottersleigh was with them. Fully a fortnight, and neither letter nor card of invitation, though they knew that I was in Winchester! How or why was this? A chill came over me, though I certainly had no fear of the Viscount's influence; but then I reflected that Estelle could not, and that Lady Naseby would not, invite me--each for reasons of her own. What, then, remained for me to do, but wait the event with patience, or endeavour to seek her out, by throwing myself in her way? I writhed at the idea of a fortnight having escaped us, while the coming of the fatal route for the East hung over me. There was something revolting and humiliating to my spirit in acting the part of a prowler about Walcot Park; but who is a more humble slave than a lover? The declaration of war had animated the services, both by sea and land, with a new or revived interest for all, with women especially. Thus our parades, reviews, and even our marches of exercise were frequently witnessed by all the beauty and fashion of the city and county; and among them I always looked in vain for the carriage and liveries of the Countess. Was Estelle ill, or was their absence from these spectacles part of a system to be pursued by the former? Walcot Park was, I knew, only a few miles from the barracks on the Whitchurch-road. I had spent many an hour riding there merely to see the place which was associated with Estelle, when she had been absent from it in London or elsewhere; and now I had doubly an attraction to make me turn my horse's head in that direction, after Sir Madoc's letter came; so the second day saw me take the way northward from the old cathedral city, in mufti, to elude observation. The evening was a lovely one, and those swelling hills and fertile valleys, wide expanses of woodland already becoming crisp by the heat of the past summer, with clumps of birch and elder, the wild ash and the oak, which make up the staple features of Hampshire scenery, were in all their autumnal beauty and repose. The tinkling of the waggoner's bells on the dusty highway, was still heard, though the shrill whistle of the locomotive seemed to hint that, like the old stage-coachman, he should ere long find his occupation gone; and mellowed on the soft and ambient air there came the merry evening chimes from more than one quaint, village-church--the broad square Norman tower of which stood--the landmark of its district--in outline distinct and dark against the golden flush of the western sky. Dusk was almost closing when I crossed that noted trouting-stream, the Teste; and passed through Whitchurch. As I trotted leisurely along the single street of which the little market borough is chiefly composed, at the door of a small inn I perceived a stable-boy holding by their bridles a black horse and a roan mare. The form of the latter seemed familiar to me. I could not mistake the height of forehead, the depth of chest, and roundness of barrel, or a peculiar white spot on the off-shoulder, and in the former recognised the roadster which Guilfoyle had brought with him to Craigaderyn. On seeing that I drew my reins and looked rather scrutinisingly at the animal, the groom, stable helper, or whatever he was, touched his cap, on which I inquired, "Whose nag is this, my man?" "Can't say as I knows, sir; but the gentleman, with another, is inside the bar, having a drop of summut," was the answer. "Does he reside hereabout?" "At Walcot Park he do." "Walcot Park!" "My Lady Naseby's place; he's been there for a couple of days at least, with Mr. Sharpus, my lady's lawyer from London." I rode on and spurred my horse to a maddening pace for some distance, and then permitting the reins to drop on his neck, gave way to the tide of perplexing, harassing, and exasperating thoughts that flowed upon me. I remembered that we had arranged at Craigaderyn not to inform Lady Naseby of the real character of her chosen continental acquaintance, a foolish and fatal mistake, as the fellow would seem to have had sufficient presumption to present himself at Walcot Park, and there remain until exposed and expelled. But how came it to pass that such as he was patronised and fostered, as it were, by "the family solicitor," and patented by being his companion? Surely a legal man, however great a rascal professionally and personally, was too wary to adopt openly a blackleg as his friend and protégé! I felt that Lady Naseby should instantly be warned of Guilfoyle's real character; but by whom was this to be done? Tied up by my secret arrangements with Estelle, I could neither write nor call uninvited; but why had she not, as she had promised, written to me, or given me some sign of her being so near Winchester as Walcot Park? When I recalled her apparent preference for this man, when Caradoc and I first went to Wales, their frequent recurrence to past companionship abroad, their duets together, and so forth, her angry defence of him to myself, together with an interest he had acquired in the eyes of her usually unapproachable mother, something of my old emotions of pique and doubt, and a jealousy for which I blushed, began to mingle with my perplexity and mortification, and the fear that _he_ could have any influence on her destiny or mine! I recalled all the conversation overheard by Pottersleigh, and greater grew my astonishment and indignation. I felt it imperative that something should be done instantly, and resolved to telegraph or write to Sir Madoc, requesting him to procure the dismission of this intruder from Walcot Park as promptly as he had despatched him from Craigaderyn. From a part of the road where it wound over an upland slope I could see the Jointure House which formed the residence of Lady Naseby and of that Estelle who was a law, a light, a guiding star to me, and towards whom every thought and aspiration turned. Walcot Park was a spacious domain, and studded by clumps of stately old trees, which had been planted after the Revolution of 1688 by a peer of the Naseby family, who was one of the first to desert his hereditary king at Rochester. The mansion itself dated from the same stormy period, and was built entirely of red brick with white stone corners and cornices. Its peristyle of six Ionic columns glistened white in the moonlight, and was distinctly visible from where I sat on horseback. The shadow of the square façade of the entire edifice fell purple and dark far across the park. There were lights in several of the windows, and I knew that my Estelle must be in one of those rooms--but which? At that moment all my soul yearned for her; could I but for an instant have seen her, or heard her voice! She dwelt there, visible to and approachable by others, and yet I dared not visit her. The fact of her presence there seemed to pervade and charm all the place, and with a sad, loving, and yet exasperated interest, I continued to survey it. I was hovering there, but aimlessly, and without any defined purpose, other than the vague chance of seeing or being near her. Walcot I knew was her favourite place, and there she kept all her pets, for she had many: a parrot sent from the Cape by the captain of a frigate to whom she had spoken but once at a ball; a spaniel from Malta, the gift of some forgotten rifleman; a noble staghound, given by a Highland officer who had danced with her once--once only--and never forgot it; a squirrel, the gift of Sir Madoc; and an old horse or two, her father's favourite hacks, turned loose in the park as perpetual pensioners. Could she really have loved me as she said she did, if she was already behaving so coldly to me now? No letter or note, no invitation--she had surely influence enough with her mother to have procured me that!--no notice taken of my vicinity, of my presence with the depôt again! What shadow was this that seemed already to be falling on our sunny love? Whence the doubt that had sprung up within me, and the coldness that seemed between us? Full of these thoughts, I was gazing wistfully at the house, when I perceived the dark figures of two horsemen riding leisurely along the winding approach that led to the white peristyle, and felt certain that they were Guilfoyle and his legal friend Mr. Sharpus (of Sharpus and Juggles) mounted on the identical nags I had seen at the inn-door; and inspired by emotions of a very mingled character, I galloped back to the barracks, never drawing my bridle for the entire twelve miles of the way, until I threw it to my man Evans; and hurrying to my room, wrote instantly a most pressing letter to Sir Madoc, informing him of what I had seen and heard. I was not without thoughts of communicating with Lord Pottersleigh; but, for obvious reasons, shrunk from _his_ intervention in the Cressingham family circle. I knew that it would be delivered at Craigaderyn on the morrow, and deemed that now twenty-four hours must be the utmost limit of Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle's sojourn in his present quarters, and in a sphere which he insulted by his presence; but three, four, even five days passed, and no reply came from Sir Madoc, who was then, though I knew it not, shooting with some friends in South Wales, and did not receive my epistle until it was somewhat late for him to act on it. During these intervening days I was in a species of fever. One Sunday I incidentally heard, at mess, that Lady Naseby's party, now a pretty numerous one, had been at service in the cathedral, and to hear the bishop preach. She had come in state, in the carriage, attended by several gentlemen on horseback, and two tall fellows in livery, one carrying her prayer-books, the other a long cane and huge nosegay; and there I might have met them all face to face, and seen Estelle once more, had my evil destiny not assigned to me the command of the main guard, and thus detained me in barracks; but Price of ours--susceptible as the Tupman of _Pickwick_--had seen her, and came to mess raving about her beauty. Every hour I could spare from duty was spent in hovering, like a spectre or a spy--an unquiet spirit certainly--in the vicinity of Walcot Park, till the lodge-keepers, who had been wont to touch their hats civilly at first, began ere long to view me with mistrust; and my horse knew every crook and turn of the Whitchurch-road quite as well as the way to his own stable. On the evening of the fifth day after I had written to Sir Madoc--a pleasant evening in the first days of September--I was again riding leisurely among the deep green lanes that border on Walcot Park, and which lay between dark green hedgerows then studded by scarlet dogberries, and the overarching branches of apple, pear, and damson trees, my heart, as usual, full of vague doubts, decided longings, and most undecided intentions, when I began slowly to walk my horse up a long, steep, and picturesque road, the vista of which was closed by an old village church, in the low and moss-grown wall surrounding which was a green wicket. It was on just such an evening as the last I have described, when the farewell gleam of the sun shone level along the fields, when the many-coloured foliage rustled in the gentle wind, and the voices of the blackbird, the thrush, and the lark came sweetly at times from the darkening copsewood, and when, as Clare writes in his rhyming calendar, "The wagons haste the corn to load, And hurry down the dusty road; The driving boy with eager eye Watches the church clock, passing by-- Whose gilt hands glitter in the sun-- To see how far the hours have run; Right happy in the breathless day, To see time wearing fast away." Nearly covered with ivy, the square tower of the little church--a fane old as the days when the Saxons bent their bows in vain at Hastings; yea, old as the time of St. Ethelwold (the famous architect and Bishop of Winchester)--peeped up amid the rich autumnal foliage that almost hid it from the view. At the wicket, some hundred yards from me, in the twilight--for though the sun had not set, the density of the copsewood about the place rendered the light rather dim and obscure--were a lady and gentleman, the latter mounted, and the former on foot. At first they seemed to be in close and earnest conversation; then the lady gesticulated earnestly, raising her hands and face to him imploringly; but twice he thrust her back, almost violently, with the handle of his whip. This was a strange and unpleasant episode to encounter. I knew not whether to advance or retire. I feared to intrude on what I supposed was something more than a lovers' quarrel, or, from the man's utter indifference, was perhaps a matrimonial squabble; and I was equally loth to retire, and leave a woman--a lady evidently--to the violence or passion of this person, upon whose love or mercy--it might be both--by her gestures and even the distant tones of her voice, she was so evidently throwing herself in vain. I checked my horse's pace, and, amid the thick rank grass of the narrow lane, his footsteps were unheeded by the two actors in this scene; moreover, without backing him well into one of the thick hedges, I could not have turned to retrace my way. Her hands were clasped now; she had dropped her parasol, and her face, a very white one, was upturned pleadingly to his; but to whatever she said, this horseman, whose back was to me, replied scornfully and derisively by a low mocking laugh, which somehow I seemed to have heard before, but when, or where, I quite failed to remember. Anon she drew something from her bosom, and, kissing it, held it towards him, as if seeking to influence him, by an appeal through it to some past time of love, or truth, or happiness, or all together. Whatever it was she thus displayed, he snatched it roughly, even fiercely, from her with a curse, and, again thrusting her violently from him--so violently, that I believe he must have used his foot and the off-stirrup iron---she fell heavily against the low wall, which, at the same moment, he cleared by a flying leap, and then disappeared in the network of lanes, orchards, and hedgerows that lie about the churchyard. A low wail escaped her; and when I came cantering up, and dismounted, she was lying on the path beside the churchyard wicket in tears and despair. Her appearance was perfectly ladylike, and most prepossessing; yet I knew not very clearly what to say or how to interfere in the matter, though manhood and courtesy rendered some action imperatively necessary. "I trust you are not hurt," said I, taking her hand and assisting her to rise. "Thank you, sir--not bodily hurt," she replied, in a low and broken voice, while scarcely venturing to look at me, and pressing her left hand upon her heart, as if to restrain emotion, or as if she felt a pain there. "Did that person rob you?" asked I. "O no, no, sir," she answered, hurriedly. "But he seemed to snatch or wrench something from you?" "Yes," said she, with hesitation. "By violence, too?" She did not reply, but covered her face with her handkerchief, and bit it, apparently in efforts to control her sobs. "Can I assist you--be of service to you in any way?" I urged, in a pleading tone; for her whole air and appearance interested me. "No, sir; none can assist me now." "None?" "Save God, and even He seems to abandon me." "What is the meaning of this despair?" I asked, after a pause. "It is a lovers' quarrel, I presume; and if so--" "O no, sir; he is no lover of mine--now, at least." "He--who?" "The gentleman who has just left me," said she, evasively. "But permit me to pass you, sir; I must return to Whitchurch." I bowed, and led my horse aside, that she might pass down the lane. "I thank you, sir, for your kindness," said she, bowing, as I lifted my hat; and then she seemed to totter away weakly and feebly, supporting or guiding herself, as if blind, by the rude low wall; and I could perceive that her left hand, which was now ungloved, was small, delicate, and of exceeding beauty in form. Her manner and air were hurried; her voice and eyes were agitated; she seemed a ladylike little creature, but plainly and darkly attired in a kind of second mourning. Her figure, if _petite_, was very graceful and girlish, too, though she was nearer thirty, perhaps, than twenty. Her face was delicate in feature, and charmingly soft and feminine in expression. Her eyes were of that clear dark gray which seems almost black at night, and their lashes were long and tremulous, lending a chastened or Madonna tone to her face, which, when taken together with her sadness of manner and a certain languor that seemed to be the result of ill-health, proved very prepossessing. With all this there was something, I thought, of the widow in her aspect and dress; but this was merely fancy. Ere I remounted, and while observing her, I perceived that she tottered, as if overcome by weakness, emotion, or both. She sank against the churchyard wall, and nearly fell; on this, I again approached, and said with all softness and respect: "Pardon me, and do not deem me, though a stranger, intrusive; you are ill and weary, and unable to walk alone. Permit me to offer my arm, for a little way at least, down this steep and rugged road." "Thanks," she replied; "you are very kind, sir; once at the foot of this lane, I shall easily make my way alone. I am not afraid of strangers," she added, with a strange smile; "I have been much cast among them of late." "You reside at Whitchurch?" said I, as we proceeded slowly together, occasionally treading the fallen apples under foot among the long grass. "Yes." "It is, then, your home?" "I have no other--at present," said she, in a choking voice, and scarcely making an effort to restrain her tears, while I detected on a finger of the ungloved hand, the beauty of which I so much admired, a plain gold hoop--the marriage ring. So she was a wife; and the unseemly quarrel I had seen must have been a matrimonial one. Thus I became more assured in my manner. "I am almost a stranger here," said I, "as I belong to the garrison at Winchester." "You are an officer?" "Yes, madam, of the Royal Welsh Fusileers." She simply bowed, but did not respond to my information by saying _who_ she was. "Though a soldier, sir," said she, after a pause, "I dare say you will be aware that the hardest battles of this world are _not_ fought in the field." "Where then?" "Where we might least look for struggles of the soul: in many a well-ordered drawing-room; in many a poor garret; in many a lovely bower and sunny garden, or in a green and shady lane like this; fought in secrecy and the silence of the heart, and in tears that are hot and salt as blood!" She _is_ very pretty, thought I; but I hope she won't become melodramatic, hysterical, or anything of that sort! "Darkness will be set in ere you can reach Whitchurch, at our present rate of progression," said I; "and your--your--" (I was about to say husband) "relations or friends will be anxious about you." "Alas, no, sir! I have no one to miss or to regret me," she replied, mournfully; "but I must not intrude selfishly my sorrows on a stranger." "There is no appearance of the--the person who annoyed you returning," said I, looking backward up the long narrow lane we were descending. "Little chance is there of that," said she, bitterly; "_he_ will return no more." "You are certain of that?" "Too fatally certain!" "You have quarrelled, then?" "No; it is worse than a quarrel," said she, with her pale lips quivering. "He is an enemy?" "My enemy?--my tempter--my evil spirit--he is my husband!" "Pardon me; I did not mean to be curious, when I have no right to be so; but here is the highway; I too am going towards Whitchurch--my way to the barracks lies in that direction; and I shall have much pleasure in escorting you to your home, if you will permit me," said I, seized by an impulse of gallantry, humanity, or both, which I ere long had cause to repent. "Sir, I thank you, and shall detain you no longer," she replied, hurriedly; "I am something of a wanderer now, and my rooms are at the ivy-clad inn by the roadside." This was the place where I had seen Guilfoyle's roan mare, an evening or so past. We had now reached the end of the narrow and secluded lane, a famous one in that locality as the trysting-place of lovers, and were standing irresolutely near the main road that leads to Whitchurch and Winchester, when a large and handsome carriage, drawn by a pair of spanking dark gray horses, approached us rapidly. Throwing my nag's bridle over my left arm, I was in the act of offering my right hand to this mysterious lady in farewell, when her eyes caught sight of the carriage; a half-stifled sob escaped her; she reeled again, and would have fallen, had I not thrown my arm round her, and by its firm support upheld her. At that moment the carriage bowled past. The face of a lady was at the open window, looking out upon us with wonder and interest, as she saw a lady and gentleman to all appearance embracing, or at least on very good terms with each other, at the corner of a shady lane, a little way off the Queen's highway; and something like an exclamation of dismay escaped me on recognising the colourless haughty face, the dark eyes, the black hair, and bonnet of that orange tint so becoming to one of her complexion--she of whom my whole soul was full, Lady Estelle Cressingham! CHAPTER XXI .-GEORGETTE FRANKLIN. Had Estelle recognised me? If so, what might she--nay, what must she--think, and how misconstrue the whole situation? Should I ride after the carriage, or write at all risks, and explain the matter, or commit the event to fate? That might be perilous. She may not have recognised me, I thought: the twilight, the shade, the place might have concealed my identity; but if not, they were all the more against me. I was now in greater and more horrible perplexity than ever, and I wished the unhappy little woman, the cause of all, in a very warm climate indeed. Thus, while longing with all the energies of my life to see Estelle, to be seen by her _there_, at a time so liable to misconception if left unexplained, might be death to my dearest hopes, and destruction to the success I had achieved. "Why were you so agitated by the sight of Lady Naseby's carriage?" I asked, with an annoyance of tone that I cared not to conceal. "Giddiness, perhaps; but was I agitated?" "Of course you were--nearly fell; would have fallen flat, indeed, but for me." "I thank you, sir," was the gentle reply; for my asperity of manner was either unnoticed or unheeded by her; "but you seemed scarcely less so." "I, madam!--why the deuce should I have been agitated?" "Unless I greatly err, you were, and are so still." "Indeed!" "Do you know the ladies?" "Were there two?" asked I, with increased annoyance. "The Countess and her daughter." "I saw but one." "And--O, pardon my curiosity, dear sir--you know them?" "Intimately;--and what then?" I asked, with growing irritation. "Intimately!" she repeated, with surprise. "There is nothing very singular in that, I suppose?" "And, sir, you visit them?" "I have not as yet, but hope to do soon. We were all together in the same house in North Wales." "Ah! at Craigaderyn Court?" "Yes; Sir Madoc Lloyd's. Do you know Sir Madoc?" "I have not that pleasure." "Who, then, that you are acquainted with knows him?" "My husband." "Your husband!" said I, glancing at the plain hoop on the delicate little hand, which she was now gloving nervously. "He was there with you; must have been conversing with you often. I saw you all at church together one Sunday afternoon, and frequently on the terraces and on the lawn; while!"--she covered her face with her hands--"while I loitered and lurked like an outcast!" "Your husband, madam?" I queried again. "Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle." Whew! Here was a discovery: it quite took my breath away, and I looked with deeper interest on the sweet and pale and patient little face. I now remembered the letter I had picked up and returned to him; his confusion about it, and the horse he alleged to have lost by at a race that had not come off; his irritation, the postal marks, and the name of _Georgette_. After such a termination to his visit to Craigaderyn, I could fancy that his situation as a guest or visitor at Walcot Park, even after he found the ladies there were ignorant of the nature of Sir Madoc's curt note to him, must be far from enviable, for such as he must live in hourly dread of insult, slight, or exposure; but how was I now situated with regard to her I loved? Deemed, perhaps, guilty in her eyes, and without a crime; and if aware of the situation, the malevolent Guilfoyle would be sure to avail himself of it to the fullest extent. "Lady Estelle is very lovely, as I could see," said my companion. "Very; but you saw her--when?" "In Craigaderyn church, most fully and favourably." And now I recalled the pale-faced little woman in black, who had been pointed out to me by Winifred Lloyd, and who had been found in a swoon among the gravestones by old Farmer Rhuddlan. In all this there was some mystery, which I felt curious enough to probe, as Guilfoyle had never by word or hint at any time given those among whom he moved reason to believe he was aught else than a bachelor, and a very eligible one, too; for if my once rival, as I believed him to be, was not a creditable, he was certainly a plausible, one; and here lay with me the means of an _exposé_ beyond even that which had taken place at Craigaderyn Court. "You are his wife, madam, and yet--does he, for purposes of his own, disavow you?" said I, after a pause, not knowing very well how to put my leading question. "It is so, sir--for infamous purposes of his own." "But you have him in your power; you have all the air of a lady of birth and education--why not come forward and assert your position?" The woman's soft gray eyes were usually filled by an expression of great and deep sadness; but there were times when, as she spoke, they flashed with fire, and there were others, when her whole face seemed to glitter with "the white light of passion" as she thought of her wrongs. Restraining her emotion, she replied, "To assert my claims; that is exactly what I cannot do--now at least." "Why?" "Because he has destroyed all the proofs that existed of our unhappy and most miserable marriage." "Destroyed them! how?" "Very simply, by putting them in the fire before my face." "But a record--a register--must exist somewhere." "We were married at sea, and the ship, in the chaplain's books of which the marriage I have no doubt was recorded, perished. Proofs I have none. But tell me, sir, is it true, that--that he is to be married to the daughter of Lady Naseby?" "To Estelle Cressingham?" I exclaimed, while much of amusement mingled with the angry scorn of my manner. "Yes," she replied, eagerly. "No, certainly not; what on earth can have put such an idea into your head, my good woman?" My hauteur of tone passed unheeded, as she replied: "I saw her portrait in the Royal Academy, and heard a gentleman who stood near me say to another, that it was so rumoured; that he--Mr. Guilfoyle--had come with her from the Continent, and that he was going after her down to North Wales. He had said so at the club." I almost ground my teeth on hearing this. That his contemptible name should have been linked with hers by empty gossips in public places like the Royal Academy and "his club," where none dared think of mine, was intolerable. "I followed him to Wales," she continued. "I saw nothing at Craigaderyn church, or elsewhere, on her part to justify the story; when I met my husband on the lawn at the _fête_--for I was there, though uninvited--he laughed bitterly at the rumour, and said she was contracted to Lord Pottersleigh, who, as I might perceive, was ever by her side. He then gave me money, which I flung on the earth; ordered me on peril of my life to leave the place, lest he might give notice to the police that I had no right to be there. But though I have long since ceased to love, I cannot help hovering near him, and from Wales I followed him here; for I know that now he is at Walcot Park." "I can assure you, for your ease, that the Lady Estelle is engaged, but to a very different person from old Lord Pottersleigh," said I, twirling the ends of my moustache with undisguised satisfaction, if not with a little superciliousness; "your husband, however, seems a man of means, Mrs. Guilfoyle." She gave me a bitter smile, as she replied, "Yes, at times; and drawn from various resources. He laughs to scorn now my marriage ring; and yet he wears the diamond one which I gave him in the days when we were engaged lovers, and which had once been my dear father's." The diamond which _she_ gave him! Here, then, was another, and the most probable version of the history of that remarkable brilliant. "Of what was it that he deprived you by force, before his horse leaped the wall?" "A locket which I wore at my neck, suspended by a ribbon," said she, as her tears began to fall again. "He has the family solicitor with him at Walcot Park, I understand," said I. "They are visiting there together. Mr. Sharpus came on business, and my husband accompanied him." "Why not appeal to this legal man? "I have done so many times." "And he--" "Fears Mr. Guilfoyle and dare not move in the matter, or affects to disbelieve me." "What power has this--your husband, over him?" "God alone knows--I do not," she replied, clasping her hands; "but Mr. Sharpus quails like a criminal under the eye of Hawkesby Guilfoyle, who seems also to possess some strange power over Lady Naseby, I think." Could such really be? It seemed impossible; everything appeared to forbid it; and yet I was not insensible to a conviction that the dowager countess was rather pleased with, than influenced by, him. Could he have acted in secret the part of lover to _her_, and so flattered her weakness by adulation? Old women and old men, too, are at times absurd enough for anything; and now the words of Caradoc, on the night he lost money to Guilfoyle at billiards, recurred to me, when in his blunt way he averred they had all some secret understanding, adding, "By Jove! I can't make it out at all." My mind was a kind of chaos as I walked onward with my new friend, and leading my horse by the bridle we entered Whitchurch together. In the dusk I left her at the inn door, promising to visit her on the morrow, and consult with her on the means for farther exposing her husband; for although her story--for all I knew to the contrary--might be an entire fabrication, I was not then in a mood of mind to view it as such. As I bade her adieu, a dog-cart, driven by a servant,--whose livery was familiar to me, passed quickly. Two women were in it, one of whom mentioned my name. I looked up and recognised Mademoiselle Babette Pompon, Lady Naseby's soubrette, who had evidently been shopping; and a natural dread that she, out of a love of gossip, or the malevolence peculiar to her class, might mention having seen me at the inn porch with a fair friend, was now added to the annoyance caused by the episode at the lane end--an episode to which the said parting would seem but an addendum or sequel; and I galloped home to my quarters in a frame of thought far from enviable, and one which neither brandy nor seltzer at the mess-house could allay. CHAPTER XXII.--GEORGETTE FRANKLIN'S STORY. Next day I heard the stranger's story, and it was a sad one. Georgette Franklin--for such was her unmarried name--was the last surviving child of George Franklin, a decayed gentleman, who dwelt in Salop, near the Welsh border--we need not precisely say where, but within view of the green hills of Denbigh; for the swelling undulations of the beautiful Clwydian range formed the background to the prospect from the windows of that quaint old house which was nearly all that survived of his hereditary patrimony. Stoke Franklin--so named as it occupied the site of a timber dwelling of the Saxon times, coeval perhaps with Offa's Dyke--was still surrounded by a defensive ditch or moat, where now no water lay, but where, in the season, the primroses grew in golden sheets on the emerald turf. It was an isolated edifice, built of dark-red brick, with stone corners, stone mullions to its quaint old sunken windows, and ogee pediments or gables above them, also of stone. From foundation to chimneys it was quaint in style, ancient in date, and picturesque in aspect. Long lines of elms, and in some places pollard willows, marked the boundaries of what had been the demesne of the Franklins; but piecemeal it had passed away to more careful neighbours, and now little remained to George Franklin but the ground whereon the old mansion-house stood, and that sombre green patch in God's-acre, the neighbouring churchyard, where his wife and their four children lay, near the ancient yew, the greenery of which had decorated the altar in the yule feasts of centuries ago, and whose sturdy branches had furnished bow-staves for the archers who shot under his ancestors at Bosworth, at Shrewsbury, and Flodden Field. George Franklin was not a misanthrope; far from it; but he lived very much alone in the old house. His oaken library, so solemnly tranquil, with its heavy dark draperies and book-hidden walls, when the evening sun stole through the deep mullions of the lozenged and painted windows, was his favourite resort. And a cozy room it proved in winter, when the adjacent meres were frozen, and the scalp of Moel Fammau was powdered with snow. There he was wont to sit, with Georgette by his knee, he reading and she working; a bright-faced, brown-haired, and lively girl, whose golden canaries and green love-birds hung in every window; for the house was quite alive with her feathered pets, and was as full of sound as an aviary with their voices in summer. One warm evening in autumn, when Georgette was verging on her eighteenth year, she and her father were seated near the house-door, under a shady chestnut-tree. The sunshine lay bright on the greensward, and on the wilderness of flowers and shrubs that grew close to the massive red walls of the old mansion. Mr. Franklin was idly lingering over a book and sipping a glass of some dark and full-bodied old port--almost the last bottle that remained in his now but ill-replenished cellar. And a very perfect picture the old man made. His thin but stately figure; his features so patrician in profile; his dress somewhat old in fashion; his hands, though faded, so shapely, with a diamond ring on one finger, _the_ diamond ring of which we have heard so much lately; and the handsome girl who hovered about him, attending to his little wants, varying her kind offices with playful caresses, while her white neck and her golden-brown hair glittered in the sunshine--all this seemed to harmonise well with the old house that formed the background to the picture. The evening was quiet and still. The voices of Georgette's birds, her caged canaries and piping bullfinches, came through the open windows; but there were no other sounds, save once or twice when the notes of a distant hunting-horn, prolonged and sad, came on the passing wind, and then the old man would raise his head, and his clear eye would sparkle, "As he thought of the days that had long since gone by, When his spirit was bold and his courage was high;" and when he, too, had followed that sound, and ridden across the stiffest country, neck and neck with the best horsemen in Salop and Cheshire. Suddenly there came a shout, and a huntsman in red, minus his black velvet cap, was seen to clear a beech-hedge on the border of the lawn; and ere an exclamation of annoyance or indignation could escape old George Franklin, that his privacy should be invaded, even by a sportsman, in this unwonted manner, a cry of terror escaped Georgette; for it was evident that the gentleman's horse had become quite unmanageable, as the bridle-rein had given way; and after its terrible leap, it came tearing at a mad pace straight towards the house, and dashing itself head foremost against a tree, hurled the rider senseless on the ground. He rolled to the very feet of Georgette and her father, both of whom were full of pity and compassion, the former all the more so that the stranger was undoubtedly a handsome man, and barely yet in the prime of life. Aid was promptly summoned, and the village doctor, anxious to serve, for a time at least, one whom he deemed a wealthy patient, earnestly seconded, and even enforced, the suggestion of the hospitable George Franklin, that the sufferer, whose head was contused, and whose shoulder-blade had narrowly escaped fracture, should neither be removed nor disturbed. Hence he was at once assigned a room in the old mansion, with Georgette's old Welsh nurse, now the housekeeper, to attend him. He was a man, however, of a strong constitution, "one of those fellows who are hard to kill," as he phrased it; thus, on the third morning after the accident, he was well enough to make his way to the breakfast room. Georgette, attired in a most becoming muslin dress, and looking fresh, rosy, and innocent, as a young girl can only look who has left her couch after a healthy slumber to greet the sunny morning, was standing on a chair in an oriel, attending to the wants of one of her feathered pets; suddenly the chair slipped, and she was about to fall, when a strong arm, in the sleeve of a scarlet hunting-coat, encircled and supported her. This little _contretemps_ made both parties at once at home, and on easy terms. "Mr. Guilfoyle!" exclaimed the girl, for it was he. "Miss Franklin, I presume?" "Are you well already?" she asked. "Nearly so," said he, smilingly, as he took in all the girl's beauty at a glance, together with the pleasant view beyond the antique oriel, where the morning sun came down on the shining leaves, covering all the dewy ground, as it were, with drops of golden light; and the quaint old house, he thought, seemed such a pleasant home. "How happy papa will be!" said the young lady, colouring slightly under his somewhat critical gray--or rather green--eye. "I should have nursed you myself, instead of old nurse Wynne," she added, archly. "In that case I should have been in no hurry to announce my convalescence," said he, rather pointedly; "may I ask your name--the first one, I mean? Somehow, I fancy that I can judge of character by the name." "Georgette Franklin." "Georgette!" "I am called after papa." "A charming name!" he exclaimed, but in a low tone. Naturally frank and honest, purely innocent, and assured of her own position, and of that of her father--for though poor now, he was one of England's old untitled aristocracy--the girl felt neither awkwardness nor shyness with her new friend, who, though polished in manner, easy, and not ungraceful, was a thorough man of the world, and selfishly ready to take advantage of every place and person who came in his way; and a very simple one, indeed, was the kind old gentleman who now came to welcome his visitor, to express fears that he had left his couch too soon; and critically and keenly this hawk, who was now in the dove's nest, eyed him, and saw, by the thinness of his hair, his spare figure and wrinkled face, "delicately lined by such characters as a silver _stylus_ might produce upon a waxen tablet," that his years could not be many now; yet his keen gray eyes were full of bright intelligence still, and were shaded by lashes as long and silky as those of his daughter. Hunting and breakfast were discussed together. Mr. Guilfoyle seemed, or affected to be, an enthusiast in old English sports, professing that he loved them for themselves and from their associations; and quite won George Franklin's heart by stigmatising the "iron horse" of civilisation, which was now bearing all before it; and his host seemed to grow young again, as he recurred to the field exploits of his earlier years, over the same ground which Mr. Guilfoyle--who had been on a visit to the house of some friend twenty miles distant--had hunted so recently: round beautiful Ellesmere, by Halston and Hordley, by the flat fields of Creamore, by the base of wooded Hawkstone, where he had made many a terrible flying leap, and away by Acton Reynald; all this ground had Guilfoyle gone over but lately, and, as the event proved, almost fatally for his own bones, and more fatally for his future peace of mind, as he pretty plainly indicated to Miss Franklin on every available opportunity, in the softest and most well-chosen language. Though able to leave his room, he was neither permitted to leave the house nor attempt to mount; so he wrote to his friend, had some of his wardrobe sent over to Stoke Franklin, and, encouraged by the hearty hospitality of its owner, took up his quarters there for an indefinite period; at least, until his hunting friend should depart for Madeira, whither he had promised to accompany him; for Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle seemed somewhat of a cosmopolitan, and rather peripatetic in his habits. He had been over one half the world, according to his own accounts, and fully intended to go over the other; so he proved a very agreeable companion to the hitherto lonely father and daughter in that secluded mansion in Salop. Merciful it is, indeed, that none of us can lift the veil that hides the future; thus little could George Franklin foresee the influence this man was to exert over the fate of his daughter and himself, when he listened to his plausible anecdotes, or sat alone and happy in his shady old library, communing pleasantly with his ancient favourites--with Geoffrey Chaucer, the knightly pages of Froissart, Dame Juliana Berners on hunting and hawking, and works, rare as manuscripts, that came from the antique press of Caxton and De Worde. Mr. Guilfoyle found himself in very pleasant quarters, indeed. It was ever his principle to improve the occasion or the shining hour. Georgette was highly accomplished, and knew more than one language; so did he; so week after week stole pleasantly away. By them the touching airs of Wales, the merry _chansons_ of Wronger, were played and sung together; and she it was, and no Princess of Catzenelnbogen, who taught him that wild German farewell, with its burden of "Leb'wohl! Leb'wohl!" we had heard at Craigaderyn Court. Even Petrarch was not omitted by them; for he knew, or pretended to know, a smattering of Italian, and translated the tenderest speeches of Laura's lover with a _point_ that caused the young girl's heart to vibrate with new and strange emotions. And now, ever and anon, there was a heightened flush on her soft cheek, a bright sparkle in her dark gray eye, a lightness in all her motions; she had moments of merry laughter, alternated by others of dreamy sadness--that yet was not all sadness--which showed that Georgette was in love. And Guilfoyle, in his own fashion, loved her, too; but he had learned that of all George Franklin's once noble estate, the house alone remained, and that at his death even it must inevitably go to the spoiler; so, though to love Georgette was very pleasant and sweet, matrimony with her was not to be thought of. Money was the god of Guilfoyle's idolatry, and he thought of the wonder of his "fast" friends when they asked, "What did he get with his wife?" and how they should laugh if they heard he had married for love. Yet Georgette had become besotted--there is no other word for it, save infatuated--by him; by one who had made flippant love with strange facility to many. By degrees he artfully strove to warp or poison the girl's mind; but finding that instinctively her innocence took the alarm after a time, though she long misunderstood him, he quite as artfully changed his tactics, and spoke sorrowfully of his imperative and approaching departure for Madeira, of the agony such a separation would cause him; "it might be for years, and it might be for ever," and so forth, while, reclining in tears on his breast, the girl heard him. Taking the right time, when she was thoroughly subdued or softened by love, and fear lest she should lose him, he prayed her to elope or consent to a private marriage--he was not without hopes that his hunting friend might officiate as parson. This, he urged, would keep them true to each other until his return and their final reunion; but to this measure she would not consent. "Come with me, then, to Madeira; we shall be back in a month, at latest." "But think of dear papa--my poor old papa," replied Georgette, piteously; "worn as he is with years and infirmity, I cannot leave him even for so short a time; for who will soothe his pillow when I am gone?" "Old moth--Mrs. Wynne can do all that; at least, until we return," said he, almost impatiently. "But must you really go to Madeira?" pleaded the gentle voice. "I must, indeed: business of the first importance compels me; in fact, my funds are there," he added, with charming candour, as his hunting friend had promised to frank him to Funchal and back again to London. "We shall be gone but a short time, and when we return this dear old house shall be brighter than ever, and together we shall enliven his old age. We shall kneel at his feet, darling Georgie, and implore--" "Why not kneel _now_," urged Georgette, "and beg his consent and blessing?" "Nay, that would be inopportune, absurd, melodramatic, and all that sort of thing. Returning, we shall be linked in the fondest affection; returning, he will be unable to resist our united supplications. Come, darling, come with me. Let us despise the silly rules of society, and the cold conventionalities of this heartless world! Let us live but for each other, Georgie; and O, how happy we shall be, when we have passed, through the medium of romance, into the prose of wedded life; though that life, my darling, shall not be altogether without romance to us!" Overcome by the intensity of her affection for this man, her first and only lover, the poor girl never analysed the inflated sophistries he poured into her too willing ear, but sank, half fainting with delight, upon his shoulder. Guilfoyle clasped her fondly in his arms; he covered her brow, her eyes--and handsome eyes they were--her lips, and braided hair, with kisses, and in his forcible but somewhat fatuous language, poured forth his raptures, his love, and his vows of attachment. Suddenly a terror came over her, and starting from his arm, she half repulsed him, with a sudden and sorrowful expression of alarm in her eye. "Leave me, Hawkesby," said she, "leave me, I implore you; I cannot desert papa, now especially, when most he needs my aid. O, I feel faint, very faint and ill! I doubt not your love, O, doubt not mine; but--but--' "I must and do doubt it," said he, sadly and gloomily. "But enough of this; to-morrow I sail from Liverpool, and _then_ all shall be at an end." "O God, how lonely I shall be!" wailed the girl; "I would, dear Hawkesby, that you had never come here." "Or had broken my neck when my horse cleared yonder hedge," said he, as his arm again went round her, and the strong deep love with which he had so artfully succeeded in inspiring her, triumphed over every sentiment of filial regard, of reason, and humanity. She forgot the old parent who doted on her; the stately old ancestral home, that was incrusted with the heraldic honours of the past; she forgot her position in the world, and fled with the _parvenu_ Guilfoyle. That night the swift express from Shrewsbury to Birkenhead, as it swept through the beautiful scenery by Chirk and Oswestry, while the wooded Wrekin sank flat and far behind, bore her irrevocably from her home; but her father's pale, white, and wondering face was ever and always upbraidingly before her. As Guilfoyle had foreseen, no proper marriage could be celebrated at Liverpool ere the ship sailed from the Mersey. He hurried her on board, and his hunting friend--a dissipated man of the world, ordered to Madeira for the benefit of his health--received the pale, shrinking, and already conscience-stricken girl in the noisy cabin of the great steamer with a critical eye and remarkably knowing smile, while his manner, that for the time was veiled by well-bred courtesy, might have taught the poor dove that she was in the snares of an unscrupulous fowler. But ere the great ship had made the half of her voyage--about six days--in her sickness of body and soul, the girl had made a friend and confidant of the captain, a jolly and good-hearted man, who had girls of his own at home; and he, summoning a clergyman who chanced to be on board, under some very decided threats compelled Guilfoyle to perform the part he had promised; so he and Georgette were duly wedded in the cabin, while, under sail and steam, the vessel cleft the blue waves of the western ocean, and her ensign was displayed in honour of the event. But there the pleasure and the honour ended, too; and Guilfoyle soon showed himself in his true colours, as a selfish and infamous _roué_. "Alas!" said she, weeping, "he no longer called me the pet names I loved so well; or made a fuss with me, and caressed me, as he was wont to do among the pleasant woods of Stoke Franklin. I felt that, though he was my husband, he was a lover no longer! We had not been a fortnight at Madeira when we heard that the vessel, on board of which we were married, had perished at sea with all on board, including her temporary chaplain. Then it was that Mr. Guilfoyle tore from me the sole evidence of that solemn ceremony given to me by the clergyman, and cast it in the flames before my face, declaring that then he was free! Of our past love I had no relic but a gold locket containing his likeness and bearing a date, the 1st of September, the day on which we were married, with our initials, H. H. and G., and even that he rent from me yesterday. Alas for the treachery of which some human hearts are capable! We were _one_ no longer now, as the old song has it: "'That time!--'tis now "long, long ago!" Its hopes and joys all passed away! On life's calm tide three bubbles glow; And pleasure, youth, and love are they, Hope paints them bright as bright can be, Or did, when he and I were _we!_' As a finishing stroke to his cruelty and perfidy, he suddenly quitted Madeira, after some gambling transaction which brought the alcalde of Funchal and other authorities upon him. He effected his escape disguised as a vendor of sombreros and canary birds, and got clear off, leaving a note by the tenor of which he bequeathed me to his friend, with whom he left me at a solitary _quinta_ among the mountains." Though dissipated and "fast" by nature and habit, the latter was at heart an English gentleman; and pitying the forlorn girl abandoned in a foreign colony under circumstances so terrible, he sent her home; and one day, some six months after her flight, saw her once more standing irresolutely at the closed gate of the old manor-house of Stoke Franklin. The latter was empty now; the windows were closed, the bird-cages hung there no more; the golden and purple crocuses she had planted were peeping up from the fragrant earth, untended now; the pathways were already covered with grass and mosses; untrimmed ivy nearly hid the now unopened door; the old vanes creaked mournfully in the wind; and save the drowsy hum of the bees, all spoke to her hopeless, despairing, and remorseful heart of the silence and desolation that follow death. The odour of last year's dead leaves was heavy on the air. After a time she learned how rapidly her father had changed in aspect, and how he had sunk after her disappearance--her desertion of him; and how there came a time when the fine old gentleman, whose thin figure half stooping, with his head bent forward musingly, his scant white hair floating over the collar of his somewhat faded coat, his kindly but wrinkled face, his tasselled cane trailing behind him from his folded hands, whilom so familiar in the green lanes about Stoke Franklin, and who was always welcomed by the children that gambolled on the village green or around the old stone cross, and the decayed wooden stocks that stood thereby, appeared no more. A sudden illness carried him off, or he passed away in his sleep, none knew precisely which; and then another mound under the old yew-tree was all that remained to mark where the last of the Franklins, the last of an old, old Saxon line, was laid. I promised to assist her if I could, though without the advice of a legal friend I knew not very clearly what to do; besides, knowing what lawyers usually are, I had never included one in the circle even of my acquaintances. Estelle's long silence, and the late episode in the lane, chiefly occupied my thoughts while riding back to the barracks, where somewhat of a shock awaited me. CHAPTER XXIII.--TURNING THE TABLES. Though the dower-house of Walcot Park dated from the days of Dutch William, when taste was declining fast in England, internally it had all the comforts of modern life, and its large double drawing-room was replete with every elegance that art could furnish or luxury require--gilt china, and buhl cabinets, and console mirrors which reproduced again and again, in far and shadowy perspectives, the winged lions of St. Mark in _verde antique_; Laocoon and his sons writhing in the coils of the serpents; Majolica vases, where tritons, nymphs, and dolphins were entwined; Titian's cavaliers sallow and sombre in ruffs and half-armour, with pointed moustachios and imperious eyes; or red-haired Venetian dames with long stomachers, long fingers, and Bologna spaniels; or Rubens' blowsy belles, all flesh and bone, with sturdy limbs, and ruddy cheeks and elbows; but the mirrors reflected more about the very time that I was lingering at Whitchurch; to wit, a group, a trio composed of Lady Naseby, her daughter, and Mr. Guilfoyle; and within that room, so elegant and luxurious, was being fought by Estelle, silently and bitterly, one of those struggles of the heart, or battles of life, which, as poor Georgette Franklin said truly, were harder than those which were fought in the field by armed men. Guilfoyle was smiling, and looking very bland and pleased, indeed, to all appearance; Lady Naseby's usually calm and unimpressionable face, so handsome and noble in its contour, wore an expression of profound disdain and contempt; while that of Lady Estelle was as pale as marble. She seemed to be icy cold; her pink nostrils were dilated, her lips and eyelids were quivering; but with hands folded before her, lest she should clench them and betray herself, she listened to what passed between her mother and their visitor. "It was, as you say, a strange scene, of course, Mr. Guilfoyle, the woman fainting--" "Reclining." "Well, yes, reclining in the arms of Mr. Hardinge in that lonely lane," said the Countess; "but we need refer to it no more. He must be a very reckless person, as Pompon saw him take leave of this creature with great tenderness, she says, at the door of that obscure inn at Whitchurch; so that explains all." "Not quite," replied Guilfoyle. "Perhaps not; but then it is no affair of ours, at all events, I must own that I always wondered what the Lloyds--Sir Madoc especially--saw in that young man, a mere subaltern of the line!" "Precisely my view of the matter, Lady Naseby." "Besides, your little baronet people are great sticklers for rank and dignity, and often affect a greater exclusiveness than those who rank above them." "But as for this unfortunate woman," resumed Guilfoyle, who was loth to quit the subject. "We have heard of her in our neighbourhood before," said Lady Naseby; "at least, Pompon has. She is good to all, especially the poor." "Ah, doesn't care to hide her candle under a bushel, eh?" "What do you mean, Mr. Guilfoyle?" "Simply that vanity is often mistaken for generosity, profusion for benevolence." "You are somewhat of a cynic, I know." "Nay, pardon me, I hope not." "She is too poorly clad in general, Pompon says, to be able to indulge in profusion," continued Lady Naseby, while Lady Estelle glanced at the speakers alternately, in silence and with apparent calmness. But Guilfoyle, who read her eyes and heart, and knew her secret thoughts, gloated on the pain she was enduring. "No doubt the unfortunate creature is much to be pitied," said he; "but when a woman has lost respect for herself, she cannot expect much of it from others. The poor little soiled love-bird has probably left some pretty semi-detached villa at Chertsey or St. John's Wood to follow its faithless redcoat to Hampshire, and hence the touching tableau in the lane," he added, with his mocking and strangely unreal laugh. "Mr. Guilfoyle!" said the Countess, in a tone of expostulation, while her daughter darted a glance of inexpressible scorn at him. But he continued coolly, "Well, perhaps I should not speak so slightingly of her, after what she has given herself out to be." "And what is that?" asked Lady Naseby. "Only--his wife." "His wife!" exclaimed Estelle, starting in spite of herself. "Yes, Lady Estelle; but it may not be, nay, I hope is not, the case." "You should rather hope that it is so." "But we all know what military men are--never particular to a shade; and though excuses must be made for the temptations that surround them, and also for youth, I approve of the continental system, which generally excludes subaltern officers from society." "Wife!" repeated Estelle; "O, it cannot be!" "What is it to _you_--to us?" asked mamma, with a slight asperity of tone. "Well, wife or not, she certainly wears a wedding-ring, and he has been more than once to visit her in that inn at Whitchurch. Of one visit our mutual friend Mr. Sharpus is cognisant. If you doubt this, ask him, and he will not contradict _me_." "I have not said that I doubt you, Mr. Guilfoyle," said Estelle, with intense hauteur, while for a moment--but a moment only--her eyes flashed, her breast heaved, her hands were clenched, a burning colour suffused her face, and her feet were firmly planted on the carpet; yet she asked quietly, "Why do we hear this scandalous story at all? What is it to mamma--what to me?" "More, perhaps, than you care to admit," said he, in a low voice, as the Countess rose to place Tiny in his mother-of-pearl basket. Guilfoyle at Craigaderyn had acted as eavesdropper, and on more than one occasion had watched and followed, overseen and overheard us, and knew perfectly all about our secret engagement, her mother's views and opposition to any alliance save a noble or at least a moneyed one; and of all the stories he had the unblushing effrontery to tell, the present was perhaps the most daring. He had contrived, during the short visit he had paid to Walcot Park, under the wing of Mr. Sharpus, to let Estelle know by covert hints and remarks all he knew, and all he might yet disclose to her mother, to the young Earl of Naseby, to Lord Pottersleigh, Sir Madoc, and others; and feeling herself in his power, with all her lofty spirit the poor girl cowered before him, and he felt this instinctively, as he turned his green eyes exultingly upon her. But for a delicate, proud, and sensitive girl to have the secrets of her heart laid bare, and at the mercy of a man like this, was beyond all measure exasperating. And this strange narrative of his, coming after what she had seen, and all that Pompon with French exaggeration had related, crushed her completely for the time. "I have another little item to add to our Hardinge romance," said he, with his strange, hard, dry, crackling laugh, and a smile of positive delight in his shifty green eyes, while he toyed with the long ears of Tiny the shock, which had resumed its place in Lady Naseby's lap. "You remember the locket with the initials 'H. H. G.' and the date 1st September which Miss Dora Lloyd mentioned when we were at Craigaderyn?" "I have some recollection of it," replied Lady Naseby, languidly. "Curiously enough, as I rode past the spot where you saw that touching and interesting interview--the lane, I mean--I perceived something glittering among the grass. Dismounting, I picked up that identical locket, which doubtless the lady had dropped, thus losing it within a few days of its bestowal, if we are to judge by the date." "And you have it?" "Here." Opening his leather portemonnaie, he drew from it a gold locket, to which a black-velvet ribbon was attached, and said with the utmost deliberation, "The initials represent those of Henry Hardinge and his inamorata, and behold!" Pressing a spring, the secret of which he knew very well, the locket flew open, and within it were seen the photograph of the pale woman whom they saw in Craigaderyn church, and opposite to it one of _me_, inserted by himself, pilfered from the album of Winifred Lloyd, as we afterwards ascertained. "Aha! the moral Mr. Henry Hardinge with his _petite femme entretenue_, as the French so happily term it." Lady Estelle was quite calm now in her demeanour, and she surveyed the locket with a contemptuous smile; but her face was as white as marble. She felt conscious that it was so, and hence sat with her back to the nearest window, lest her mother should perceive that she was affected. Guilfoyle, smilingly, stood by her, stroking his dyed moustache. "This must be restored to its owner," said he. "Permit me to do so," said Lady Estelle. "You, Estelle--you!" exclaimed her usually placid mother, becoming almost excited now; "why should you touch the wretched creature's ornament?" "As an act of charity it should be restored to her, or to _him_," she added, through her clenched teeth; and taking the locket, she left the room for her own, ere her mother could reply; and there she gave way to a paroxysm of tears, that sprang from sorrow, rage, and shame that she had for a moment permitted herself to have been deluded by me, and thus be placed in the power of Guilfoyle. Her lips, usually of a rosy tint, were colourless now; her upper one quivered from time to time, as she shuddered with emotions she strove in vain to repress; and her proud hot blood flowed furiously under her transparent skin, as she threw open her desk, and sought to apply herself to the task of writing me that which was to be her first, her last, and only letter. For her heart swelled with thoughts of love and disappointment, pride, reproach, disdain, and hate, as she spoiled and tore up sheet after sheet of note-paper in her confusion and perplexity, and at last relinquished the idea of writing at all. Thus, while I was scheming how to expose Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle, and have him cast forth from that circle in which he was an intruder, he turned the tables with a vengeance, and provided me with a wife to boot. But finding, or suspecting, that he was beginning to be viewed with doubt, that very day, after having done all possible mischief, he quitted Walcot Park with Lady Naseby's solicitor, who, strange to say, seemed to be his most particular friend. He had made no impression favourable to himself on the heart of Estelle; but he hoped that he had succeeded in ruining me, as I could neither write nor clear myself of an allegation of which I was then, of course, ignorant. She was unjust to me; but she certainly--whatever came to pass in the gloomy and stormy future--loved me _then_. CHAPTER XXIV.--BITTER THOUGHTS. As yet I knew nothing of all that has been detailed in the foregoing chapter, consequently the entire measure of my vengeance against Guilfoyle was not quite full. I had, however, a revival of my old doubts, anxiety, and perplexity, in not hearing from Walcot Park in some fashion, by an invitation, or otherwise privately from Estelle herself, as, by our prearrangement, there was nothing to prevent her writing to me; and to these were added now a dread of what they had seen on that unlucky evening, and the reasonable misconstructions to which the scene was liable. More than one of my mess-room friends had received cards of invitation from Lady Naseby; why then was I, whom she had met so recently, apparently forgotten? After the relation of her story, I left Mrs. Guilfoyle in such a state of mental prostration and distress, that I was not without well-founded fears that she might commit some rash act, perhaps suicide, to add to the vile complication of our affairs. Next day I was detailed for guard, and could not leave the barracks, either to consult with my new unhappy acquaintance, or for my accustomed canter in the vicinity of Walcot Park. A presentiment that something unpleasant would happen ere long hung over me, and a day and a night of irritation and hot impatience had to be endured, varied only by the exceedingly monotonous duties that usually occupy the attention of the officer who commands a guard, such as explaining all the standing orders to the soldiers composing it, inspecting the reliefs going out to their posts and those returning from them, and going the round of those posts by night; but on this occasion, the routine was varied by a fire near Winchester, so we were kept under arms for some hours in a torrent of rain, with the gates barricaded, till the barrack engines returned. On the following morning, just when dismissing my old guard after being relieved by the new one, I perceived a servant in the well-known Naseby livery--light-blue and silver--ride out of the barracks; and with a fluttering in my heart, that was born of hope and apprehension, I hastened to my room. "Packet for you, sir," said my man Evans, "just left by a flunkey in red breeches." "You mean a servant of Lady Naseby's." "I mean, sir," persisted Evans, "a flunky who eyed me very superciliously, and seemed to think a private soldier as low and pitiful as himself," added the Welshman, whom the pompous bearing of the knight of the shoulder-knot had ruffled. "You were not rude to him, I hope." "O no, sir. I only said that, though the Queen didn't like bad bargains, I'd give him a shilling in her name to play the triangles." "That will do; you may go," said I, taking from his hand a small packet sealed in pink paper, and addressed to me by Lady Estelle; and my heart beat more painfully than ever with hope and fear as I tore it open. A locket dropped out--_the_ locket just described--in which I was bewildered to find a likeness of myself, and with it the ring I had placed on the hand of Estelle in Rhuddlan's cottage--the emerald encircled by diamonds--on the morning after our escape from a terrible fate! I have said that a shock awaited me at the barrack; but that the locket should come to me, accompanied by Estelle's ring, so astonished and perplexed me, that some time elapsed before I perceived there was a little note in the box which contained them. It ran thus: "Lady E. Cressingham begs that Mr. Hardinge will return the accompanying locket and ring to the lady to whom they properly belong--she whom he meets in the lane near Walcot Park, and whom he should lose no time in presenting to the world in her own character. Farther communications are unnecessary, as Mr. Guilfoyle has explained all, and Lady E. Cressingham leaves to-day for London." The handwriting was very tremulous, as if she had written when under no ordinary excitement; and now, as the use to which the two episodes, at the lane and the inn-door, had been put by the artful Guilfoyle became plain to me, I was filled by a dangerous fury at the false position in which they placed me with her I loved and with whom I had been so successful. For a minute the room seemed to swim round me, each corner in pursuit of the other. We had both been wronged--myself chiefly; and though I knew that Guilfoyle had been at work, I could not precisely know how; but I thought the Spartan was right when, on being asked if his sword was sharp, he replied, "Yes, sharper even than calumny!" This wretched fellow had daringly calumniated me, and to clear that calumny, to have an instant interview with Estelle, became the immediate and burning desire of my heart. I rushed to my desk, and opened it with such impulsive fury that I severely injured my arm, so recently broken--broken in her service--and as yet but scarcely well. I spread paper before me, but my fingers were powerless; if able to hold the pen, I was now unable to write, and the whole limb was alternately benumbed and full of acute agony; and though Hugh Price of ours was a very good fellow, I had no friend--at least, none like Phil Caradoc--in the dépôt battalion in whom I could confide or with whom consult, in this emergency. I despatched Evans for the senior surgeon, who alleged that the original setting, dressing, and so forth of my fractured limb had been most unsatisfactory; that if I was not careful, inflammation might set in, and if so, that instant amputation alone could save my life. Being almost in a fever, he placed me on the sick-list, with orders not to leave my room for some days, and reduced me to claret-and-water. "A pleasant predicament this!" thought I, grinding my teeth. Estelle, through whom all this came to pass, lost to me, apparently through no fault of my own, and I unable to communicate with her or explain anything; for now she was in London, where I feared she might, in pique or rage, take Pottersleigh, Naseby, or even, for all I knew, accept Guilfoyle, a terrible compromise of her name. But she had plenty of other admirers, and disappointed women marry every day in disgust of some one. Next I thought of the regiment abroad wondering "when that fellow Hardinge would join"--promotion, honour, profession, and love in the balance against health, and all likely to be lost! "Rest, rest," said the battalion Sangrado, whom my condition rather perplexed; "don't worry yourself about anything. Rest, mental and bodily, alone can cure you." "It is a fine thing to talk," I muttered, while tossing on my pillow; for I was confined to bed in my dull little room, and for three days was left entirely to my own corroding thoughts. I had but one crumb of comfort, one lingering hope. She had not asked me to return _her_ ring, nor did I mean to do so, if possible. Once again my arm was slung in a black-silk scarf, which Estelle had insisted on making for me at Craigaderyn. Alas! would the joys of that time ever return to us again? I sent Evans, in uniform and not in my livery, to Whitchurch with the locket, after extracting my likeness therefrom; but he returned with it, saying that the lady had left the inn for London, having no doubt followed her husband. I knew not exactly of what I was accused--a _liaison_ of some kind apparently, of which the strongest proofs had been put before the Cressinghams. If, when able, I wrote to explain that the two meetings with Mrs. Guilfoyle were quite fortuitous, would Estelle believe me? Without inquiry or explanation, she had coldly and abruptly cast me off; and it was terrible that one I loved so well should think evil or with scorn of me. What would honest old Sir Madoc's view of the matter be, and what the kind and noble-hearted Winifred's, who loved me as a sister, if they heard of this story, whatever it was? Vengeance--swift, sudden, and sure--was what I panted for; and moments there were when I writhed under the laws that prevented me from discovering and beating to a jelly this fellow Guilfoyle, or even shooting him down like a mad dog, though I would gladly have risked my own life to punish him in the mode that was no longer approved of now in England; and I pictured to myself views of having him over in France, in the Bois de Boulogne, or on the level sands of Dunkirk, the spire of St. Eloi in the distance, the gray sky above us, the sea for a background, no sound in our ears but its chafing on the long strip of beach, and his villainous face covered by my levelled pistol at ten paces, or less--yea, even after I had let him have the first shot, by tossing or otherwise. And as these fierce thoughts burned within me, all the deeper and fiercer that they were futile and found no utterance, I glanced longingly at my sword, which hung on the wall, or handled my pistols with grim anticipative joy; and reflected on how many there are in this world who, in the wild sense of justice, or the longing for a just revenge on felons whom the laws protect, fear the police while they have no fear of God, even in this boasted age of civilisation; and I remembered a terrible _duel à la mort_ in which I had once borne a part in Germany. A July evening was closing in Altona, when I found myself in the garden of Rainville's Hotel, which overlooks the Elbe. The windows of the house, an edifice of quaint aspect, occupied successively in years past by General Dumourier and gossiping old Bourienne, were open, and lights and music, the din of many voices--Germans are always loud and noisy--and the odour of many cigars and meerschaums, came forth, to mingle with the fragrance of the summer flowers that decked the tea-garden, the trees of which were hung with garlands of coloured lanterns. A golden haze from the quarter where the sun had set enveloped all the lazy Elbe, and strings of orange-tinted lights showed here and there the gas-lamps of Hamburg reflected in its bosom. In dark outline against that western flush were seen the masts and hulls of the countless vessels that covered the basin of the river and the Brandenburger Hafen. Waiters were hurrying about with coffee, ices, and confectionery, lager-beer in tankards, and cognac in crystal cruets; pretty Vierlander girls, in their grotesque costume, the bodice a mass of golden embroidery, were tripping about coyly, offering their bouquets for sale; and to the music of a fine German band, the dancing had begun on a prepared platform. There were mingling lovely Jewesses of half-Teutonic blood, covered with jewels; spruce clerks from the Admiralit-strasse, and stout citizens from the Neuer-wall; officers and soldiers from the Prussian garrison; girls of good style from the fashionable streets about the Alsterdamm, and others that were questionable from the quarter about the Grosse Theater Strasse. I was seated in an arbour with a young Russian officer named Paulovitch Count Volhonski, who was travelling like myself, and whom I had met at the table-d'hôte of the Rolandsburg, in the Breitestrasse. As an Englishman, apt at all times to undervalue the Russian character, I was agreeably surprised to find that this young captain of the Imperial Guard could speak several European, and at least two of the dead, languages with equal facility. He was a good musician, sang well, and was moreover remarkably handsome, though his keen dark eyes and strongly marked brows, with a most decided aquiline nose, required all the softness that a mouth well curved and as delicately cut as that of a woman could be, to relieve them, and something of pride and hauteur, if not of sternness, that formed the normal expression of his face. His complexion was remarkably pure and clear, his hair was dark and shorn very short, and he had a handsome moustache, well pointed up. We had frequented several places of amusement together, and had agreed to travel in company so far as Berlin, and this was to be our last night in Altona. The waiter had barely placed our wine upon the table and poured it out, when there entered our arbour, and seated himself uninvited beside us, a great burly German officer in undress uniform, and who in a stentorian voice ordered a bottle of lager-beer, and lighting his huge meerschaum without a word or glance of courtesy or apology, surveyed us boldly with a cool defiant stare. This was so offensive, that Volhonski's usually pale face flushed crimson, and we instinctively looked at each other inquiringly. The German next lay back in his seat, coughed loudly, expectorated in all directions in that abominable manner peculiar to his country, placed his heavy military boots with a thundering crash upon two vacant chairs, drank his beer, and threw down the metal flagon roughly on the table, eyeing us from time to time with a sneering glance that was alike insulting and unwarrantable. But this man, whom we afterwards learned to be a noted bully and duellist, Captain Ludwig Schwartz, of the Prussian 95th or Thuringians, evidently wished to provoke a quarrel with either or both of us, as some Prussian officers and Hamburg girls, who were watching his proceedings from an alley of the garden, seemed to think, and to enjoy the situation. But for their presence and mocking bearing, Volhonski and I would probably, for the sake of peace, have retired and gone elsewhere; however, their laughter and remarks rendered the intrusive insolence of their friend the more intolerable. It chanced that a little puff of wind blew the ashes of Volhonski's cigar all over the face and big brown beard of the German, who, while eyeing him fiercely, slowly extricated the pipe from his heavy dense moustache, and striking his clenched hand on the table so as to make everything thereon dance, he said, imperiously, "The Herr Graf will apologise?" "For what?" asked Volhonski, haughtily. "For what!--der Teufel!--do you ask for what?" "Ja, Herr Captain." "For permitting those cigar ashes to go over all my person." "In the first place, your precious person had no right to be there; in the second, appeal to the wind, and fight with it." "I shall not fight with _it!_" thundered the German; "and I demand an instant apology." "Absurd!" replied Volhonski, coolly; "I have no apology to make, fellow. Apologise to another I might; but certainly not to such as you." "You dare to jest--to--to--to trifle with me?" spluttered the German, gasping and swelling with rage. "I never jest or trifle with strangers; do you wish to quarrel?" "No, Herr Graf," sneered the German; "do you?" "Then how am I to construe your conduct and words?" "As you please. But know this, Herr Graf: that though I ever avoid quarrelling, I instantly crush or repel the slightest appearance of insult, and you have _insulted_ me." "Ja, ja!" muttered the German officers, in blue surtouts and brass shoulder-scales, who now crowded about us. Volhonski smiled disdainfully, and drew from his pocket a richly-inlaid card-case; then taking from it an enamelled card, with a bow that was marked and formal, yet haughty, he presented it to Captain Ludwig Schwartz, who deliberately tore it in two, and said, in a low fierce voice, "Bah! I challenge you, Schelm, to meet me with pistols, or hand to hand without masks, and without seconds, if you choose." "Agreed," replied Volhonski, now pale with passion, knowing well that after such a defiance as that, and before such company, it would be a duel without cessation, a combat _à la mort_. "Where?" he asked, briefly. "The Heiligengeist Feld." "When?" "To-morrow at daybreak" "Agreed; till then adieu, Herr Captain;" and touching their caps to each other in salute, they separated. Next morning, when the dense mists, as yet unexhaled by the sun, lay heavy and frouzy about the margin of the Elbe, and were curling up from the deep moats and wooded ramparts of the Holstein Thor of Hamburg, we met on the plain which lies between that city and Altona; it is open, grassy, interspersed with trees, and is named the Field of the Holy Ghost. A sequestered place was chosen; Volhonski was attended by me, Captain Schwartz by another captain of his regiment; but several of his brother officers were present as spectators, and all these wore the tight blue surtout, buttoned to the throat, with the shoulder-scales, adopted by the Prussians before Waterloo; and they wore through their left skirt a sword of the same straight and spring shell-hilted fashion, used in the British service at Fontenoy and Culloden, and retained by the Prussians still. The morning was chill, and above the gray wreaths of mists enveloping the plain rose, on one side, the red brick towers and green coppered spires of St. Michael, St. Nicolai, and other churches. Opposite were the pointed roofs of Altona, and many a tall poplar tree. Volhonski, being brave, polite, and scrupulous in all his transactions, was naturally exasperated on finding himself in this dangerous and unsought-for predicament, after being so grossly and unwarrantably insulted on the preceding night. He was pale, but assumed a smiling expression, as if he thought it as good a joke as any one else to be paraded thus at daybreak, when we quitted our hackney droski at the corner of the great cemetery and traversed the field, luckily reaching the appointed spot the same moment as our antagonists. We gravely saluted each other. While I was examining and preparing the pistols, Volhonski gave me a sealed letter, saying, quite calmly, "I have but one relation in the world--my little sister Valérie, now at St. Petersburg. See," he added, giving me the miniature of a beautiful young girl, golden-haired and dark-eyed; "if I am butchered by this beer-bloated Teuton, you will write to her, enclosing this miniature, my letter, and all my rings." I pressed his hand in silence, and handed our pistols for inspection to the other second, a captain, named Leopold Döpke, of the Thuringian Infantry. "Now, Herr Graf, we fight till one, at least, is killed," said Schwartz, grimly. Volhonski bowed in assent. "Be quick, gentlemen," said the German officers; "already the rising sun is gilding the vane of St. Michael's." Volhonski glanced at it earnestly, and his fine dark eyes clouded for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking of his sister, or of how and where he might be lying when the sun's rays were lower down that lofty brick spire, which is a hundred feet higher than the cross of St. Paul's in London. In the German fashion a circle was drawn upon the greensward, on which the diamond dew of a lovely summer morning glittered. Volhonski and Schwartz were placed within that circle, from which they were not permitted to retire; neither were they to fire until the signal was given. "Mein Herren," said Captain Döpke, who seemed to think no more of the affair than if it had been a pigeon match, "when I give the signal by throwing up my glove and uttering the word you may fire at discretion, or as soon as you have your aim, and at what distance you please; but it must be _within_ the circumference of this ring. The first who steps beyond it falls by my hand, as a violation of the laws of the duel." "Be quick," growled Schwartz; "for the night watch in St. Michael's tower have telescopes, and the Burgher Guard are already under arms at the Holstein Thor." Twelve paces apart within that deadly ring stood Volhonski and Schwartz, facing each other. The former wore a black surtout buttoned up to the throat; the latter his uniform and spike helmet. He untied and cast aside his silver gorget, lest it might afford a mark for his adversary's pistol. His face was flushed with cruelty, triumph, and the lust of blood, that came from past successful duels. Volhonski looked calm; but his eyes and heart were glowing with hatred and a longing for a just revenge. "_Fire!_" cried Captain Döpke, as if commanding a platoon, and tossing up his pipe-clayed glove. Both pistols exploded at the same instant, and Schwartz uttered a cruel and insulting laugh as Volhonski wheeled round and staggered wildly; his left arm was broken by a ball. "Fresh pistols!" cried Schwartz. "Is not this enough for honour?" said I, starting forward. "No--stand back!" exclaimed Captain Döpke. "Ach Gott! Herr Englander, your turn will come next," thundered Schwartz, as we gave them other pistols and proceeded deliberately to reload the first brace, yet warm after being discharged. No word of command was expected now; both duellists aimed steadily. Schwartz fired first and a terrible curse, hoarse and guttural, escaped him, as his ball whistled harmlessly past the left ear of Volhonski, whose face was now ghastly with pain, rage, and hatred. Drawing nearer and nearer, till the muzzle of his pistol was barely two feet from the forehead of Schwartz, he gave a grim and terrible smile for a moment. We were rooted to the spot; no one stirred; no one spoke, or seemed to breathe; and just as a cold perspiration flowed in beadlike drops over the face of the merciless Schwartz; it seemed to vanish with his spike helmet in smoke, as Volhonski fired and--blew his brains out! We sprang into the droski, and I felt as if a terrible crime had been committed when we drove at full speed across the neutral ground, called the Hamburgerburg, which lies between the city and the river gate of Altona, along a street of low taverns and dancing-rooms; and there, when past the sentinels in Danish uniform, the Lion of Denmark and the red-striped sentry boxes indicated that we were safe within the frontier of Holstein. So intense were our feelings _then_, that the few short fleeting moments crowded into that short compass of time seemed as an age, so full were they of fierce, exciting, and revolting thoughts; but these were past and gone; and _now_, as I recalled this merciless episode, times there were when I felt in my heart that I could freely risk my life in the same fashion to kill Guilfoyle, even as Volhonski killed the remorseless German bully Schwartz. CHAPTER XXV.--SURPRISES. Supposing her to have left Walcot Park, as her letter informed me, I rode in that direction no more; and though I knew the family address in London, I could neither write in exculpation of myself nor procure leave to follow her. All furloughs were now forbidden or withdrawn, as the new detachments for the East expected hourly the order to depart. Thus I passed my days pretty much as one may do those which precede or follow a funeral. I performed all my military duties, went to mess, rose and retired to bed, mechanically, my mind occupied by one thought--the anxious longing to do something by which to clear myself and regain Estelle; and feeling in Winchester Barracks somewhat as Ixion might have felt on his fabled wheel, or the son of Clymene on his rock; and so I writhed under the false position in which another's art and malice had placed me; writhed aimlessly and fruitlessly, save that, although tied up by my promise of secrecy to Estelle, I had written a full and candid detail of the whole affair to Sir Madoc, and entreated his good offices for me. Vainly did Price, little Tom Clavell (the 19th depôt had come in), Raymond Mostyn of the Rifles, and other friends say, when noticing my preoccupation, "Come, old fellow, rouse yourself; don't mope. Are you game for pool to-day?" "Pool with a recently-broken arm!" I would reply. "True--I forgot. Well, let us take Mostyn's drag to Southampton to-morrow--it is Sunday, no drill going--cross to the Isle of Wight, dine at the hotel, and with our field-glasses--the binoculars--see the girls bathing at Freshwater." "I don't approve of gentlemen overlooking ladies bathing." "What the deuce do you approve of?" "Being let alone, Price; as the girls say to you, I suspect." "Not always--not always, old fellow," replied Hugh, with a very self-satisfied smile, as he caressed and curled his fair moustache. "Nor the married ones either," added Mostyn, a tall showy officer in a braided green patrol jacket; "for when you were in North Wales, Hardinge, our friend Price got into a precious mess with a selfish old sposo, who thought he should keep his pretty wife all to himself, or at least from flirting with a redcoat." "Perhaps he was less irritated by the rifle green." "Come with me into the city," urged Clavell; "the Dean's lady gives a kettledrum before mess, and I can take a friend." "Parish scandal, cathedral-town gossip, coffee, ices, and Italian confectionery. Thanks, Tom, no." "I have met some very pretty girls there," retorted Clavell, "and it is great fun to lean over their chairs and see them look up at one over their fans shyly, half-laughing at, and half-approving of, the balderdash poured into their ears." "A sensible way of winning favour and spending time." "I vote for the Isle of Wight," continued Clavell; "I saw la belle Cressingham taking a header there the other day in splendid style. Only fancy that high-born creature taking a regular header!" "_Who_ did you say?" said I, turning so suddenly that little Tom was startled, and let the glass drop from his eye. "Lady Estelle Cressingham; you remember her of course. She had on a most becoming bathing-costume; I could make that out with my glass from the cliffs." "Clavell, she is in London," said I, coldly; "and moreover is unlikely to indulge in headers, as she can't swim." "I know better, excuse me," said Mostyn, who, I knew, had dined but lately at Walcot Park; "she told me that she had been recently bathing, and had studied at the Ecole de Natation on the Quai d'Orsay in Paris." "It is more than she ever told me," thought I, as my mind reverted to our terrible adventure. I became silent and perplexed, and covertly looked with rather sad envy on the handsome and unthinking Mostyn, who had enjoyed the pleasure of seeing and talking to Estelle since I had done so. "It is difficult," says David Hume, "for a man to speak long of himself without vanity; therefore I will be _short;_" and having much to narrate, I feel compelled to follow the example of the Scottish historian, for events now came thick and fast. I had barely got rid of my well-meaning comrades, and was relapsing into gloomy reverie in my little room, when I heard voices, and heavy footsteps ascending the wooden stair that led thereto. Some one was laughing, and talking to Evans in Welsh; till the latter threw open the door, and, with a military salute, ushered in Sir Madoc Lloyd, looking just as I had seen him last, save that the moors had embrowned him, in his riding-coat, white-corded breeches, and yellow-topped boots, and whip in hand, for his horse was in the barrack yard. "Welcome, Sir Madoc.--That will do, Evans; be at hand when I ring.--So kind of you, this; so like you!" I exclaimed. "Not at all, not at all, Harry. So these are your quarters? Plain and undecorated, certainly; boots, bottles, boxes, a coal-scuttle--her Majesty's property by the look of it--a sword and camp-bed; humble splendour for the suitor of an earl's daughter, and the rival of a rich viscount. Ah, you sly dog, you devilish sly dog!" he added, as he seated himself on the edge of the table, winked portentously, and poked me under the small ribs with the shank of his hunting-whip, "I suspected that something of this kind would follow that aquatic excursion of yours; and Winifred says she always knew of it." "Winifred--Miss Lloyd!" said I, nervously. "Why didn't you speak to _me_, and consult with me, about the matter when at Craigaderyn? I am certain that I should have made all square with the Countess. Egad, Harry, I will back you to any amount, for the sake of those that are dead and gone," he added, shaking my hand warmly, while his eyes glistened under the shaggy dark brows that in hue contrasted so strongly with the whiteness of his silky hair. "You got my letter, Sir Madoc?" "Yes, and I am here in consequence. It cut short my shooting, though." "I am so sorry--" "Tush; no apologies. The season opened gloriously; but I missed you sorely, Harry, when tramping alone over turnip fields, through miles of beans and yellow stubble, though I had some jolly days of it down in South Wales. Lady Naseby-- "She knows nothing of the secret engagement?" said I, hurriedly and anxiously. "Nothing as yet." "As yet! Must she be told?" "Of course; but I shall make all that right, by-and-by. She believes now in the real character of her attaché, Mr. Guilfoyle, who intruded himself among us, and who has disappeared. Your perfect innocence has been proved alike to her and her daughter, and now you may win at a canter. The photo of you in the locket was abstracted from Winifred's album, and has _her_ name written on the back of it. You are to ride over with me to Walcot Park, where I have left Winifred, as she refused flatly to come to Winchester--why, I know not. She will afford you an opportunity of slipping the ring again on your fair one's finger, and doing anything else that may suggest itself at such a time--you comprehend, eh? Winny bluntly asked Lady Naseby's permission to invite you, as you were so soon to leave England." "The dear girl! God bless her!" "So say I. Lady Naseby said at first that though you had been maligned, there had also been a _contretemps_ of which even her French maid was cognisant; that she hated all _contretemps_ and so forth; but Winny--you know how sweet the girl is, and how irresistible--carried her point, so you spend this evening there. Tell Evans to have your nag ready within the hour. That fellow is not forgetting his mother-tongue among the Sassenachs. He comes from our namesake's place, _Dolwrheiddiog_, 'the meadow of the salmon.' I know it well." "If I could but meet Guilfoyle--" I was beginning. "Forget him. I cannot comprehend how he found such favour in the sight of Lady Naseby; but when I called him a thoroughbred rascal, she quietly fanned herself, and fondling her beastly little cur said, 'My dear Sir Madoc, this teaches us how careful we ought to be in choosing our acquaintance, and how little we really know as to the true character, the inner life and habits of our nearest friends. But our mutual legal adviser Mr. Sharpus always spoke of Mr. Guilfoyle as a man of the greatest probity, and of excellent means.' 'Probably,' said I; 'but I never liked that fellow Sharpus; he always looked like a man who has done something of which he is ashamed, and that is not the usual expression of a legal face.'" So poor Winifred Lloyd had been my chief good angel; yet _she_ was the last whom I should have chosen as ambassadress in a love affair of mine. She was a volunteer in the matter, and a most friendly one to boot. Were this a novel, and not "an owre true tale," I think I should have loved Winny; for "how comes it," asks a writer, "that the heroes of novels seem to have in general a bad taste by their choice of wives? The unsuccessful lady is the one we should have preferred. Rebecca is infinitely more calculated to interest than Rowena." My heart was brimming with joy, and with gratitude to Sir Madoc and his elder daughter; the cloud that overhung me had been exhaled in sunshine, and all again was happiness. I was about to pour forth my thanks to my good old friend, whose beaming and rubicund face was as bright as it could be with pleasure, when there came a sharp single knock on the door of my room. "Come in!" said I, mechanically. My visitor was the sergeant-major of the dépôt battalion, a tall thin old fellow who had burned powder at Burmah and Cabul, and who instantly raised his hand to his forage-cap, saying, "Beg pardon, sir; the adjutant's compliments--the route has just come for your draft of the Royal Welsh, and all the others, for the East." "Is this certain!" asked Sir Madoc, hurriedly. "Quite, sir; it will be in orders this evening. They all embark to-morrow at midday." "Where?" asked I. "At Southampton, as usual. The first bugle will sound after _réveil_ to-morrow." The door closed on my formal visitor, who left me a little bewildered by this sudden sequel to the visit of Sir Madoc, who wrung my hand warmly and said, "Heaven bless and protect you, Harry! I feel for you like a son of my own going forth in this most useless war. And so we are actually to lose you, and so soon, too!" "But only for a little time, I hope, Sir Madoc," said I, cheerfully, thinking more of my early meeting with Estelle than the long separation the morrow must inevitably bring about. I ordered Evans to pack up and prepare everything, to leave my P.P.C. cards with a few persons I named; and avoiding Price, Clavell, Mostyn, and others, rode with Sir Madoc towards Walcot Park, as my mind somehow foreboded, amid all my joy and excitement, for what I feared would be the _last_ time. CHAPTER XXVI.--WITHOUT PURCHASE. Close to, and yet quietly secluded from, the mighty tide of busy humanity that daily surges to and fro between the Bank and the Mansion House, all up Cheapside and Cornhill, in a small dark court off the latter, was the office of Messrs. Sharpus and Juggles, solicitors. The brick edifice towered to the height of many stories; a score of names appeared on each side of the doorway in large letters; and many long dark passages and intricate stairs led to the two dingy rooms where those human spiders sat and spun the webs and meshes of the law. Their dens had a damp and mouldy odour; no ray from heaven ever fell into them, but a cold gray reflected light came from the white encaustic tiles, with which the opposite wall of the court was faced for that purpose; and of that borrowed light even the lower room, where their half-starved clerks worked into the still hours of the night--a veritable cave of Trophonius, if one might judge by their sad, seedy, and dejected appearance--was deprived from its situation; and in all these courts and chambers gas was burned daily in those terrible seasons when the London fogs assume somewhat the solidity and hue of pea-soup. Mr. Sharpus sat in his private room, surrounded by boxes of wood or japanned tin and ticketed dockets of papers, that were mouldy and dirty--as their contents too probably were--while fly-blown prospectuses, plans, and advertisements of lands, houses, and messuages for sale, and so forth, covered the discoloured walls. Juggles, his partner, was a suave, slimy, and meekly-mannered man, "with the eye of a serpent and the voice of a dove;" but our present business is with the former, who was a thin round-shouldered individual, with a cold keen face, an impending forehead, sunken dark gray eyes, the expression of which varied between cunning and solemnity, pride, vulgar assurance, and occasionally restlessness. Shrewd of head and stony of heart, he was not quite the kind of man at whose mercy one would wish to be. He had a hard-worked and sometimes worried aspect; but now an abject white fear, with an unmistakably hunted expression, came over his face, when one of the clerks from the lower den ushered in, without much ceremony, Mr. Guilfoyle, who had in his hand a sporting paper, which he was reading as he entered. "_You_ here again?" exclaimed Sharpus, laying down his pen, and carefully closing the door. "Yes, by Jove, again!" replied Guilfoyle, with barely a nod, and seating himself with his hat on. "So soon!" groaned Sharpus; and reseating himself, he eyed, with an expression of haggard hate, Guilfoyle, who continued to read from the paper hurriedly, excitedly, and half aloud, some report of a steeplechase. "The Devil--threw his rider--remounted; at the next fence Raglan took the lead, followed by Fairy and Beauty, and Beau, the Devil lying next; last fence but one taken by the quintette almost simultaneously, when Raglan, Beauty, and Beau came away together, the first-named winning a very fine race by half a length--Beauty being third, and close upon Beau, but Fairy was nowhere. D--nation! there is a pot of money gone, or not won, which amounts to the same thing in the end!" and crushing up the paper, he threw it on the writing-table of Sharpus. "Wanting more money?" said the latter, in a hollow voice. "Precisely so; out at the elbows--in low water--phrase it as you will. I have sold even my horse at last," replied the other, folding his arms, and regarding the lawyer mockingly. "And the ring given you by--by the King of Bavaria?" said Sharpus, with a sickly smile. "I retain but a paste imitation of that remarkable brilliant; and that I may present you as a mark of my regard and esteem." "I thought you had made something by a mercantile transaction, as you phrased it, when last on the Continent?" "So I did; 'the mercantile transaction' being nothing less than breaking the bank at Homburg, by steadily and successfully backing the red, and sending home all those who came for wool most decidedly _shorn_." "You should have saved some of those ill-gotten gains for future contingencies," said Sharpus. "How much easier it is to advise and to speculate than to act with care and decision!" sneered Guilfoyle. "I pity your poor wife," said the lawyer, sincerely enough. "She has no documentary proof that she is such," replied Guilfoyle, angrily. "Pshaw! what is pity? an emotion that is often at war with reason and with sense, too; for a handsome face or a well-turned ankle may make us pity the most undeserving object." The lawyer sighed, and at that moment sincerely pitied himself; for it had chanced that, in earlier years, an intimacy with Guilfoyle led to the latter discovering that which gave him such absolute power as to reduce him--Sharpus--to be his very slave. This was nothing less than the _forgery_ of a bill in the name of Guilfoyle; who, before relinquishing the privilege of prosecution, on retiring the document, had obtained a complete holograph confession of the act, which he now retained as a wrench for money, and held over the head of Sharpus, thereby compelling him to act as he pleased. After a minute's silence, during which the two men had been surveying each other, the one with hate and fear, the other with malignant triumph, Guilfoyle said, "I did Lady Naseby, as you know, a service at Berlin, when at very low water; being seen with her won me credit, which I failed not to turn to advantage. I followed her and her daughter through all Germany--at Ems, Gerolstein, Baden, and then to Wales, where I was in clover at Craigaderyn. I was a fool to fly my hawks at game so high as the peerage; and I feel sure it was that beast of a fellow Hardinge, of the Royal Welsh, who blew the gaff upon me, and prevented me from entering stakes, as I intended to do, for one of the daughters of that horse-and-cow-breeding old Welsh baronet; and they are, bar one, the handsomest girls in England." "And that one?" "Is Lady Estelle Cressingham." Even the ghastly lawyer smiled at his profound assurance. "Have you no remorse when you think of Miss Franklin?" "No more than you have, when you have sucked a client dry, and leave him to die in the streets," replied Guilfoyle, with his strange dry mocking laugh; "remorse is the word for a fool--the unpunished crime, I have read somewhere, is never regretted. Men mourn the consequences, but never the sin or a crime itself. As for Hardinge, d--n him!" he added, grinding his teeth; "I thought to put a spoke in his wheel, by passing off Georgette as his wife, but Taffy came to his aid, and the true story was told; and yet, do you know, there were times when I played my cards exceedingly well with the Cressinghams. Besides, you always represented me to be a man of fortune." "I have invariably done so," groaned Sharpus. "And have stumped out pretty well to maintain the story, while hinting of--" "Coal-mines in Labuan, shares in others in Mexico, and all manner of things, to account for the sums wrung from me--from my wife and children. But, God help me, I can do no more!" "Bah! what do they or you want with that villa at Hampstead? But you are a good fellow, Sharpus; and, thanks to your assistance, I worked the oracle pretty well at Walcot Park for Mr. Henry Hardinge." "Against him, you mean?" "Of course; but, unluckily, our story wouldn't stand testing." "Could you expect it to do so?" "But I put a hitch in his gallop there, anyhow. By Jove, I was a great fool not to make love to the old woman, instead of her daughter." "Meaning Lady Naseby?" said Sharpus, with surprise. "So Burke and Debrett name her. She is just at that age--twice her daughter's--when the soft sex become remarkably soft indeed, and apt to make fools of themselves." "She would indeed have been one had she listened to you." "Thanks, old tape-and-parchment; I did not come here for a character, but to show you the state of my cash-book." Again the lawyer groaned, and Guilfoyle laughed louder than ever. Delight to have a lawyer under his heel rendered him merciless; but even a worm will turn, so Sharpus said sternly, "How have you lived since the last remittance--extortion?" "Call it as you will," replied the other, putting his glass in his eye, and smilingly switching his leg with his cane; "I have lived as most men do who live by their wits, and the follies, or it may be the _crimes_--O, you wince!--of others; meeting debts and emergencies as they come, content with the peace or action of the present, and never regretting the past, or fearing the future! With the help of an ace, king, and queen, when my betting-book or a stroke of billiards failed me, and with your great kindness, my dear old Sharpus, I have, till now, always kept my funds far above zero." "Your life is a great sham--a very labyrinth of deceit!" exclaimed the lawyer, furiously. "And yours, friend Sharpus?" "Is spent in slaving for my family, and endeavouring to atone for, or to buy the concealment of, one great error--the error that made you--ay, men such as you--my master!" Guilfoyle laughed heartily, and said, "I require 600_l_. instantly!" "Not a penny--not another penny!" "We shall see. Sharpus, though a bad lot, I know that you are not the utter rogue that most of your profession are--" "Leave my office, scoundrel, or I shall kill you!" said Sharpus, in a low voice of concentrated passion, as he became deadly pale, and a dangerous white gleam came into his stealthy restless eyes, which seemed to search in vain for a weapon. "If I leave your office it will be for the purpose of laying before the nearest police-magistrate a certain document you may remember to have written; and I am so loth to kill the goose that lays my golden eggs," continued the other, in his quiet mocking tone. "But remember, Mr. Sharpus," he added, in a lofty and bullying manner, as he grasped the shoulder of the listener, "that the forgery of a document is not deemed an error in legal practice here, as in Spain or Scotland, but a _crime_ meriting penal servitude; and shall I tell you what that means--you, who have now wealth, ease, position, a handsome wife, and several children? You will be torn from all these for ever, as a felon!" Drops of perspiration poured over the poor wretch's temples as his tormentor continued: "Think of being in Millbank, beside the muggy Thames, and the years that would find you there, a bondsman and a slave, who for the least misconduct would be lashed like a faulty hound, and ironed in a blackhole. Hard work, aggravated by the consciousness of infamy; clad in the gray livery of disgrace; your name effaced from the Law List, and for it substituted the letter or number on your prison garb!" "For God's sake, hush!" implored the wretched lawyer, in terror, lest the speaker's voice might reach the room of Juggles, or the ears of the clerks below; "hush, and I shall do all you wish." "Come--that is acting like a reasonable being." "Will 200_l_. do you--this time?" "Two hundred devils! I want 600_l_. at least." "I shall be ruined with my partner; he must know ere long where all these moneys have gone." "That is nothing to me; tell him if you dare." Sharpus burst into tears, and said, piteously, "At present I can give but 200_l_.--the rest shall follow." "Well, you can do something else for me, and I may trouble you no more." "How?" asked Sharpus, eagerly and incredulously, with a dreary and bewildered air. "Get me some employment, where there is little to do; I hate brain-work." "Employment!--where? with whom?" "Civil or military, I care not which." "Military! impossible--too old. Stay, I have it!" exclaimed the lawyer; "you have been in the Militia, I know." "Three months in the Royal Diddlesex." "What say you to an appointment in Lord Aberdeen's new Land Transport Corps? It will be easily got--a handsome uniform and great _éclat_, though the officers are nearly all taken from the ranks. The duties are simple enough--conveyance of baggage, and carrying off the wounded _after_ an action." "Not to bury the dead?--ugly work that." "No, no." "By Jove, I'll go!" he exclaimed, as Sharpus filled up the cheque. Sharpus strove in vain to conceal his delight. "I have of course done a few things which would hardly bear the 'light of the world's bull's-eye' turned upon them, but the Horse Guards know nothing of them. You have noble and powerful clients, and can do this easily for me. Bravo!" And they actually shook hands over the matter, as if over a bargain. Sharpus lost no time in using the necessary influence, and--though not exactly a cadet after Mr. Cardwell's heart--this commission was decidedly one without purchase; and on the strength of having been once in the boasted constitutional force, "Henry Hawkesby Guilfoyle, gent., _late_ Lieutenant, Diddlesex Militia," appeared in the _Gazette_ ere long, as one of twenty-four comets of the long-since disbanded Land Transport Corps, for service in the Crimea. CHAPTER XXVII.--RECONCILIATION. As Sir Madoc and I proceeded along the to me well-known Whitchurch road, I asked myself mentally, could it really be that I was again looking with farewell eyes on all this fair English scenery, and perhaps for the last time; for our departure to the seat of war, where we were to be face to face and foot to foot with an enemy, was very different from other voyages to a peaceful British colony? Now, varied by autumnal tints, brown, golden, or orange, I saw the long and shady lane where Estelle had last seen me, and near it the low churchyard wall, where our evil genius had rent away the locket from his wife. Sir Madoc's eyes were turned chiefly to the tawny stubble-fields, and he sighed with regret, as he saw the brown coveys of partridges whirring up, that he had not his patent breech-loader in lieu of a hunting-whip. "Estelle--Estelle!" thought I. "How many temptations in mighty London, and in the country, too--in Brighton, that other London by the sea, and wherever she may go--will beset one so noble and so beautiful--allurements that may teach her to forget and banish from her memory the poor Fusileer subaltern, to whom she seems as the centre of the universe!" The evening was a lovely one, and the scenery was beautiful. Chestnuts and oaks were, at every turn of the way we rode, forming natural arches and avenues, beyond which were pleasant glimpses of quaint cottages, whose walls and roofs were nearly hidden by masses of roses and honeysuckle; short square village spires and ivy-covered parsonages; widespreading pastures, where the sleepy cattle browsed amid purple clover and golden cowslips, with the glory of the ruddy sunset falling aslant upon them, while the ambient air was full of earthy and leafy fragrance; for many fallen leaves, the earliest spoil of autumn, lay with bursting cones in cool and sunless dells, or by the wayside, where the fern and foxglove mingled under the old thick hedgerows. And so I was looking, as I have said, on all this peaceful scene, perhaps for the _last_ time; yet there was no sadness in my heart, for the revulsion or change of feeling, from the gloom and tumultuous anxiety of many, many days past, and even of that morning, was great indeed to me, especially when we cantered through the handsome iron gates of Walcot Park, the once suspicious keeper of which gave me an unmistakable glance of recognition. I felt like one in a dream as I threw my reins to a servant, and was led upstairs by Sir Madoc. "Where is Lady Estelle?" he asked of another valet, to whom I gave my sword in the hall. "In the front drawing-room." "Alone?" "I think so, sir." "All right, Harry!" But he suddenly affected to remember that he had something to say to his own groom, and as he turned back, I was ushered into the long and stately apartment. I had a dreamy sense of being amid many buhl tables and glass shades, much drapery, and several mirrors that reproduced everything, amid which I saw Estelle advancing cordially to meet me. She had a bright smile in her face, and held out both her hands; but I could scarcely speak. "Estelle," I whispered, "joy--joy! It is indeed joy, to see you once again!" "Then you quite forgive me, dearest Harry?" "Forgive you? O Estelle!" I exclaimed, in a low and passionate voice, as she turned up her adorable face to meet mine half-way. I knew from past experience that caresses from her meant much more than they did from most women; for Estelle, though proud and reticent, and apparently cold and calm, was reluctant to give and to accept them; so now I felt all the truth and sincerity of this reunion. "A lovers' quarrel is but love renewed;" we, however, had not quarrelled, but been cruelly wrenched asunder by the art and cunning of another. "Are you on duty, Mr. Hardinge?" said a voice; and from a window where she had been sitting, quite unseen and unnoticed by me, Winny Lloyd came forth, looking, as I thought, a little paler and sadder than when I had seen her last at Craigaderyn Court. "What makes you think I am on duty, dear Miss Lloyd?--or rather let me say, my dear, dear good friend and guardian angel Winifred, to whose intercession I owe all the happiness of a time like this," said I, pressing her hand caressingly between both of mine. "Because you are in undress uniform, of course," said she, almost petulantly. "I can wear no other costume now; we bid good-bye to mufti, the sable livery of civilisation, to-morrow." "How?" "We march at daybreak." "For the East?" "Yes; for the East, at last." "So soon?" exclaimed both girls at once. "The order came within an hour or little more, when Sir Madoc was with me." The eyes of the girls were full of sudden tears, and they gazed on me with an honest emotion of tenderness and real interest, that, considering the rare beauty and high position of both, were alike flattering and bewildering; and I felt that this was one of those moments when, to be a soldier or a sailor on the eve of departure to the seat of war, was indeed worth something. And Winifred, the impulsive Welsh fairy, so fresh-hearted, so simple in her motives, and sweet in her disposition, uttered something very like a little sob in her slender white throat, adding apologetically to Estelle, "We have been such old friends, Harry Hardinge and I." "You never wrote to me, Estelle," said I, softly, yet reproachfully. "I dared not; you remember our arrangement," she replied, with hesitation. "Nor was I invited here, like Mostyn, Clavell, and others; thus I had no opportunity of--" "I had no control, darling Harry, over mamma's dinner-list: I could but suggest to mamma; and then there was that terrible story. But here comes mamma!" And turning, I found myself face to face with the tall, handsome, and stately Countess of Naseby, whom--nathless her chilling manner and lofty presence--I hoped yet to hail as a very creditable mother-in-law. I was on the eve of departure, to go where glory waited me. I might cross her exclusive path no more; so my Lady Naseby seemed quite disposed to bury the hatchet, and received me with that which was--for her--unusual kindness, and an _enmpressement_ which made the eyes of her daughter to sparkle with pleasure. A late dinner made a sad hole in the time I had hoped to spend with Estelle; yet I had the pleasure of sitting beside her--a pleasure that was clouded by the conviction that my presence would soon be imperatively requisite at the barracks, where so much was to be done ere morning, and that I should be compelled to abridge even this, my farewell visit, to pleasant Walcot Park, and all who were there. Fortunately, Lady Naseby went quietly to sleep in her boudoir after dinner, with Tiny on her lap; Sir Madoc obligingly went into the library to write; and Winifred suggested a turn in the conservatory, where for a little time she adroitly left Estelle and me together. There is no utility in dwelling on how we sealed our reconciliation and renewed our troth, when once more I placed my ring upon her finger; or in rehearsing the soft and tender words--perhaps (O heaven!) the "twaddle"--we spoke for an indescribable few minutes, and how each said to the other that our apparent separation had been as a living death. But now all that misery was over; we loved each other more than ever, and the grave alone could part us finally; words, the prompting of the heart, came readily, till our emotions became too deep, and she agreed that I should write to her boldly, "as ere long mamma, through good Sir Madoc, must know all." And so we leaned against a great flower-stand, almost hidden by gorgeous azaleas, our hands tightly clasped in each other, eyes looking fondly into eyes, and feeling that the depth of our tenderness formed for us one of those few-and-far-between portions of existence when time seems to stand still, when silence is made eloquent by the beatings of the heart, when we almost forget we are mortal, and feel as if earth had become heaven. From this species of happy trance we were roughly roused by the crash of a great majolica vase containing a giant cactus, and a voice exclaiming querulously, "God bless my soul!--Pardon me; I did not know any one was here." "The devil you didn't!" was my blunt rejoinder. And there, with gold glasses on his long aristocratic nose, and in his richly-tasselled _robe de chamber_ and embroidered slippers, stood my Lord Pottersleigh, whom I knew not to be at Walcot Park, as he had been nursing his gout upstairs; and now I wished his lordship in a hotter climate than the quarters of the 2nd West India for his unwelcome interruption. Of what he had seen or what he thought I cared not a rush, so far as _he_ was concerned; and a few minutes later saw me, after a hurried farewell to all, with the pleasure of remembered kisses on my lips, and my heart full of mingled joy and sadness, triumph and prayerful hope for the perilous future, flying at full gallop back to Winchester. CHAPTER XXVIII.--ON BOARD THE URGENT. "Weather bit your chain, and cast loose the topsails!" cried a hoarse voice, rousing me from a reverie into which I had fallen--one of those waking-dreams in which I am so apt to indulge. By this time the quarter-boats had been hoisted in, and the anchor got up "reluctant from its oozy cave"--no slight matter in the great troopship Urgent--when there was a stiff breeze even under the lee of the Isle of Wight; and as her head pitched into the sea, the water rushed through the hawse-holes, and the chain cables surged in such a fashion as almost to start the windlass-barrel when it revolved beneath the strength of many sturdy arms, and tough, though bending, handspikes. Leaning over the taffrail, and looking at the dim outline of the coast of Hampshire from St. Helen's Roads, to which two tugs had brought us from the great tidal dock at Southampton to a temporary anchorage, and seeing Portsmouth, with its spires and shipping steeped in a golden evening haze, I recalled the events of the past bustling day--could it be that only _a day_ had passed?--since "the first bugle sounded after _réveil_," and all our detachments, five in number, destined for the army of the East had paraded amid the gray light of dawn, in the barrack-square at Winchester, in heavy marching order, with packs, blankets, and kettles, and marched thence, their caps and muskets decked with laurel-leaves, the drums and fifes playing many a patriotic air, accompanied by the cheers of our comrades, and the tears of the girls who were left behind us--the girls "who doat upon the military." Yet so had we marched--the drafts of the Scots Royals and Kentish Buffs, the two oldest regiments in the world, leading the way; then came those of the 7th Fusileers, my own of the Royal Welsh, the 46th, and the wild boys of the 88th bringing up the rear--to the railway station, when they were packed in carriages, eight file to each compartment--packed like sheep for the slaughter, yet all were singing merrily, their spirits high though their purses were empty, the last of their "clearings" having gone in the grog-shop and canteen over night; and there by that railway platform many saw the last they were to see, in this life, at least, of those they loved best on earth--the wife of her husband, the parent of the child--separated all, with the sound of the fatal drum in their ears, and the sadness of remembered kisses on their lips, or tear-wetted cheeks, till, with a shriek and a snort, the iron horse swept them away on his rapid journey. I caught the enthusiasm of the brave fellows around me. It was impossible not to do so; and yet, amid it all, there was the recollection of a woman's face, so pale and beautiful, as I had seen it last (when bidding a brief and formal farewell at the drawing-room door of Walcot Park), with her mouth half open, her sorrowful eyes full of earnestness, and the tender under lip clenched by the teeth above it, as if to restrain emotion and repress tears--the face of Estelle Cressingham. My heart and thoughts were with her, while mechanically I had, as in duty bound, to see to the most prosaic wants of my detachment, consisting of one officer (Hugh Price), two sergeants, and forty rank and file of the Royal Welsh. To the latter were issued their coarse canvas fatigue-frocks. I had to see their muskets racked, their berths allotted, the messes and watches formed, the ammunition secured, and fifty other things required by her Majesty's regulations. All baggage not required for the voyage was sent below; and we heartily quizzed poor Price, whose bullock trunks were alleged to contain only cambric handkerchiefs, odd tiny kids, variously-tinted locks of hair, and faded ribbons. But strict orders were issued concerning smoking, as we had gunpowder in the lower hold; and a number of four-wheeled hospital-waggons for the Land Transport Corps, grimly suggestive, as each vehicle was divided into four compartments, fitted to receive four killed or wounded men, on commodious stretchers, with under-carriages, canopies, and medicine-chests. Some of my brother officers were glad enough, glory apart, to be leaving Jews and lawyers, "shent. per shent." and legal roguery, behind them. One of the former tribe, having followed Raymond Mostyn concerning a bill discounted at only sixty per cent., came alongside, insisting that the balance should be taken half in cash, and half in a "warranted Correggio," with some villainous wine for the voyage, and some jewelry "for the girls at Malta;" but he was swamped in his boat under the counter, when the first mate unceremoniously cast loose the painter, and sent old Moses--"Mammon incarnate"--to leeward, shrieking and cursing in rage and terror. So my short reverie was completely broken now, as the great ship, with her deck crowded by soldiers in forage-caps and gray greatcoats, swayed round, and our skipper, an old man-o'-war lieutenant, from the poop continued his orders with that promptitude and tone of authority which are best learned under the long pennant. "Make sail on her, my lads, with a will!" he cried. And the watch rushed to the coils at the belaying-pins, aided by the soldiers told off for deck duty. "Cast loose the topsails! hoist away, and sheet home!" "Bear a hand, forecastle, there! cat and fish the anchor!" added the first mate; and in a few minutes, with a heavy head sea--the same sea where, by that shore now lessening in the distance, Danish Canute taught his servile Saxon courtiers the lesson of humility--we bore past Sandown Bay, with its old square fort of bluff King Harry's day upon its level beach: and Portsmouth's spires and Selsey Point sunk fast upon our lee, while our bugles were announcing sunset. And then something of sadness and silence seemed to steal over the once noisy groups, as they gathered by the starboard side, when we cleared the Isle of Wight. When the yards were squared, more sail was made on the Urgent; and before the north wind we stood down the Channel, and ere the same bugles sounded again, for all save the deck-watches to turn-in below, we were standing well over to the coast of France. The white cliffs had melted into the world of waters, and we had bidden a long good-night to dear old England. The twinkling light on St. Catharine's Point lingered long at the horizon, and was watched by many an eye, as Mostyn, Clavell, and I, with others, cigar in mouth, walked to and fro on the poop, surmising what awaited us in the land for which we were bound. As yet the land forces of the Allies had not come to blows with the Russians; but the imperial fort and mole at Odessa (works constructed at vast cost and care by Catharine and Alexander) had been destroyed, and all their ships of war lying there had been burnt or sunk by the Anglo-French fleet. The Russians had taken and burned our war-steamer the Tiger, and cruelly bombarded Sinope. The Turks had driven them across the Danube, and defeated them at Giurgevo, but had lost a subsequent battle in Armenia. Napier had bombarded and destroyed the forts upon the Aland Isles in the Baltic; and we on board the Urgent, with many other successive drafts departing eastward, from every British port south of Aberdeen, were full of ardour and of hope to be in time to share in the landing that was to be made at _last_ upon the coast of the enemy, though no one knew _where_. CHAPTER XXIX.--"ICH DIEN." And now, while the stately troopship Urgent is passing under the guns of old Gib, and ploughing the waters of the Mediterranean, I may explain that which may have been a puzzle to the non-military reader--the meaning of "the Red Dragon." In the breasts of all who serve or have served in the army there exists an _esprit de corps_, a filial attachment, to all that belongs to their regiment, to its past history, its conduct in peace and war, its badges won in battle--those honours which are the heraldry of the service, and connected with the glory of the empire--in its officers and soldiers of all ranks. This sentiment is more peculiar to some regiments, perhaps, than others, especially those which, like the Scottish and Irish, have distinct nationalities to represent and uphold; but to none is it more applicable than the old Fusileers, whose motto is at the head of this chapter. By _esprit de corps_ the good and brave are excited to fresh feats of valour, and the evil-disposed are frequently deterred from risking disgrace by a secret consciousness of the duty it inculcates, and what is required of them by their comrades; for, like a Highland clan, a regiment has its own peculiar annals and traditions. It is a community, a family, a brotherhood, and should be the soldier's happy though movable home, while a regiment great in history "bears so far a resemblance to the immortal gods as to be old in power and glory, yet to have always the freshness of youth." So it is and has been with mine, which was first embodied at Ludlow, in Shropshire, in 1689, from thirteen companies of soldiers, raised specially in Wales, under Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, whose cousin, Colonel Charles Herbert, M.P. for Montgomery, was killed, at the head of the Fusileers, in his buff coat and cuirass, at the battle of Aughrim, after having led them through a bog up to the waist belt, under a terrible fire from the Irish. His successor, the valiant Toby Purcell, who had been major of the regiment, greatly distinguished himself at the battle of the Boyne, and the huge spurs, worn by him on that memorable occasion, are _still_ preserved in the corps, being always in possession of the senior major for the time being. To attempt a memoir of the regiment would be to compile a history of all the wars of Britain since the Revolution. Suffice it to say, that on every field, in the wars of the Spanish Succession, those of Flanders (where "our army swore so terribly"), at Minden, in America, Egypt, and the ever-glorious Peninsula, the Welsh Fusileers have been in the van of honour, and, like their Scottish comrades, might well term themselves "second to none." Among the last shots fired _after_ Waterloo were those discharged by the Fusileers, when, on the 24th of June, six days subsequent to the battle, they entered Cambrai by the old breach near the Port du Paris. As it is common for corps from mountainous districts to have some pet animal--as the Highlanders often have a stag--as a fond symbol to remind them of home and country, the regiment has the privilege of passing in review preceded by a goat with gilded horns, adorned with ringlets of flowers, and a plate inscribed with its badge. No record is preserved of the actual loss of the regiment at Bunker's Hill, though the assertion of Cooper, the American novelist, that on that bloody day "the Welsh Fusileers had not a man left to saddle their goat," which went into action with them, would seem to be corroborated by the fact that only _five_ grenadiers escaped; while Mrs. Adams, in a letter to her husband, the future President of the United States, says of that battle, "our enemies were cut down like grass; _and but one officer of all the Welsh Fusileers remains to tell his story_." When old Billy, the favourite goat of the 23rd, departed this life in peace in the Caribbean Isles, whence he had accompanied the regiment from Canada in 1844, her Majesty the Queen, on learning that he was greatly lamented by the soldiers, sent to them, from Windsor Park, a magnificent pair of the pure Cashmerian breed, which had been presented to her by the Shah of Persia. On every 1st of March, on the anniversary of their tutelary patron--St. David--the officers give a splendid entertainment; and when the cloth is removed, and the leek duly eaten, the first toast is a bumper to the health of the Prince of Wales; the memory of old Toby Purcell is not forgotten, and, as the order has it, the band plays "'The noble Race of Shenkin,' while a drum-boy mounted on the goat, which is richly caparisoned for the occasion, is led thrice round the table by the drum-major." At Boston, in 1775, a goat somewhat resented this exhibition, by breaking away from the mess-room, and rushing into the barracks with all his trappings on. There are few battlefields honourable to Britain where the Welsh Fusileers have not left their bones. The colours which wave over their ranks show a goodly list of hard-won honours--"bloody and hard-won honours," says a writer. "Arthur himself, Cadwallader, Glendower, and many an ancient Cambrian chief, might in ghostly form--if ghosts can grudge--envy their bold descendants the fame of these modern exploits, and confess that the lance and the corselet, the falchion and the mace, have done no greater deeds than those of the firelock and the buff-belt, the bayonet and sixty rounds of ball-cartridge." On their colours are the two badges of Edward the Black Prince--the Rising Sun and the Red Dragon; "a dragon addorsed gules, passant, on a mountain vert," as the heralds have it. This was the ancient symbol of the Cambrian Principality, with the significant motto, _Ich dien_, "I serve." And now, at the very time the Urgent was entering the Mediterranean, the regiment was on its way, with others, to win fresh laurels by the shores of the Black Sea; and with his horns gaily gilded, and a handsome, regimental, silver plate clasped on his forehead, Cameydd Llewellyn, whilom the caressed pet of the gentle Winny Lloyd, was landing with them at Kalamita Bay, and the hordes of Menschikoff were pouring forward from Sebastopol.[2] CHAPTER XXX.--NEWS OF BATTLE. We came in sight of Malta at daybreak on the 28th of September, and about noon dropped our anchor in the Marsamuscetta, or quarantine harbour, where all ships under the rank of a frigate must go. This celebrated isle, the master-key of the Mediterranean, the link that connects us with Egypt and India, was a new scene to me. Mostyn and some others on board the Urgent had been quartered there before, and while I was surveying the vast strength of its batteries of white sandstone, with those apparently countless cannon, that peer through the deep embrasures, or frown _en barbette_ over the sea; the quaint appearance of those streets of stairs, which Byron anathematised; the singular architecture of the houses, so Moorish in style and aspect, with heavy, overhanging balconies and flat roofs all connected, so that the dwellers therein can make a common promenade of them; the groups of picturesque, half-nude, and tawny Maltese; the monks and clerical students in rusty black cloaks and triangular hats; the Greek sailors, in short jackets and baggy blue breeches; the numbers of scarlet uniforms, and those of the Chasseurs de Vincennes (for two French three-deckers full of the latter had just come in); the naked boys who dived for halfpence in the harbour, and jabbered a dialect that was more Arabic than Italian--while surveying all this from the poop, through my field-glass, Mostyn was pointing out to me the great cathedral of St. John, some of the auberges of the knights, and anticipating the pleasure of a fruit lunch in the Strada Reale, a drive to Monte Benjemma, a dinner at Morell's, in the Strada Forni, a cigar on the ramparts, and then dropping into the opera-house, which was built by the Grand-master Manoel Vilhena, and where the best singers from La Scala may be heard in the season; and Price of ours was already soft and poetical in the ideas of faldettas of lace, black eyes, short skirts, and taper ankles, and anticipating or suggesting various soft things. While the soldiers clustered in the waist, as thick as bees, the officers were all busy with their lorgnettes on the poop, or in preparation for a run ashore, when the bells of Valetta began to ring a merry peal, the ships in the harbour to show all their colours, and a gun flashed redly from the massive granite ramparts of St. Elmo, a place of enormous strength, having in its lower bastions a sunk barrack, capable of holding two thousand infantry. "Another gun!" exclaimed little Tom Clavell, as a second cannon sent its peal over the flat roofs, and another; "a salute, by Jove! What is up--is this an anniversary?" It was _no_ anniversary, however, and on the troopship coming to anchor in the crowded and busy harbour, and the quarantine boat coming on board, we soon learned what was "up;" the news spread like lightning through the vessel, from lip to lip and ear to ear; the hum grew into a roar, and ended in the soldiers and sailors giving three hearty cheers, to which many responded from other ships, and from the shore; while the bands of the Chasseurs de Vincennes, on board the three-deckers, struck up the "Marseillaise." News had just come in that four days ago a battle had been fought by Lord Raglan and Marshal St. Arnaud at a place called the Alma in Crim Tartary; that the allied troops after terrible slaughter were victorious, and the Russians were in full retreat. That evening a few of us dined at the mess of the Buffs, a battalion of which was quartered in the castle of St. Elmo. The officers occupied one of the knights' palaces--the Auberge de Bavière--near that bastion where the Scottish hero of Alexandria is lying in the grave that so becomes his fate and character. This auberge is a handsome building overlooking the blue sea, which almost washes its walls; and there we heard the first hasty details of that glorious battle, the story of which filled our hearts with regret and envy that we had not borne a share in it, and which formed a source of terrible anxiety to the poor wives of many officers who had left them behind at Malta, and who could only see the fatal lists after their transmission to London. We heard the brief story of that tremendous uphill charge made by the Light Division--the Welsh Fusileers, the 19th, 33rd, 88th, and other regiments--supported by the Guards and Highlanders; that the 33rd alone had _nineteen_ reliefs shot under their two colours, which were perforated by sixty-five bullet-holes. We heard how Colonel Chesters of ours, and eight of his officers, fell dead at the same moment, and that Charley Gwynne, Phil Caradoc, and many more were wounded. "On, on, my gallant 23rd!" were the last words of Chesters, as he fell from his horse. We heard how two of our boy ensigns, Buller and little Anstruther of Balcaskie, were shot dead with the colours in their hands; how Connelly, Wynne, young Radcliffe, and many more, all fell sword in hand; how the regiment had fought like tigers, and that Sir George Brown, after his horse was shot under him, led them on foot, with his hat in his hand, crying, "Hurrah for the Royal Welsh! Come on, my boys!" And on they went, till Private Evans planted the Red Dragon on the great redoubt, where nine hundred men were lying dead. The heights were taken by a rush, and the first gun captured from the Russians was by Major Bell of ours, who brought it out of the field. A passionate glow of triumph and exultation filled my heart; I felt proud of our army, but of my regiment in particular, for the brave fellows of the Buffs were loud in their commendations of the 23rd; proud that I wore the same uniform and the same badges in which so many had perished with honour. None but a soldier, perhaps, can feel or understand all this, or that _esprit de corps_ already referred to, and which sums up love of country, kindred, pride of self and profession, in one. But anon came the chilling and mortifying thought that I enjoyed only reflected honours. Why was I now seated amid the splendour and luxury of a mess in the Auberge de Bavière? Why was I not yonder, where so many had won glory or a grave? How provoking was the chance, the mere chain of military contingencies, by which I had lost all participation in that great battle, the first fought in Europe since Waterloo--this Alma, that was now in all men's mouths, and in the heart of many a wife and mother, fought and won while we had been sailing on the sea, and while the unconscious folks at home throughout the British Isles were going about their peaceful avocations; when thousands of men and women, parents and wives, whose tenderest thoughts were with our gallant little host, were ignorant that those they loved best on earth perhaps were already cold, mutilated, and buried in hasty graves beneath its surface, in a place before unheard of, or by them unknown. So great was the slaughter in my own regiment, that though I was only a lieutenant, there seemed to be every prospect of my winning ere long the huge spurs won by Toby Purcell at the Boyne Water; but my turn of sharp service was coming; for, though I could not foresee it all then, Inkermann was yet to be fought, the Quarries to be contested, the Mamelon and Redan to be stormed, and Sebastopol itself had yet to fall. Had I shared in that battle by the Alma, I might have perished, and been lost to Estelle for ever; leaving her, perhaps, to be wooed and won by another, when I was dead and forgotten like the last year's snow. This reflection cooled my ardour a little; for love made me selfish, or disposed to be more economical of my person, after my enthusiasm and the fumes of the Buffs' champagne passed away; and now from Malta I wrote the first letter I had ever addressed to her, full of what the reader may imagine, and sent with it a suite of those delicate and beautiful gold filigree ornaments, for the manufacture of which the Maltese jewellers are so famed; and when I sealed my packet at the Clarendon in the Strada San Paola, I sighed while reflecting that I could receive no answer to it, with assurances of her love and sorrow, until after I had been face to face with those same Muscovites whom my comrades had hurled from the heights of the Alma. Three days after this intelligence arrived we quitted Malta, and had a fair and rapid run for the Dardanelles. The first morning found us, with many a consort full of troops, skirting, under easy sail, the barren-looking isle of Cerigo--of old, the fabled abode of the goddess of love, now the Botany Bay of the Ionians; its picturesque old town and fort encircled by a chain of bare, brown, and rugged mountains, whose peaks the rising sun was tipping with fire. As if to remind us that we were near the land of Minerva, and of the curious Ascalaphus, "Begat in Stygian shades On Orphnè, famed among Avernal maids," many little dusky owls perched on the yards and booms, where they permitted themselves to be caught. Ere long the Isthmus of Corinth came in sight--that long tract of rock connecting the bleak-looking Morea with the Grecian continent, and uniting two chains of lofty mountains, the classical names of which recalled the days of our school-boy tasks; thence on to Candia, the hills of which rose so pale and white from the deep indigo blue of the sea, that they seemed as if sheeted with the snow of an early winter; but when we drew nearer the shore, the land-wind wafted towards us the aromatic odour that arises from the rank luxuriance of the vast quantity of flowers and shrubs which there grow wild, and form food for the wild goats and hares. Every hour produced some new, or rather ancient, object of interest as we ploughed the classic waters of the Ægean Sea, and no man among us, who had read and knew the past glories, traditions, and poetry of the shores we looked on, could hear uttered without deep interest the names of those isles and bays--that on yonder plain, as we skirted the mainland of Asia, stood the Troy of Priam; that yonder hill towering in the background, a purple cone against a golden sky, was Mount Ida capped with snow, Scamander flowing at its foot; Ida, where Paris, the princely shepherd, adjudged the prize of beauty to Venus, and whence the assembled gods beheld the Trojan strife; for every rock and peak we looked on was full of the memories of ancient days, and of that "bright land of battle and of song," which Byron loved with all a poet's enthusiasm. Dusk was closing as we entered the Hellespont; the castles of Europe and Asia were, however, distinctly visible, and we could see the red lights that shone in the Turkish fort, and the windmills whirling on the Sigean promontory, as we glided, with squared yards, before a fair and steady breeze, into those famous straits which Mohammed IV. fortified to secure his city and fleets against the fiery energy of the Venetians; and now, as I do not mean "to talk guide-book," our next chapter will find us in the land of strife and toil, of battle and the pest; in that Crim Tartary which, to so many among us, was to prove the land of death and doom. CHAPTER XXXI.-UNDER CANVAS. The 4th of October found me with my regiment (my detachment "handed over," and responsibility, so far as it was concerned, past) before Sebastopol, which our army had now environed, on _one_ side at least. And now I was face to face with the Russians at last, and war had become a terrible reality. Tents had been landed, and all the troops were fairly under canvas. Our camp was strengthened by a chain of intrenchments dug all round it, and connected with those of the French, which extended to the sea on their left, while our right lay towards the valley of Inkermann, at the entrance of which, on a chalky cliff, 190 feet high at its greatest elevation, rose the city of Sebastopol, with all its lofty white mansions, that ran in parallel streets up the steep acclivity. In memory I can see it now, as I used to see it then, from the trenches, the advanced rifle-pits, or through the triangular door of my tent, with all its green-domed churches, its great round frowning batteries, forts Alexander and Constantine and others, perforated for cannon, tier above tier; and far inland apparently, for a distance after even the suburbs had ceased, were seen the tall slender masts of the numerous shipping that had taken shelter in the far recesses of the harbour, nearly to the mouth of the Tchernaya, from our fleets (which now commanded all the Black Sea). And a pretty sight they formed in a sunny day, when all their white canvas was hanging idly on the yards to dry. Nearer the mouth of the great harbour were the enormous dark hulls of the line-of-battle ships--the Three Godheads of 120 guns, the Silistria of 84, the Paris and Constantine, 120 each, and other vessels of that splendid fleet which was soon after sunk to bar our entrance. Daily the Russians threw shot and shell at us, while we worked hard to get under cover. The sound of those missiles was strange and exciting at first to the ears of the uninitiated; but after a time the terrible novelty of it passed away, or was heard with indifference; and with indifference, too, even those who had not been at Alma learned to look on the killed and wounded, who were daily and nightly borne from the trenches to the rear, the latter to be under the care of the toil-worn surgeons, and the former to lie for a time in the dead-tents. The siege-train was long in arriving. "War tries the strength of the military framework," says Napier. "It is in peace the framework itself must be formed, otherwise barbarians would be the leading soldiers of the world. _A perfect army can only be made by civil institutions_." Yet with us such was the state of the "framework," by the results of a beggarly system of political economy, that when war was declared--a war after forty years of peace--our arsenals had not a sufficient quantity of shells for the first battering-train, and the fuses issued had been in store rotting and decaying since the days of Toulouse and Waterloo. This was but one among the many instances of gross mismanagement which characterised many arrangements of the expedition. And taking advantage of the delays, nightly the Russians, with marvellous rapidity, were throwing up additional batteries of enormous strength, mounted with cannon taken from the six line-of-battle ships which, by a desperate resolve of Prince Menschikoff's, were ultimately sunk across the harbour-mouth, where we could see the sea-birds, scared by the adverse cannonade, perching at times on their masts and royal-yards, which long remained visible above the water. Occasionally our war-steamers came near, and then their crews amused themselves by throwing shells into the town. Far up the inlet lay a Russian man-of-war, with a cannon ingeniously slung in her rigging. The shot from this, as they could slue it in any direction, greatly annoyed our sappers, and killed many of them, before one well-directed ball silenced it for ever. Two thousand seamen with their officers, forming the Naval Brigade of gallant memory, were landed from our fleet, bringing with them a magnificent battering-train of ship-guns of the largest calibre; and these hardy and active fellows lent most efficient aid in dragging their ordnance and the stores over the rough and hilly ground that lies between Balaclava and the city. They were all in exuberant spirits at the prospect of a protracted "spree" ashore; for as such they viewed the circumstance of their forming a part of the combined forces destined to take Sebastopol, and they amused and astonished the redcoats by their freaks and pranks under fire, and their ready alacrity, jollity, and muscular strength. Guns of enormous weight and long range were fast being brought into position; the trenches were "pushed" with vigour; and now the work of a regular siege--the consecutive history of which forms no part of my narrative--was begun in stern earnest when the batteries opened on the 16th October. Our armies were placed in a semicircle, commanding the southern side of this great fortified city and arsenal of the Black Sea. They were in full possession of the heights which overlook it, and were most favourably posted for the usual operations of a siege, which would never have been necessary had it been entered after Alma was won. A deep and beautiful ravine, intersecting the elevated ground, extended from the harbour of the doomed city to Balaclava, dividing the area of the allied camp into two portions. The French, I have said, were on the left, and we held the right. On the very day our batteries opened, I received the notification of my appointment to a company. This rapid promotion was consequent to the sad casualties of the Alma; and two days after, when the trench-guards were relieved, and I came off duty before daybreak, I crept back to my tent cold, miserable, and weary, to find my man Evans--brother of the gallant private of the same name who planted the Red Dragon on the great redoubt--busy preparing a breakfast for _three_, with the information that Caradoc and Gwynne, who had been on board the Hydaspes, an hospital ship for officers, had rejoined the night before, and had added their repast to mine for the sake of society. But food and other condiments were already scarce in the camp, and tidings that they had come from Balaclava with their haversacks _full_, caused more than one hungry fellow to visit my humble abode, the canvas walls of which flapped drearily in the wind, that came sweeping up the valley of Inkermann. Without undressing, as the morning was almost in, I threw myself upon my camp-bed, which served me in lieu of a sofa, and strove, with the aid of a plaid, a railway-rug, and blanket, to get some warmth into my limbs, after the chill of a night spent in the damp trenches; while Evans, poor fellow, was doing his best to boil our green and ill-ground coffee in a camp-kettle on a fire made of half-dried drift-wood, outside my tent, which was pitched in a line with thousands of others, on the slope of the hill that overlooked the valley where the Tchernaya flows. Though the season was considerably advanced now, the days were hot, but the nights were correspondingly chill; and at times a white dense fog came rolling up from the Euxine, rendering still greater the discomfort of a bell-tent, as it penetrated every crevice, and rendered everything therein--one's bedding and wearing apparel, even that which was packed in overlands and bullock-trunks--damp, while sugar, salt, and bread became quite moist. Luckily, somehow it did not seem to affect our ammunition. Then there came high winds, which blew every night, whistling over the hill-tops, singing amongst the tent-ropes, and bellowing down the valley of Inkermann. These blasts sometimes cast the tent-ropes loose by uprooting the pegs, causing fears lest the pole--whereon hung the revolvers, swords, pans, and kettles of the occupants--might snap, and compel them, when hoping to enjoy a comfortable night's rest off duty, to come forth shivering from bed to grope for the loosened pegs amid the muddy soil or wet grass, and by the aid of a stone or a stray shot--if the mallet was not forthcoming--to secure them once more. This might be varied by a shower of rain, which sputtered in your face as you lay abed, till the canvas became thoroughly wetted, and so tightened. Anon it might shrink; then the ropes would strain, and unless you were in time to relax them, down might come the whole domicile in a wet mass on those who were within it. Now and then a random shot fired from Sebastopol, or the whistling shell, with a sound like t'wit-t'wit-t'wit, describing a fiery arc as it soared athwart the midnight sky on its errand of destruction, varied the silence and darkness of the hour. The clink of shovels and pickaxes came ever and anon from the trenches, where the miners and working-parties were pushing their sap towards the city. The sentinels walked their weary round, or stood still, each on his post shivering, it might be, in the passing blast, but looking fixedly and steadily towards the enemy. The rest slept soundly after their day of toil and danger, watching, starvation, and misery; forgetful of the Russian watchfires that burned in the distance, heedless of the perils of the coming day, and of _where_ the coming night might find them. And so the night would pass, till the morning bugle sounded; then the stir and bustle began, and there was no longer rest for any, from the general of the day down to the goat of the Welsh Fusileers; the cooking, and cleaning of arms, parade of reliefs for outpost and the trenches, proceeded; but these without sound of trumpet or drum, as men detailed for such duties do everything silently; neither do their sentries take any complimentary notice of officers passing near their posts. Ere long a thousand white puffs, spirting up from the broken ground between us and the city, would indicate the rifle-pits, where the skirmishers lay _en perdue_, taking quiet pot-shots at each other from behind stones, caper-bushes, sand-bags, and sap-rollers; and shimmering through haze and smoke--the blue smoke of the "villainous saltpetre"--rose the city itself, with its green spires and domes, white mansions, and bristling batteries. And so I saw it through the tent-door as the morning drew on, and the golden sunshine began to stream down the long valley of Inkermann, "the city of caverns;" while our foragers were on the alert, and Turkish horses laden with hay, and strings of low four-wheeled arabas, driven by Tartars in fur skull-caps, brown jackets, and loose white trousers, would vary the many costumes of the camp. And the morning sunshine fell on other things which were less lively,--the long mounds of fresh earth where the dead lay, many of them covered with white lime dust to insure speedy decay. And then began that daily cannonade against the city--the cannonade that was to last till we _alone_ expended more than one hundred thousand barrels of gunpowder, and heaven alone knows how many tons of shot and shell. Often I lay in that tent, with the roar of the guns in my ears, pondering over the comfort of stone walls, of English sea-coal fires, and oftener still of her who was so far away, she so nobly born and rich, surrounded, as I knew she must always be, by all that wealth and luxury, rank and station could confer; and I thought longingly, "O for aunt Margaret's mirror, or Surrey's magic glass, or for the far-seeing telescope of the nursery tale, that I might see her once again!" Estelle's promises of writing to me had not been fulfilled as yet, or her answers to my loving and earnest letters from Malta and the Crimea had miscarried. "Welcome, Caradoc! welcome, Gwynne!" cried I, springing off the camp-bed as my two friends entered the tent, of which I was the sole occupant, as my lieutenant was on board the Hydaspes ill with fever, and my ensign, a poor boy fresh from Westminster school, was under one of the horrid mounds in the shot-strewn valley. "Harry, old fellow, how are you?--how goes it? Missed the Alma, eh?" said they cheerfully, as we warmly shook hands. "All the better, perhaps," said Mostyn, who now joined us, while Price and Clavell soon after dropped in also; so two had to sit on the camp-bed, while the rest squatted on chests or buckets, and as for a table, we never missed it. "And you were hit, Caradoc?" "In the calf of the left leg, Harry, prodded by the rusty bayonet of a fellow who lay wounded on the ground, and who continued to fire _after_ us when we had left him in the rear, till one of ours gave him the _coup de grâce_ with the butt-end of his musket. Would you believe it?--the goat went up hill with us, and I couldn't, even while the bullets fell like hail about us, resist caressing it, for the sake of the donor." "Poor Winny Lloyd!" "Why poor?" asked Phil. "Well, pretty, then. I saw her just before I left Southampton." "This goat seems to be the peculiar care of Caradoc," said Gwynne; "he rivals its keeper, little Dicky Roll the drummer, in his anxiety to procure leaves, and buds of spurge, birch, and bird-cherry for it." Phil Caradoc laughed, and muttered something about being "fond of animals;" but a soft expression was in his handsome brown eyes, and I knew he was thinking of sweet Winifred Lloyd, of his bootless suit, and the pleasant woods of Craigaderyn. "And you, Charley, were hit, too? Saw your name in the _Gazette_," said I. "A ball right through the left fore-arm, clean as a whistle; but it is almost well." "And now to breakfast. Look sharp, Evans, there's a good fellow! A morning walk from Balaclava to the front gives one an appetite," said I. "Yes, that one may not often have, like us, the wherewith to satisfy. An appetite is the most troublesome thing one can have in the vicinity of Sebastopol," replied Phil. A strange-looking group we were when contrasted with our appearance when last we met. Probably not one of us had enjoyed the luxury of a complete wash for a week, and the use of the razor having long been relinquished, our beards rivalled that of Carneydd Llewellyn in size, if not in hue. The scarlet uniforms, with lace and wings[3] of gold, in which we had landed, we had marched and fought and slept in for weeks, were purple, covered with discolorations, and patched with any stuff that came to hand. Our trousers had turned from Oxford gray to something of a red hue, with Crimean mud. Each of us had a revolver in his sash (which we then wore round the waist), and a canvas haversack or well-worn courier-bag slung over his shoulder, to contain whatever he might pick up, beg, borrow, or buy (some were less particular) in the shape of biscuits, eggs, fowls, or potatoes. Caradoc carried a dead duck by the legs as he entered, and Charley Gwynne had a loaf of Russian bread hung by a cord over his left shoulder, like a pilgrim at La Scala Santa; while Price had actually secured a lump of cheese from the wife of a Tartar, a fair one, with whom the universal lover had found favour when foraging in the lovely Baidar Valley. We were already too miserable to laugh at each other's appearance, and our tatters had ceased to be a matter of novelty. If such was the condition of our officers, that of the privates was fully worse; and thanks to our wretched commissariat and ambulance arrangements, the splendid _physique_ of our men had begun to disappear; but their pluck was undying as ever. On this morning we six were to have a breakfast such as rarely fell to our lot in the Crimea; for Evans, my Welsh factotum and _fidus Achates_, was a clever fellow, and speedily had prepared for us, at a fire improvised under the shelter of a rock, a large kettle of steaming coffee, which, sans milk, we drank from tin canteens, tumblers, or anything suitable, and Gwynne's loaf was shared fraternally among us, together with a brace of fowls found by him in a Tartar cottage. "Lineal descendants of the cock that crew to Mahomet, no doubt," said he; "and now, thanks to Evans, there they are, brown, savoury, appetising, gizzard under one wing, liver under the other--done to a turn, and on an old ramrod." And while discussing them, the events of the siege were also discussed, as coolly as we were wont to do the most ordinary field man[oe]uvres at home. "The deuce!" said I, "how the breeze comes under the wall of this wretched tent!" "Don't abuse the tent, Harry," said Caradoc; "I am thankful to find myself in one, after being on board the Hydaspes. It must be a veritable luxury to be able to sleep, even on a camp-bed and alone, after being in a hospital, with one sufferer on your right, another on your left, dead or dying, groaning and in agony. May God kindly keep us all from the 'bloody hospital of Scutari,' after all I have heard of it!" "You were with us last night in the trenches, Mostyn?" said I. "Yes, putting Gwynne's Hythe theories into practice from a rifle pit. I am certain that I potted at least three of the Ruskies as coolly as ever I did grouse in Scotland. All squeamishness has left me now, though I could not help shuddering when first I saw a man's heels in the air, after firing at him. You will never guess what happened on our left. A stout vivandière of the 3rd Zouaves, while in the act of giving me a _petit verre_ from her little keg, was taken--" "By the enemy?" exclaimed Price. "Not at all--with the pains of maternity; and actually while the shot and shell were flying over our heads." "And what were the trench casualties?" asked Gwynne. "About a hundred and twenty of all ranks, killed, wounded, and missing. A piece more of the fowl--thanks." "A guardsman was killed last night, I have heard," said Hugh Price. "Yes; poor Evelyn of the Coldstreams; he was first blinded by dust and earth blown into his eyes by the ricochetting of a 36-pound shot, and as he was groping about in an exposed place between the gabions, he fell close by me." "Wounded?" "Mortally--hit in the head; he' was just able to whisper some woman's name, and then expired. He purchased all his steps up to the majority, so there's a pot of money gone. I think I could enjoy a quiet weed now; but, Clavell, there was surely an awful shindy in your quarter last night?" "Yes," replied Tom, who, since he had been under fire, seemed to have grown an inch taller; "a sortie." "A sortie?" said two or three, laughing. "Well, something deuced like it," said Tom, testily, as he stroked the place where his moustache was to be. "I was asleep between the gabions about twelve at night, when all at once a terrible uproar awoke me. 'Stand to your arms, men, stand to your arms!' cried our adjutant; 'the Russians are scouring the trenches!' I sprang up, and tumbled against a bulky brute in a spike-helmet and long coat, with a smoking revolver in his hand, just as a sergeant of ours shot him. It was all confusion--I can tell you nothing about it; but we will see it all in the _Times_ by and by. 'Sound for the reserves!' cried one. 'By God, they have taken the second parallel!' cried another. 'Fire!' 'Don't fire yet!' But our recruits began to blaze away at random. The Russians, however, fell back; it might have been only a reconnoitring party; but, anyhow, they have levanted with the major of the 93rd Highlanders." "The deuce they have!" we exclaimed. And this episode of the major's capture was to have more interest for me than I could then foresee. "These cigars, five in number," continued Tom, "were given to me by a poor dying Zouave, who had lost his way and fallen among us. I gave him a mouthful of brandy from my canteen, after which he said, Take these, monsieur l'officier; they are all I have in the world now, and, as you smoke them, think of poor Paul Ferrière of the 3rd Zouaves, once a jolly student of the Ecole de Médecine, dying now, like a beggar's dog!' he added, bitterly. 'Nay,' said I, 'like a brave soldier.' 'Monsieur is right,' said he, with a smile. Our surgeons could do nothing for him, and so he expired quite easily, while watching his own blood gradually filling up a hole in the earth near him!" "Well, the Crimea, bad as it is," said Caradoc, as he prepared and lit one of the Frenchman's cigars, "is better than serving in India, I think; 'that union of well-born paupers,' as some fellow has it, 'a penal servitude for those convicted of being younger sons.'" "By Jove, I can't agree with you," said Mostyn, who had served in India, and was also a younger son; "but glory is a fine thing, no doubt." "Glory be hanged!" said Gwynne, testily; "a little bit of it goes a long way with me." "See, there go some of the Naval Brigade to have a little ball practice with a big Lancaster!" cried Tom Clavell, starting to the tent-door. "Getting another gun into position apparently," added Raymond Mostyn. As they spoke, a party of seamen, whiskered and bronzed, armed with cutlasses and pistols, their officers with swords drawn, swept past the tent-door at a swinging trot, all singing cheerily a forecastle song, of which the monotonous burden seemed to be, "O that I had her, _O_ that I had her, Seated on my knee! O that I had her, _O_ that I had her, A black girl though she be!" tallying on the while to the drag-ropes of a great Lancaster gun, which they trundled up the slope, crushing stones, caper-bushes, and everything under its enormous grinding wheels, till they got it into position; and a loud ringing cheer, accompanied by a deep and sullen boom, ere long announced that they had slued it round and sent one more globe of iron to add to the hundreds that were daily hurled against Sebastopol. On this occasion the fire of this especial Lancaster gun was ordered to be directed against a bastion on the extreme left of the city, where the officer in command, a man of remarkable bravery, who had led several sorties against us, seemed to work his cannon and direct their fire with uncommon skill; and it was hoped that we should ere long dismount or disable them, and if possible breach the place. CHAPTER XXXII.--IN THE TRENCHES. It was while the infantry and Naval Brigade were still before Sebastopol, toiling, trenching, and pounding with cannon and mortar at all its southern side, we had our ardour fired, our enthusiasm kindled, and our sorrow keenly excited by the tidings of that glorious but terrible death ride, the charge of the six hundred cavalry at Balaclava; and of how only one hundred and fifty came alive out of that mouth of fire, the valley where rained "the red artillery"--the 13th Hussars were said to have brought only twelve men out of the action, and the 17th Lancers twenty--and how nobly they were avenged by our "heavies" under the gallant Scarlett; and of the stern stand made against six thousand Russian horse by the "thin red line" of the Sutherland Highlanders. On the day these tidings were circulated in the trenches by many who had witnessed the events, we seemed to redouble our energies, and shot and shell were poured with greater fury than ever on the city, while sharper, nearer, and more deadly were the contests of man and man in the rifle-pits between it and the trenches. Then followed the sortie made by Menschikoff, supposing that most of the allied forces had been drawn towards Balaclava--a movement met by the infantry and artillery of the second division under Sir De Lacy Evans, and repulsed with a slaughter which naturally added to the hatred on both sides; and innumerable were the stories told, and authenticated, of the Russians murdering our helpless wounded in cold blood. On the night of the 2nd November I was again in the trenches opposite to the eastern flank of Sebastopol, the whole regiment being on duty covering the batteries and working-parties. The day passed as usual in exciting and desultory firing, the Russians and our fellows watching each other like lynxes, and never missing an opportunity for taking a quiet shot at each other. A strong battalion of the former was in our front, lurking among some mounds and thick _abattis_, formed of trees felled and pegged to the earth with their branches towards us; and above the barrier and the broken ground that lay between it and the advanced trench-ground, strewed with fragments of rusty iron nails, broken bottles, and the other amiable contents of exploded bombs, torn, rent, upheaved, or sunk into deep holes by the explosion of mines and countermines, shells and rockets, we could see their bearded visages, their flat caps and tall figures, cross-belted and clad in long gray shapeless coats, as from time to time they yelled and started up to take aim at some unwary Welsh Fusileer, heedless that from some _other_ point some comrade's bullet avenged him, or anticipated his fate. To attempt a description of the trenches to a non-military reader, in what Byron terms "engineering slang," would be useless, perhaps; suffice it to say that we were pretty secure from round shot, but never from shells, the trenches or zigzags being dug fairly parallel to the opposing batteries, with a thick bank of earth towards Sebastopol, a banquette for our men to mount on when firing became necessary. Near us was a battery manned by our Royal Artillery--the guns being run through rude portholes made in the earthen bank, with the addition of sand-bags, baskets, and stuffed gabions, to protect the gunners. All was in splendid order there: the breeching-guns ever ready for action; the sponges, rammers, and handspikes lying beside the wheels; the shot piled close by as tidily as if in Woolwich-yard; the carbines of the men placed in racks against the gabions; the officers laughing over an old _Punch_, or making sketches, varied by caricatures of the Russians, their men sitting close by in their greatcoats, smoking and singing while awaiting orders, and listening with perfect indifference to the casual dropping fire maintained by us against the enemy in the abbatis or pits along our front, though almost every shot was the knell of a human existence. Death and danger were now strangely familiar to us all, and we cared as little for the _whish_ of a round bullet or the sharp _ping_ of the Minie, while it cut the air, as for the deep hoarse booming of the breaching-guns; it was the cry of "bomb!" from the look out men, that usually made us start, and sprawl on our faces, or scamper away, for shelter, to crouch with our heads stooped in our favourite or fancied places of security among the gabions, till a soaring monster, with death and mutilation in its womb, with its hoarse puffing that rose to a whistle, concussed all the air by the crash of its explosion. Our men were all in their greatcoats, with their white belts outside; and, save when a section or so started angrily to arms, as those fellows in the abattis became more annoying, they sat quietly on the ground or against the wall of the trench, smoking, chatting with perfect equanimity, and occasionally taking a sip of rum or raki from their canteens; for, after weeks and months of this kind of duty, especially after the severity of the Crimean war set in, our older soldiers seemed utterly indifferent as to whether they lived or died. All of them, even such boys as Tom Clavell, had been front to front with death, again and again. Among ourselves, even, there was an incessant scramble for food; hence in the expression of their faces and eyes there was something hard, set, fierce, and undefinable--half-wolfish at times, devil-may-care always; for in a few weeks after the landing at Eupatoria, they had seen more and lived longer than one can do in years upon years of a life of peace. "What do you see, Hugh, that you look so earnestly to the front?" I asked of Price, who was lying on his breast with a rifle close beside him, and his field-glass, to which his eyes were applied, wedged in a cranny between two sand-bags. "A Russian devil has made a bolt out of the abattis into yonder hole made by a shell." "And what of that?" "I am waiting to pot him, as he can't stay there long," replied Price, usually the best of good-natured fellows, but now looking with a tiger-like stare through the same lorgnette which he had used on many a day at the Derby, and many a night at the opera; "there he comes," he added. In a moment the Minie rifle, already sighted, was firmly at the shoulder of Price, who fired; a mass like a gray bundle, with hands and arms outspread, rolled over and over again on the ground, and then lay still; at _another_ time it might have seemed most terribly still! "Potted, by Jove!" exclaimed Hugh, as he restored the rifle to Sergeant Rhuddlan, and quietly resumed his cigar. "A jolly good shot, sir, at four hundred yards," added the non-commissioned officer, as he proceeded to reload and cap. At that time the life of a Russian was deemed by us of no more account than that of a hare or rabbit in the shooting season; but, if reckless of the lives of others, it must be remembered that we were equally reckless of our own; and, with all its horrors, war is not without producing some of the gentler emotions. Thus, even on those weary, exciting, and perilous days and nights in the trenches, under the influence of _camaraderie_, of general danger, and the most common chance of a sudden and terrible death, men grew communicative, and while interchanging their canteens and tobacco-pouches they were apt to speak of friends and relations that were far away: the old mother, whose nightly prayers went up for the absent; the ailing sister, who had died since war had been declared; the absent wife, left on the shore at Southampton with a begging-pass to her own parish; the little baby that had been born since the transport sailed; the old fireside, where their place remained vacant, their figure but a shadowy remembrance; the girls they had left behind them; their disappointments in life; their sorrows and joys and hopes for the future; the green lanes, the green fields, the pleasant and familiar places they never more might see: and officers and privates talked of such things in common; so true it is that "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." On the 3rd of November, Caradoc and I were sitting in a sheltered corner, between the gabions, chatting on some of the themes I have enumerated, when a little commotion was observable among our men, and we saw the adjutant and the major--the worthy holder of Toby Purcell's spurs, he who had carried off the first gun at Alma, B-- of ours, and who, since Colonel Chesters was killed, had commanded the regiment--coming directly towards us. "What the deuce is up?" said I. "Their faces look important," added Caradoc. "Sorry to disturb you; not that there is much pleasure here, certainly," said the major, smiling; "but the adjutant tells me that you, Hardinge, are the first officer for duty." "We are all on duty," replied I, laughing; "if we are not, I don't know what duty is. Well, major, what is to be done?" "You are to convey a message from Lord Raglan into Sebastopol." "To Sebastopol?" "Yes, to that pleasant city by the sea," said the adjutant. "To Prince Menschikoff?" "No," replied the major; "to the officer commanding the nearest post." "Under a flag of truce?" "Of course; it would be perilous work otherwise." "About what is the message?" "The capture of Major MacG--, of the 93rd, who was carried off by a kind of sortie the other night, and who is supposed to have been afterwards killed in cold blood." The seizure of the major of the Sutherland Highlanders, a brave old fellow who had on his breast medals for Candahar, Afghanistan, and Maharajapore, had created much interest in the army at this time, when we so readily believed the Russians liable to commit atrocities on wounded and prisoners. "Lord Raglan wishes distinct information on the subject," added the adjutant, after a pause. "All right, I am his man," said I, starting up and looking carefully to the chambers and capping of my Colt, ere I replaced it in its pouch; and knocking some dust and mud off my somewhat dilapidated regimentals, added, "now for a drummer and a flag of truce." "You are to go to the officer in command of that bastion on the Russian left," said the major. "To that wasp of a fellow who is so active, and whose scoundrels have killed so many of our wounded men, firing even on the burial parties?" "The same. You must be sharp, wary, and watchful." "His name?" "Ah, that you may perhaps learn, not that it matters much; even Lord Raglan cannot know that; but, doubtless, it will be something like a sneeze or two, ending in 'off' or 'iski.'" "Success, Harry!" cried Caradoc. A few minutes after this saw me issue from the trenches of the right attack, attended by Dicky Roll, with his drum slung before him; in my right hand I carried a Cossack lance, to which a white handkerchief of the largest dimensions was attached to attract attention, as the Russians were not particular to a shade as to what or whom they fired on, and the cruel and infamous massacre of an English boat's crew at Hango was fresh in the minds of us all; consequently I was not without feeling a certain emotion of anxiety, mingled with ardour and joy at the prospect of Estelle seeing my name in the despatches, as Dicky and I now advanced into the broken and open ground that lay between our parallel and the abattis, amid which I saw head after head appear, as the white emblem I bore announced that _pro tem_, hostilities in that quarter must cease, by the rules of war. Dicky Roll, who, poor little fellow, had been fraternally sharing his breakfast and blanket with the goat, and did not seem happy in his mind at our increasing proximity to "them Roosian hogres," as he called them, beat a vigorous _chamade_ on his drum, and I waved my impromptu banner. I was glad when a Russian drum responded, as flags of truce had been more than once fired upon, on the miserable plea that communications under them were merely designed for the purpose of gaining intelligence, of reconnoitring Sebastopol and its outposts. Hence our progress was watched with the deepest interest by the whole regiment and others, all of whom were now lining the banquette of the parallels, or clustering at the embrasures and fascines of the breaching batteries. CHAPTER XXXIII.-THE FLAG OF TRUCE. In the rifle-pits many of our men lay dead or dying, and a few paces beyond them brought me among Russians in the same pitiable condition. One, who had been shot through the chest, lay on his back, half in and half out of his lurking hole; his eyes were glazing, bubbles of blood and froth were oozing through his thick black moustaches, which were matted by the cartridges he had bitten. Another was shot through the lungs, and his breath seemed to come with a wheezing sound through the orifice. There, too, lay the luckless Russian "potted" by Hugh Price. He was one of the imperial 26th, for that number was on his shoulder-straps. On his breast were several copper medals. Others who were able, taking advantage of the cessation of hostilities, were crawling away on their hands or knees towards the town or trenches, in search of water, of succour, and of some kind friend to bind their wounds; and encouraged by the lull in the firing, the little birds were twittering about those ghastly pits in search of biscuit-crumbs or other food. The ground was studded thickly with rusty fragments of exploded shells, nails, bottles, grape and canister shot; other places were furrowed up, or almost paved with half-buried cannon-balls of every calibre; and here and there, in the crater made by a mine, lay a forgotten corpse in sodden uniform, gray faced with red; and yet singularly enough, amid these horrors, there were springing through the fertile earth many aromatic shrubs, and a vast number of the _colchicum autumnale_, a beautiful blue crocus-like flower, with which the Crimea abounds. The Russian drum, hoarse, wooden, and ill-braced, again sounded, and mine replied; then we saw an officer coming towards us from the entanglements of the abattis, with his sword sheathed and waving a white handkerchief. He was a tall grim-looking man, of what rank I could not determine, as all the enemy's officers in the field, from the general down to the last-joined praperchick, or ensign, wore long, ungraceful greatcoats of brownish gray cloth, having simply facings and shoulder-straps. He carried a wooden canteen and an old battered telescope, worn crosswise by two leather straps, and had several silver medals, won doubtless in battle against Schamyl in Circassia. It is a common belief in England that every Russian gentleman speaks French; but though he may do so better than another foreigner--for he who can pronounce Muscovite "words of ten or twelve consonants apiece" may well speak anything--it is chiefly the language of the court and of diplomacy; and in this instance, when, after saluting each other profoundly, and eyeing each other with stern scrutiny, I addressed the officer in the language of our allies, he replied in German, which I knew very imperfectly. I made him understand, however, that my message was for the officer in command of the left bastion. He replied, that to be taken into Sebastopol, or even to be led nearer, required that the eyes of myself and the drummer should be blindfolded, to which I assented; and he proceeded carefully to muffle Dicky Roll and me in such a manner as to place us in utter darkness. He then gave me his arm, I took the drummer by the hand, and in this grotesque fashion, which excited some laughter in the trenches, the trio proceeded, stumbling and awkwardly, towards the city. I heard the increasing buzz of many voices around us, the unbarring of a heavy wicket, the clatter of musket-butts on the pavement, and occasionally a hoarse order or word of command issued in what seemed the language of necromancy. Caissons, and wagons heavily laden, rattled along the streets; I felt that I was _inside_ Sebastopol; but dared not without permission unbind my eyes, save at the risk of being run through the body by this fellow in the long coat, or made a prisoner of war, and despatched towards Perecop with my hands tied to the mane of a Cossack pony. The sensation and the conviction were most tantalising; but I was compelled to submit, and knew that we were proceeding through the thoroughfares of that place towards which I had daily turned my field-glass with the most intense curiosity, and which we knew to be one vast garrison rather than a town, with whole streets of barracks, arsenals, and government houses. A change of sounds and of atmosphere warned me that we were within doors. My guide withdrew the bandages, and then Dicky and I looked around us, dazzled with light, after being in darkness for nearly half an hour. I was in a large whitewashed room, plainly furnished, uncarpeted, heated by a stove of stone in one corner, with an _eikon_ in another. On the table of polished deal lay some books, a copy or two of the _Invalide Russe_, the _Moskauer Zeitung_, Panaeff's _Russian Snobs_, the vernacular for that familiar word being _khlishch_. On the walls hung maps and documents--orders of the day, perhaps--in Russian. Through the two large windows, which we were warned not to approach, I obtained a glimpse of the hill on which the residence of Prince Menschikoff was situated. On one side I saw that the streets ran in parallel lines down to the water edge; on the other to where the new naval arsenals lay, in the old Tartar town which was known by the name of Achtiare in the days of Thomas Mackenzie, the Scoto-Russian admiral who first created Sebastopol, and whose _khutor_, farm or forest for producing masts, excited so much speculation among our Highland Brigade. Everywhere I saw great cannon bristling, all painted pea-green, with a white cross on the breech. The jingle of spurs caused me to turn, and Dicky to lift his hand to his cap in salute. We saw a tall and handsome Russian officer, of imposing appearance, enter the room. His eyes were dark, yet sharp and keen in expression; he had black strongly-marked eyebrows and an aquiline nose, with a complexion as clear as a woman's, a pretty ample beard, and close-shorn hair. He, too, wore the inevitable greatcoat; but it was open in this instance, and I could see the richly-laced green uniform and curious flat silver epaulettes of the Vladimir Regiment, with the usual number of medals and crosses, for all the armies of Nicholas were well decorated. He bowed with great courtesy, and said in French, "You have, I understand, a message for me from my Lord Raglan?" I bowed. "Before I listen to it you must have some refreshment; your drummer can wait outside." I bowed again. A soldier-servant placed on the table decanters of Crimskoi wine, with a silver salver of biscuits and pastilla, or little cakes made of fruit and honey; and of these I was not loath to partake, while the soldier in attendance led away Dicky Roll, who eyed me wistfully, and said, as he went out, "For God's sake don't forget me, Captain Hardinge; I don't like the look of them long-coated beggars at all." I was somewhat of Dicky's opinion; and being anxious enough to get back to the trenches, stated briefly my message. "You have, I fear, come on a bootless errand," replied the Russian, "as no officer of your army was, to my knowledge, either killed or taken by us on the night in question; though certainly a man may easily be hit in the dark, and crawl away to some nook or corner, and there die and lie unseen. But the Pulkovnick Ochterlony, who keeps the list of prisoners, will be the best person to afford you information on the matter. Remain with me, and assist yourself to the Crimskoi, while I despatch a message to him." He drew a glazed card from an embossed case, and pencilling a memorandum thereon, sent his orderly with it, while we seated ourselves, entered into conversation, and pushed the decanter fraternally to and fro. "I have just come from hearing the Bishop of Sebastopol preach in the great church to all the garrison off duty," said he, laughing; "and he has been promising us great things--honour in this world, and glory in the next--if we succeed in driving you all into the Euxine." "There are plenty of opportunities afforded here of going to heaven." "A good many, too, of going the other way; however, I must not tell you all, or even a part, of what the bishop said. He did all that eloquence could do to fire the religious enthusiasm--superstition, if you will--of our soldiers and his language was burning." "Then you are on the eve of another sortie," said I, unwarily. "I have not said so," he replied, abruptly, while his eyes gleamed, and handing me his silver cigar-case, on which was engraved a coronet, we lapsed into silence. The sermon he referred to was that most remarkable one preached on the evening of Saturday, the 4th of November, before one of the most memorable events of the war. In that discourse, this Russian-Greek bishop, with his coronal mitre on his head, glittering with precious gems, a crozier whilom borne by St. Sergius in his hand, his silver beard floating to his girdle over magnificent vestments, stood on the altar-steps of the great church, and assured the masses of armed men who thronged it to the portal that the blessing of God was upon their forthcoming enterprise and the defence of the city; that crowns of eternal glory awaited all those martyrs who fell in battle against the heretical French and the island curs who had dared to levy war on holy Russia and their father the Emperor. He told them that the English were monsters of cruelty, who tortured their prisoners, committing unheard-of barbarities on all who fell into their hands; that "they were bloodthirsty and abominable heretics, whose extermination was the solemn duty of all who wished to win the favour of God and of the Emperor." He farther assured them that the British camp contained enormous treasures--the spoil of India, vessels of silver and gold, sacks and casks filled with precious stones--one-third of which was to become the property of the victors; and he conjured them, by the memory of Michael and Feodor, who sealed their belief in Christ with their blood, before the savage Batu-Khan, by the black flag unfurled by Demetri Donskoi when he marched against Mamai the Tartar, "by the forty times forty churches of Moscow the holy," and the memory of the French retreat from it, to stand firm and fail not; and a hoarse and prayerful murmur of assent responded to him. My present host was too well-bred to tell all he had just heard, whether he believed it or not. After a pause, "If another sortie is made," said I, "the slaughter will be frightful." "Bah!" replied he, cynically, while tipping the white ashes from his cigar, "a few thousands are not missed among the millions of Russia; I presume we only get rid of those who are unnecessary in the general scheme of creation." "Peasants and serfs, I suppose?" "Well, perhaps so--peasants and serfs, as you islanders suppose all our people to be." "Nay, as you Russians deem them." "We shall not dispute the matter, please," said he, coldly; and now, as I sat looking at him, a memory of his face and voice came over me. "Count Volhonski!" I exclaimed, "have you quite forgotten me and the duel with the Prussian at Altona?" He started and took his cigar from his mouth. "The Hospodeen Hardinge!" said he, grasping my hand with honest warmth; "I must have been blind not to recognise you; but I never before saw you in your scarlet uniform." "It is more purple than scarlet now, Count." "Well, our own finery is not much to boast of, though we are in a city, and you are under canvas. But how does the atmosphere of Crim Tartary agree with you?" he asked, laughing. "A little too much gunpowder in it, perhaps." "I am sorry, indeed, to find that you and I are enemies, after those pleasant days spent in Hamburg and Altona; but when we last parted in Denmark--you remember our mutual flight across the frontier--you were but a subaltern, a praperchick, a sub-lieutenant, I think." "I am a captain now." "Ah--the Alma did that, I presume." "Exactly." "You will have plenty of promotion in your army, I expect, ere this war is ended. You shall all be promoted in heaven, I hope, ere holy Russia is vanquished." "Well, Count, and you--" "I am now Pulkovnick of the Vladimir Infantry." "Did the Alma do that?" "No; the Grand-Duchess Olga, to whom the regiment belongs, promoted me from the Guards, as a reward for restoring her glove, which she dropped one evening at a masked ball given in the hall of St. Vladimir by the Emperor; so my rank was easily won." A knock rang on the door; spurs and a steel scabbard clattered on the floor, and then entered a stately old officer in the splendid uniform of the Infantry of the Guard, the gilded plate on his high and peculiarly-shaped cap bearing the perforation of more than one bullet, and his breast being scarcely broad enough for all the orders that covered it. He bowed to Volhonski, and saluted me with his right hand, in which he carried a bundle of documents like lists. The Count introduced him as "the Pulkovnick Ochterlony, commanding the Ochterlony Battalion of the Imperial Guard." He was not at all like a Russian, having clear gray eyes and a straight nose, and still less like one did he seem when he addressed me in almost pure English. "I have," said he, "gone over all the lists of officers of the Allies now prisoners in Sebastopol, or taken since the siege and sent towards Yekaterinoslav, and can find among them no such name as that of Major MacG--, of the 93rd Regiment of Scottish Highlanders. If traces of him are found, dead or alive, a message to that effect shall at once be sent to my Lord Raglan." "I thank you, sir," said I, rising and regarding him curiously; "you speak very pure English for a Russian!" "I am a Russian by birth and breeding only; in blood and race I am a countryman of your own." "Indeed!" said I, coldly and haughtily, "how comes it to pass that an Englishman--" "Excuse me, sir," said he, with a manner quite as haughty as my own, "I did not say that I was an Englishman; but as we have no time to make explanations on the subject, let us have together a glass of Crimskoi, and part, for the time, friends." His manner was so suave, his bearing so stately, and his tone so conciliating--moreover his age seemed so great--that I clinked my glass with his, and withdrew with Volhonski, who, sooth to say, seemed exceedingly loath to part with me. "Who the deuce is that officer?" I asked. "I introduced him to you by name. He is the colonel of the Ochterlony Battalion of the Guard, which was raised by his father, one of the many Scottish soldiers of fortune who served the Empress Catharine; and the man is Russian to the core in all save blood, which he cannot help; but here is the gate, and you must be again blinded by Tolstoff. Adieu! May our next meeting be equally pleasant and propitious!" As we separated, there burst from the soldiery who thronged near the gates a roar of hatred and execration, excited doubtless by the bishop's harangue; and poor Dicky Roll shrunk close to my side as we passed out. The ancient Scoto-Muscovite, I afterwards learned, was styled Ochterlony of Guynde, the soldiers of whose regiment had enjoyed from his father's time the peculiar privilege of retaining and wearing their old cap-plates, so long as a scrap of the brass remained, if they had once been perforated by a shot in action; and it is known that this identical old officer--who had some three or four nephews in the Russian Guards--had been visiting his paternal place of Guynde, in Forfarshire, but a few months before the war broke out. In a few minutes more, Dicky Roll and I found ourselves, with our eyes unbandaged, once more in that pleasant locality midway between the abattis and the trenches, towards which we made our way in all haste, that I might report the issue of my mission concerning the Scotch major, who, as events proved, was found alive and unhurt, luckily; and the moment my white flag disappeared among the gabions--where all crowded round me for news, and where I became the hero of an hour--again the firing was resumed on both sides with all its former fury, and the old game went on--shot and shell, dust, the crash of stones and fascines, thirst, hunger, slaughter, and mutilation. That the Russians had some great essay _in petto_, the words of Volhonski left us no doubt, nor were we long kept in ignorance of what was impending over us. CHAPTER XXXIV.--GUILFOYLE REDIVIVUS. Quietly and before day dawned the trench-guards were relieved, and we marched wearily back towards the camp. I had dismissed my company, and was betaking me to my tent, threading my way along the streets formed by those of each regiment, when an ambulance wagon, four-wheeled and covered by a canvas hood, drew near. It was drawn by four half-starved-looking horses; the drivers were in the saddles; and an escort rode behind, muffled in their blue cloaks. It was laden, no doubt, with boots warranted not to fit, and bags of green or unripe coffee for the troops, who had no means of grinding it or of cooking it, firewood being our scarcest commodity. An officer of the Land Transport Corps, in cloak and forage-cap, was riding leisurely in rear of the whole, and as he passed I heard him singing, for his own edification, apparently: the refrain of his ditty was, "Ach nein! ach nein! ich darf es nich. Leb'wohl! Leb'wohl!" "Heavens!" thought I, pausing in my progress, "can this be my quondam acquaintance, the _attaché_ at the Court of Catzenelnbogen here--_here_, in the Crimea!" "Can you direct me to the commissariat quarter of the Second Division?" asked the singer, a little pompously. "By all the devils it is Guilfoyle!" I exclaimed. "Oho--You are Hardinge of the 23rd--well met, Horatio!" said he, reining-in his horse, and with an air of perfect coolness. "How came _you_ to be here, sir?" I asked, sternly. "I question your right to ask, if I do not your tone," he replied; "however, if you feel interested in my movements, I may mention that I was going to the dogs or the devil, and thought I might as well take Sebastopol on the way." "It is not taken yet--but you, I hope, may be." "Thanks for your good wishes," was the unabashed reply; "however, I am wide enough awake, sir; be assured that I cut my eye-teeth some years ago." To find that such a creature as he had crept into her Majesty's service, even into such an unaristocratic force as the Land Transport Corps, and actually wore a sword and epaulettes, bewildered me, excited my indignation and disgust; and I felt degraded that by a reflected light he was sharing our dangers, our horrors, and the honours of the war. I had never seen his name in the _Gazette_, as being appointed a cornet of the Transport Corps, and the surprise I felt was mingled with profound contempt, and something of amusement, too, at his _insouciance_ and cool effrontery. This made me partially forget the rage and hatred he had excited in me by the mischievous game he had played at Walcot Park, his plot to ruin me with Estelle Cressingham--a plot from which I had been so victoriously disentangled. Hence circumstance, change of position and place, induced me to talk to the fellow in a way that I should not have done at home or elsewhere. "How came you to deprive England of the advantages of your society?" I asked, in a sneering tone, of which he was too well-bred not to be conscious; so he replied in the same manner, "A verse of an old song may best explain it: "'A plague on ill luck, now the ready's all gone, To the wars poor Pilgarlick must trudge; But had I the cash to rake on as I've done, The devil a foot I would budge!' "And so Pilgarlick is serving his ungrateful country," he added, with the mocking laugh that I remembered of old. "You can actually laugh at your own--" "Don't say anything unpleasant," said he, shortening his reins; "I do so, but only as Reynard, who has lost his brush, laughs at the more clever fox who has kept his from the hounds," he added, with a glance of malevolence. "So you were not at the Alma? Doubtless it was pleasanter to break a bone quietly at home than risk all your limbs here in action." Disdaining to notice either his sneer or the inference to be drawn from his remark, I asked, "What has become of that unhappy creature--your wife?" "As you call her." "Georgette Franklin--well?" "It matters little now, and is no business of yours." "That I know well--I only pitied her; but why do I waste words or time with such as you?" "So you would like to know what has become of her, eh?" "Very much." "Well," said he, grinding his teeth with anger or hate, perhaps both, "there is a den in the Walworth-road, above a rag, bone, and old-bottle shop, the master of which was not unknown to the police, as apt to be roaming about intent to commit, as no doubt he often did, felony; for a few articles of bijouterie, such as a bunch of skeleton-keys, a crowbar, a brace of knuckle-dusters, and a 'barker,' with a piece of wax-candle, were found upon his person, after an investigation thereof, suggestive that his habits were nocturnal, and that the propensities of his digits were knavish; and the landlord of this den gave her lodgings--and there she died, this Georgette Franklin, in whom you are so interested--died not without suspicion of suicide. Now are _you_ satisfied?" he added, holding a cigar between the first and second fingers of his right hand, and gazing lazily at the smoke wreaths as they curled upward in the chill morning air. There was something sublimely infernal--if I may be permitted the paradox--in the gusto with which the fellow told all this, and in the sneering expression of his face; and I could see his green eyes and his white teeth glisten in the light of a great rocket--some secret signal--that soared up from Fort Alexander, and broke with a thousand sparkles, curving downward through the murky morning sky. "Pass on, sir," said I, sternly; "and the best I can wish you is that some Russian bullet may avenge her and rid the earth of you." And with his old mocking laugh, he galloped after his wagon, as he turned back in his saddle, "Compliments to old Taffy Lloyd, when you write--may leave him my brilliant in my will if he behaves himself." CHAPTER XXXV.--THE NIGHT BEFORE INKERMANN. I told Phil Caradoc of the strange meeting with Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle, and his emotions of astonishment and disgust almost exceeded mine, though mingled with something of amusement, to think that such a personage should be with the army before Sebastopol in any capacity; and he predicted that he must inevitably do something that would not add to the budding laurels of the Land Transport Corps, which we scarcely recognised as a fighting force, though armed, of course, for any sudden emergency. On this morning, the mail had come in from Constantinople; but there was still no letter for me--no letter from her with whom I had left my heart, and all its fondest aspirations--yea, my very soul it seemed--in England, far away. Many mails had gone missing; and I strove to flatter and to console myself by the vague hope, that the letters of Estelle were lying perhaps in the Gulf of Salonica, or in the Greek Archipelago, rather than adopt the bitter and wounding conviction that none were written at all. I counted the days and weeks that had elapsed since our detachments sailed from Southampton; the weeks had now become months; we were in November; yet, save when once or twice I had seen her name among the fashionable intelligence in a stray newspaper, I knew and heard nothing of Estelle, of her whose existence and future I so fondly thought were for ever woven up with mine. For a time I had been weak enough to conceal from kind-hearted Phil Caradoc the fact that I had not been getting answers to my letters; and often over a quiet cigar and a bottle of Greek wine I have listened nervously to his congratulations on my success and hopes, blended with his own personal regrets that Winifred Lloyd could not love him. He had sent to her and Dora, from Malta and from Constantinople, some of those beautiful articles of bijouterie, which the shops of the former and the bazaars of the latter can so exquisitely produce to please the taste of women, and they had been accepted with "kindest thanks," a commonplace on which poor Phil seemed to base some hope of future success. "Winifred Lloyd is very lovely," said I, as we sat in my tent that night over a bottle of Crimskoi; "sweet and pure, happy in spirit, and gentle in heart--all that a man could desire his wife and the mother of his children to be." "But--" "But what, Phil?" said I, curtly. "She cannot love me, and she will never be mine," sighed Caradoc. "Never despair of that; we have to take Sebastopol yet; and that once achieved, we shall all go merrily sailing home to England." "That I doubt much; some of the regiments here will be taken for the Indian reliefs--our fighting here will count as service in Europe--but surely the war cannot end with the fall of Sebastopol. A war between three of the greatest countries in the world to dwindle down to the somewhat ill-conducted siege of a fortified town would be absurd." "Ill-conducted, Phil?" "Of course.. We leave the city open for supplies of all kinds on the Russian side, and have never, as we should have done, seized the Isthmus of Perecop, and cut off the whole Crimea from the empire." "Errors perhaps; but by the way, Phil, have you still Miss Lloyd's miniature about you?" "Yes." "Do let me have a look at it. I am an old friend, you know." "I gave her my solemn word that while I lived no man should look upon it, Harry," said Phil, whose colour deepened. "When I am carried to the dead-tent, if that day comes, or to the burial-trench, as many better fellows have been, you may keep it or send it to her, which you will, though I would rather it were buried with me." His eyes filled with tender enthusiasm, and his voice faltered with genuine emotion as he spoke. "Pass the bottle, Phil, and don't be romantic--one more cigar is in the box, and it is at your service," said I. But full of his own thoughts, which were all of her, Caradoc made no immediate reply. He sat with his eyes fixed sadly on the glowing embers of my little fire; for, thanks to the ingenuity of Evans, I had actually a _fire_ in my tent. He had made an excavation in the earth, with a flue constructed out of the fragments of tin ammunition boxes, and the cases which had held preserved meat. This conveyed the smoke underneath the low wall of the tent, outside of which he had erected another flue some three feet high of the same materials, to which were added a few stones and some mud. The smoke at times was scarcely endurable, and made one's eyes to water; but I was not yet "old soldier" enough to heat a cannon-ball to sleep with, so Evans' patent grate had quite a reputation in the regiment, and added greatly to the comfort, if such a term can be used, of my somewhat draughty abode. "Deuced hard lines, this sort of thing, Harry," said Caradoc, after a pause, as, bearded and patched, unshaven and unkempt, we cowered over the fire in our cloaks and wrappers; "I mean for men accustomed to better things, especially to those of expensive tastes and extravagant habits--your guardsman and man of pleasure, the lounger about town, whose day was wont to begin about two P.M., and to end at four next morning. Yet they are plucky for all that; by Jove! there is an amount of mettle or stamina in our fellows such as those of no other nation possess, the resolution to die game any way." I fully agreed with him; for among our officers I knew hundreds of men, like Raymond Mostyn and others I could name, who were enduring this miserable gipsy-like life, and who, when at home, had hunters and harriers in the country, a house in town, a villa at St. John's Wood or elsewhere, with a tiny brougham and tiger for some "fair one with the golden locks," a yacht at Cowes, a forest in the Highlands, a box at the Opera, a French cook, perhaps, and vines and pines and other rarities from their own forcing-pits and hothouses, and who were now thankful for a mouthful of rum and hard ship-biscuit and some half-roasted coffee boiled in a camp-kettle; and for what, or to what useful end or purpose, was all this being endured? Perhaps the non-reception of letters from Estelle was making me cynical, and leading me to deem the great god of war but a rowdy, and the goddess his sister no better than she should be, glory a delusion and a humbug after all. But just when Phil, as the night was now far advanced, was muffling himself prior to facing the cold frosty blast that swept up the valley of Inkermann, and proceeding to his own tent, which was on the other flank of the regiment, the visage of Evans, red as a lobster with cold, while his greatcoat was whitened with hoar-frost, appeared at the piece of tied canvas, which passed muster as a door. "Letter for you, sir--an English one." "For me! how, at this hour?" I exclaimed, starting up. "It came by the mail this morning, sir; but was in the bag for the 88th. The address is almost obliterated, as you see, so the 88th officers were tossing-up for it, when Mr. Mostyn--" "Pshaw! give me the letter," said I, impatiently. "It is from Sir Madoc--_only_ Sir Madoc!" I added, with unconcealed disappointment; and in proportion as my countenance lowered, Phil's brightened with interest. I tore open what appeared to be a pretty long letter. "It seems to have a postscript," said Phil, lingering ere he went. "Kindest regards to Caradoc from Winny and Dora." "Is that all?" "All that seems to refer to you, Phil." Phil sighed, and said, "Well, a letter is an uncommon luxury here, so I shall not disturb you. Good night, old fellow." "Good night; and keep clear of the tent-pegs." Again the canvas door was tied, and I was alone; so drawing the lantern, that hung on the tent-pole, close to the empty flour-cask, which now did duty as a table, I sat down to read the characteristic epistle of my good old fatherly friend, Sir Madoc Lloyd, which was dated from Craigaderyn Court. After some rambling remarks about the war, and the mode in which he thought it should be conducted, and some smart abuse of the administration in general, and Lord Aberdeen in particular, over all of which I ran my eyes impatiently, at last they caught a name that made my heart thrill, for this was the first letter that had reached me from England. "Lady Estelle's admirer Pottersleigh has been raised to an earldom--Heaven only knows why or for what--his own distinguished services, he says. It was all in last night's _Gazette_--that her Majesty had been pleased to direct letters patent, &c., granting the dignity of Earl of the United Kingdom, unto Viscount Pottersleigh, K.G., and the heirs male of his body (good joke that, Harry: reckoning his chickens before they are hatched), by the name and title of Aberconway, in the principality of Wales. For some weeks past he has been at Walcot Park, with the Cressinghams--seems quite to live there, in fact. He has been very assiduous in his attentions to a certain young lady there; he always flatters her quietly, and it seems to please her; a sure sign it would seem to me that she is not displeased with the flatterer. People say it is old Lady Naseby whom he affects; but I don't think so; neither does Winny. You will probably have heard much of this kind of gossip from Lady Estelle herself. She certainly got your Malta letter, and one from the camp before Sebastopol--so Winny, who is in her confidence, told me. You only can know if she replied--Winny rather thinks not; but I hope she may be faithful to you as Oriana herself. "I heard all about poor Caradoc's affair from Dora; but Winny has refused another offer of marriage--a most eligible one, too--from Sir Watkins Vaughan; and since then he was nearly done for in another fashion: for when he and I were cub-hunting last month near Hawkstone, his horse, a hard-mouthed brute, swerved as we were crossing a fence, and rolled over him; so between her blunt refusal and his ugly spill, he is rather to be pitied. I don't understand Winny at all. I should not like my girls to throw themselves away; but hay should be made while the sun shines, and baronets are not to be found under every bush. Beauty fades; it is but a thing of a season; and the most blooming girl, in time, becomes passé and wrinkled, or it may be fat and fusby, as her grandmother was before her. And then Sir Watkins represents one of the best families in Wales, not so old as _us_ certainly, but still he is descended in a direct line from Gryffyth Vychan, who was Lord of Glyndwyrdwy in Merionethshire, in Stephen's time." (Why should Winifred Lloyd refuse and refuse again thus? As certain little passages between us in days gone by came flashing back to my memory, I felt my cheek flush by that wretched camp-fire, and then I thrust the thoughts aside as vanity.) "Poor Winny has not been very well of late," the letter proceeded. "When she and Dora were decorating their poor mamma's grave, in the old Welsh fashion, on Palm Sunday, at Craigaderyn church, I fear she must have caught cold; it ended in a touch of fever, and I think the dear girl grew delirious, for she had a strange dream about the ghost of Jorwerth Du--you remember that absurd old story?--but the ghost was _you_, and the red-haired daughter of the Gwylliad Cochion, who spirited you away, was--whom think you?--but Lady Estelle! "We had a jolly shooting-season at Vaughan's place in South Wales. With Don and our double-barrelled breech-loader we soon filled a spring-cart, and brought it back in state, with all the hares and the long bright tails of the pheasants hanging over it. Vaughan--who will not relinquish his hope of Winny--and a lot of other fine fellows--old friends, some of them--are coming to have their annual Christmas shooting with me, and I have got two kegs of ammunition all ready in the gun-room. How I wish you were to be with us, Harry! "Golden plover and teal, too, are appearing here now, and flocks of white Norwegian pigeons in Scotland; all indications that we shall have an unusually severe winter; so God help you poor fellows under canvas in the Crimea! In common with all the girls in England, Winny and Dora are busy making mufflings, knitted vests and cuffs, and so forth for the troops; and I have despatched some special hampers of good things, made up and packed by Owen Gwyllim and Gwenny Davis, the housekeeper, for our own lads of the 23rd to make merry with at Christmas, or on St. David's day." (The warm wrappers arrived for us in summer, and as for the "special hampers," they were never heard of at all.) And so, with many warm wishes, almost prayers, for my preservation from danger, and offers of money if I required it, the letter of my kind old friend ended; but it gave me food for much thought, and far into the hours of the chill night I sat and pondered over it. Why did Winny refuse so excellent an offer as that of Sir Watkins, whom I knew to be a wealthy and good-looking young baronet? I scarcely dared to ask myself, and so, as before, dismissed _that_ subject. Why had not Estelle's answers reached me, if she had actually written then? That Lady Naseby had surreptitiously intercepted our correspondence, I could not believe, though she might forbid it. Was my Lord Pottersleigh, now Earl of Aberconway, at work; or had they, like many others, perished at sea? Heaven alone new. His flatteries "pleased her," his, the senile dotard! And he had taken up his residence at Walcot Park; his earldom, too! I was full of sadness, mortification, and bitter thoughts; thoughts too deep and fierce for utterance or description. Could it be that the earldom and wealth on one hand were proving too strong for love, with the stringent tenor of her father's will on the other? At the opera and theatre I had seen Estelle's beautiful eyes fill with tears, as she sympathised with the maudlin love and mimic sorrow, the wrongs or mishaps, of some well-rouged gipsy in rags, some peasant in a steeple-crowned hat and red bandages, some half-naked fisherman, like Masaniello, and her bosom would heave with emotion and enthusiasm; and yet with all this natural commiseration and fellow-feeling, she, who could almost weep with the hero or heroine of the melodrama, while their situation was enhanced by the effects of the orchestra, the lime-light, and the stage-carpenter, was perhaps casting me from her heart and her memory, as coolly as if I were an old ball-dress! So I strove yet awhile to think and to hope that her letters were with the lost mails at the bottom of the Ægean or the Black Sea; but Sir Madoc's letter occasioned me grave and painful doubts; and memory went sadly back to many a little but well-remembered episode of tenderness, a word, a glance, a stolen caress, when we rode or drove by the Elwey or Llyn Aled, in the long lime avenue, in the Martens' dingle, and in the woods and gardens of pleasant Craigaderyn. The wretched light in my lantern was beginning to fail; my little fire had died quite out, and the poor sentry shivering outside had long since ceased to warm his hands at the flue. The tent was cold and chill as a tomb, and I was just about to turn in, when a sound, which a soldier never hears without starting instinctively to his weapons, struck my ear. A drum, far on the right, was beating _the long roll!_ Hundreds of others repeated that inexorable summons all over the camp, while many a bugle was blown, as the whole army stood to their arms. It was the morning of the battle of Inkermann! CHAPTER XXXVI.--THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. We had all long since forgotten the discomfort of early rising. In my case I had never been to bed, so to buckle on my sword and revolver was the work of one moment; in another I was threading my way among the streets of tents, from which our men, cold, damp, pale, and worn-looking, were pouring towards their various muster-places, many of them arranging their belts as they hurried forward. "What is the row? what is up?" were the inquiries of all. But no one knew, and on all hands the mounted officers were riding about and crying, "Fall in, 19th Regiment!" "Fall in, 23rd Fusileers!" and so on. "Stand to your arms; turn out the whole; uncase the colours, gentlemen!" "It is gunpowder-plot day," cried a laughing aide-de-camp, galloping past with such speed and recklessness that he nearly rode me down. It proved to be a sortie from Sebastopol, made chiefly by a new division of troops brought up by forced marches from Bessarabia and Wallachia, many of them in wagons, kabitkas, and conveyances of all kinds; and all these men, to the number of many thousands, left the beleaguered city inflamed by the sermon I have described, by harangues of a similar kind, by the money or martyrdom they hoped to win, and by a plentiful distribution of coarse and ardent raki; while to Osten-Sacken, Volhonski, and other officers of rank, one of the Grand Dukes held out threats of degradation and Siberia if we were not attacked and the siege raised! All our men, without breakfast or other food, got briskly under arms, by regiments, brigades, and divisions; they were in their gray greatcoats, hence some terrible mistakes occurred in the hurry and confusion; many of our officers, however, went into action in _scarlet_, with their epaulettes on--most fatally for themselves. All the bells in Sebastopol--and some of these were magnificent in size and tone--rang a tocsin, while the troops composing the sortie, at the early hour of three A.M., stole, under cloud of darkness and a thick mist, into the ravines near the Tchernaya, to menace the British right, our weakest point; and, unknown to our out-guards, and generally unheard by them--though more than one wary old soldier asserted that he heard "something like the rumble of artillery wheels"--in the gloom and obscurity several large pieces of cannon were got into position, so as completely to command the ground occupied by us. Cautiously and noiselessly the masses of Russian infantry had stolen on, the sound of their footsteps hidden by the jangle of the bells, till they, to the number of more than 50,000 men, were on the flank as well as in front of our line; and the first indication we had of their close vicinity was when our outlying pickets, amid the dense fog of that fatal November morning, found themselves all but surrounded by this vast force, and fighting desperately! Knapsacks were generally thrown aside, and the muskets of the pickets were in some instances so wet by overnight exposure, that they failed to explode, so others taken from the dead and wounded were substituted for them. There was firing fast and furious on every hand; the musketry flashing like red streaks through the gray gloom, towards the head of the beautiful valley of Inkermann, even before our regiment was formed and moved forward to the support of the pickets, who were retreating towards a small two-gun battery which had been erected, but afterwards abandoned during the progress of the siege. The great Russian cannon now opened like thunder from those hills which had been reached unseen by us, and then began one of the closest, because confused, most ferocious, and bloody conflicts of modern times. The Russian has certainly that peculiar quality of race, "which is superior to the common fighting courage possessed indiscriminately by all classes--the passive concentrated firmness which can take every advantage so long as a chance is left, and die without a word at last, when hope gives place to the sullen resignation of despair." Descriptions of battles bear a strong family likeness, and the history of one can only be written, even by a participant, long after it is all over, and after notes are compared on all sides; so to the subaltern, or any one under the rank of a general, during its progress, it is all vile hurly-burly and confusion worse confounded; and never in the annals of war was this more the case than at Inkermann. Though hidden by mist at the time, the scene of this contest was both picturesque and beautiful. In the foreground, a romantic old bridge spanned the sluggish Tchernaya, which winds from the Baidar valley through the most luxurious verdure, and thence into the harbour of Sebastopol between precipitous white cliffs, which are literally honeycombed with chapels and cells: thus Inkermann is well named the "City of the Caverns." These are supposed to have been executed by Greek monks during the reigns of the emperors in the middle ages, and when the Arians were persecuted in the Chersonesus, many of them found shelter in these singular and all but inaccessible dwellings. Sarcophagi of stone, generally empty, are found in many of the cells, which are connected with each other by stairs cut in the living rock, and of these stairs and holes the skirmishers were not slow to avail themselves. Over all these caverns are the ivied ruins of an ancient fort but whether it was the Ctenos of Chersonesus Taurica, built by Diophantes to guard the Heruclean wall, or was the Theodori of the Greeks, mattered little to us then, as we moved to get under fire beneath its shadow; and now, as if to farther distract the attention of the Allies from the real point of assault--which at first seemed to indicate a movement towards Balaclava--all the batteries of the city opened a fearful cannonade, which tore to shreds the tents in the camp, and did terrible execution on every hand. Louder and louder, deeper and hoarser grew the sounds of strife; yet nothing was seen by us save the red flashes of the musketry, owing to the density of the fog, and the tall brushwood through which we had to move being in some places quite breast-high; and so we struggled forward in line, till suddenly we found the foe within pistol-shot of us, and our men falling fast on every side. Till now, to many in our ranks, who saw these long gray-coated and flat-capped or spike-helmeted masses, the enemy had been a species of myth, read of chiefly in the newspapers; _now_ they were palpable and real, and war, having ceased to be a dream, had become a terrible fact. Vague expectancy had given place to the actual excitement of the hour of battle, the hour when a man would reflect soberly if he could; but when every moment may be his last, little time or chance is given for reflection. In this quarter were but twelve thousand British, to oppose the mighty force of Osten-Sacken. Upon his advancing masses the brave fellows of the 55th or Westmoreland Foot had kept up a brisk fire from the rude embrasures of the small redoubt, till they were almost surrounded by a force outnumbering them by forty to one, and compelled to fall back, while the batteries on the hills swept their ranks with an iron shower. But now the 41st Welsh, and 49th or Hertfordshire, came into action, with their white-and-green colours waving, and storming up the hill bore back the Russian hordes, hundreds of whom--as they were massed in oblong columns--fell beneath the fatal fire of our Minie rifles, and the desperate fury of the steady shoulder-to-shoulder bayonet charge which followed it. On these two regiments the batteries from the distant slope dealt death and destruction; again the Russians rallied at its foot, and advanced up the corpse-strewn ground to renew an attack before which the two now decimated regiments were compelled to retire. Their number and force were as overwhelming as their courage, inflamed by raki and intense religious fervour, was undeniable; for deep in all their hearts had sunk the closing words of the bishop's prayer: "Bless and strengthen them, O Lord, and give them a manly heart against their enemies. Send them an angel of light, and to their enemies an angel of darkness and horror to scatter them, and place a stumbling-block before them to weaken their hearts, and turn their courage into flight." And for a time the Russians seemed to have it all their own way, and deemed their bishop a prophet. Our whole army was now under arms, but upon our right fell the brunt of the attack, and old Lord Raglan was soon among us, managing his field-glass and charger with one hand and a half-empty sleeve. Under Brigadier-general Strangeways, who was soon after mortally wounded, our artillery, when the mist lifted a little, opened on the Russian batteries, and soon silenced their fire; but the 20th and 47th Lancashire, after making a gallant attempt to recapture the petty redoubt, were repulsed; but not until they had been in possession of it for a few dearly-bought minutes, during which, all wedged together in wild _mêlée_, the most hideous slaughter took place, with the bayonet and clubbed musket; and the moment they gave way, the inhuman Russians murdered all our wounded men, many of whom were found afterwards cold and stiff, with hands uplifted and horror in their faces, as if they had died in the act of supplication. Driven from that fatal redoubt at last by the Guards under the Duke of Cambridge, it was held by a few hundred Coldstreamers against at least _six thousand_ of the enemy. Thrice, with wild yells the gray-coated masses, with all their bayonets glittering, swept madly and bravely uphill, and thrice they were hurled back with defeat and slaughter. Fresh troops were now pouring from Sebastopol, flushed with fury by the scene, and in all the confidence that Russia and their cause were alike holy, that defeat was impossible, and the redoubt was surrounded. Then back to back, pale with fury, their eyes flashing, their teeth set, fearless and resolute, their feet encumbered with the dying and the dead, fought the Coldstream Guardsmen, struggling for very life; the ground a slippery puddle with blood and brains, and again and again the clash of the bayonets was heard as the musket barrels were crossed. Their ammunition was soon expended; but clubbing their weapons they dashed at the enemy with the butt-ends; and hurling even stones at their heads, broke through the dense masses, and leaving at least one thousand Muscovites dead behind them, rejoined their comrades, whom Sir George Cathcart was leading to the advance, when a ball whistled through his heart, and he fell to rise no more. The combat was quite unequal; our troops began slowly to retire towards their own lines, but fighting every inch of the way and pressed hard by the Russians, who bayonetted or brained by the butt-end every wounded man they found; and by eleven o'clock they were close to the tents of the Second Division. The rain of bullets sowed thickly all the turf like a leaden shower, and shred away clouds of leaves and twigs from the gorse and other bushes; but long ere the foe had come thus far, we had our share and more in the terrible game. Exchanging fire with them at twenty yards' distance, the roar of the musketry, the shouts and cheers, the yells of defiance or agony, the explosion of shells overhead, the hoarse sound of the round shot, as they tore up the earth in deeper furrows than ever ploughshare formed, made a very hell of Inkermann, that valley of blood and suffering, of death and cruelty; but dense clouds of smoke, replacing the mist, enveloped it for a time, and veiled many of its horrors from the eye. Bathurst and Sayer, Vane and Millet of ours were all down by this time; many of our men had also fallen; and from the death-clutch or the relaxed fingers of more than one poor ensign had the tattered colour which bore the Red Dragon been taken, by those who were fated to fall under it in turn. I could see nothing of Caradoc; but I heard that three balls had struck the revolver in his belt. Poor Hugh Price fell near me, shot through the chest, and was afterwards found, like many others, with his brains dashed out. In the third repulse of the Russians, as we rushed headlong after them with levelled bayonets, I found myself suddenly opposed by an officer of rank mounted on a gray horse, the flanks and trappings of which were splashed by blood, whether its own or that of the rider, I knew not. Furiously, by every energy, with his voice, which was loud and authoritative, and by brandishing his sword, he was endeavouring to rally his men, a mingled mass of the Vladimir Battalion and the flat-capped Kazan Light Infantry. "Pot that fellow; down with him!" cried several voices; "maybe he's old Osten-Sacken himself." Many shots missed him, as the men fired with fixed bayonets, when suddenly he turned his vengeance on me, and checking his horse for a second, cut at my head with his sword. Stooping, I avoided his attack, but shot his horse in the head. Heavily the animal tumbled forward, with its nose between its knees; and as the rider fell from the saddle and his cap flew off, I recognised Volhonski. A dozen of Fusileers had their bayonets at his throat, when I struck them up with my sword, and interceding, took him prisoner. "Allow me, if taken, to preserve my sword," said he, in somewhat broken English. "No, no; by ----, no! disarm him, Captain Hardinge," cried several of our men, who had already shot more than one Russian officer when in the act of killing the wounded. He smiled with proud disdain, and snapping the blade across his knee, threw the fragments from him. "Though it is a disgrace alike for Russian to retreat or yield, I yield myself to you, Captain Hardinge," said he in French, and presenting his hand; but ere I could take it, I felt a shot strike me on the back part of the head. Luckily it was a partially spent one, though I knew it not then. A sickness, a faintness, came over me, and I had a wild and clamorous fear that all was up with me then; but I strove to ignore the emotion, to brandish my sword, to shout to my company, "Come on, men, come on!" to carry my head erect, soldierlike and proudly. Alas for human nerves and poor human nature! My voice failed me; I reeled. "Spare me, blessed God!" I prayed, then fell forward on my face, and felt the rush of our own men, as they swept forward in the charge to the front; and then darkness seemed to steal over my sight, and unconsciousness over every other sense, and I remembered no more. So while I lay senseless there, the tide of battle turned in the valley, and re-turned again. But not till General Canrobert, with three regiments of fiery little Zouaves, five of other infantry, and a strong force of artillery, made a furious attack on the Russian flank, with all his drums beating the _pas de charge_. The issue of the battle was then no longer doubtful. The Russians wavered and broke, and with a strange wail of despair, such as that they gave at Alma, when they feared that the angel of light had left them, they fled towards Sebastopol, trodden down like sheep by the French and British soldiers, all mingled pell-mell, in fierce and vengeful pursuit. By three in the afternoon all was over, and we had won another victory. But our losses were terrible. Seven of our generals were killed or wounded; we had two thousand five hundred and nine officers and men killed, wounded, or missing; but more than fourteen thousand Russians lay on the ground which had been by both armies so nobly contested, and of these five thousand were killed. CHAPTER XXXVII.--THE ANGEL OF HORROR. When consciousness returned, I found the dull red evening sun shining down the long valley of Inkermann, and that, save moans and cries for aid and water, all seemed terribly still now. A sense of weakness and oppression, of incapacity for action and motion, were my first sensations. I feared that other shot must have struck me after I had fallen, and that both my legs were broken. The cause of this, after a time, became plain enough: a dead artillery horse was lying completely over my thighs, and above it and them lay the wheel of a shattered gun carriage; and weak as I was then, to attempt extrication from either unaided was hopeless. Thus I was compelled to lie helplessly amid a sickening puddle of blood, enduring a thirst that is unspeakable, but which was caused by physical causes and excitement, with the anxiety consequent on the battle. The aspect of the dead horse, which first attracted me, was horrible. A twelve-pound shot had struck him below the eyes, making a hole clean through his head; the brain had dropped out, and lay with his tongue and teeth upon the grass. The dead and wounded lay thickly around me, as indeed they did over all the field. Some of the former, though with eyes unclosed and jaws relaxed, had a placid expression in their white waxen faces. These had died of gun-shot wounds. The expressions of pain or anguish lingered longest in those who had perished by the bayonet. Over all the valley lay bodies in heaps, singly or by two and threes, with swarms of flies settling over them; shakoes, glazed helmets, bearskin-caps, bent bayonets, broken muskets, swords, hairy knapsacks, bread-bags, shreds of clothing, torn from the dead and the living by showers of grape and canister, cooking-kettles, round shot and fragments of shells, with pools of noisome blood, lay on every hand. Truly the Angel of Horror, and of Death, too, had been there. I saw several poor fellows, British as well as Russian, expire within the first few minutes I was able to look around me. One whose breast bore several medals and orders, an officer of the Kazan Light Infantry, prayed very devoutly and crossed himself in his own blood ere he expired. Near me a corporal of my own regiment named Prouse, who had been shot through the brain, played fatuously for a time with a handful of grass, and then, lying gently back, passed away without a moan. A Zouave, a brown, brawny, and soldier-like fellow, who seemed out of his senses also, was very talkative and noisy. "Ouf!" I heard him say; "it is as wearisome as a sermon or a funeral this! Were I a general, the capture of Sebastopol should be as easy as a game of dominoes.--Yes, Isabeau, ma belle coquette, kiss me and hold up my head. Vive la gloire! Vive l'eau de vie! A bas la mélancolie! A bas la Russe!" he added through his clenched teeth hoarsely, as he fell back. The jaw relaxed, his head turned on one side, and all was over. Of Volhonski I could see nothing except his gray horse, which lay dead, in all its trappings, a few yards off; but I afterwards learned that he had been retaken by the Russians on their advance after the fall of poor Sir George Cathcart. There was an acute pain in the arm that had been injured--fractured--when saving Estelle; and as a kind of stupor, filled by sad and dreamy thoughts, stole over me, they were all of her. The roar of the battle had passed away, but there was a kind of drowsy hum in my ears, and, for a time, strangely enough, I fancied myself with her in the Park or Rotten-row. I seemed to see the brilliant scene in all the glory of the season: the carriages; the horses, bay or black, with their shining skins and glittering harness; the powdered coachmen on their stately hammer-cloths; the gaily-liveried footmen; the ladies cantering past in thousands, so exquisitely dressed, so perfectly mounted, so wonderful in their loveliness--women the most beautiful in the world; and there, too, were the young girls, whose season was to come, and the ample dowagers, whose seasons were long since past, lying back among the cushions, amid ermine and fur; and with all this Estelle was laughing and cantering by my side. Then we were at the opera--another fantastic dream--the voices of Grisi and Mario were blending there, and as its music seemed to die away, once more we were at Craigaderyn, under its shady woods, with the green Welsh hills, snow-capped Snowdon and Carneydd Llewellyn, in the distance, and voices and music and laughter--some memory of Dora's fête--seemed to be about us. So while lying there, on that ghastly field of Inkermann, between sleeping and waking, I dreamed of her who was so far away--of the sweet companionship that might never come again; of the secret tie that bound us; of the soft dark eyes that whilom had looked lovingly into mine; of the sweetly-modulated voice that was now falling merrily, perhaps, on other ears, and might fall on mine no more. And a vague sense of happiness, mingled with the pain caused by the half-spent shot and the wild confusion and suffering of the time, stole over me. Waking, these memories became "Sad as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless _fancy_ feigned On lips that are for others--deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret, O death in life--the days that are no more!" From all this I was thoroughly roused by a voice crying, "Up, up, wounded--all you who are able! Cavalry are coming this way--you will be trod to death. Arrah, get out of _that_, every man-jack of yees!" The excited speaker was an Irish hussar, picking his way across the field at a quick trot. It was a false alarm; but the rumble of wheels certainly came next day, and an ambulance-wagon passed slowly, picking up the wounded, who groaned or screamed as their fractured limbs were handled, and their wounds burst out afresh through the clotted blood. I waved an arm, and the scarlet sleeve attracted attention. "There is a wounded officer--one of the 23rd Fusileers," cried a driver from his saddle. "Where?" asked a mounted officer in the blue cloak and cap of the Land Transport Corps. "Under that dead horse, sir." "One of the 23rd; let us see--Hardinge, by all the devils!" said the officer, who proved to be no other than Hawkesby Guilfoyle. "So-ho--steady, steady!" he added, while secretly touching his horse with the spurs to make it rear and plunge in three several attempts to tread me under its hoofs; but the terrible aspect of the dead animal smashed by the cannon-shot so scared the one he rode, that he bore on the curb in vain. "Coward! coward!" I exclaimed, "if God spares me you shall hear of this." "The fellow is mad or tipsy," said he; "drive on." "But, sir--sir!" urged the driver in perplexity. "Villain! you are my evil fate," said I faintly. "I tell you the fellow is mad--drive on, I command you, or by----, I'll make a prisoner of you!" thundered Guilfoyle, drawing a pistol from his holster, while his shifty green eyes grew white with suppressed passion and malice; so the ambulance-cart was driven on, and I was left to my fate. Giddy and infuriated by pain and just indignation, I lay under my cold and ghastly load, perishing of thirst, and looking vainly about for assistance. Scarcely were they gone, when out of the dense thick brushwood, that grew in clumps and tufts over all the valley, there stole forth two Russian soldiers, with their bayonets fixed, and their faces distorted and pale with engendered fanaticism and fury at their defeat. There was a cruel gleam in their eyes as they crept stealthily about. Either they feared to fire or their ammunition was expended, for I saw them deliberately pass their bayonets through the bodies of four or five wounded men, and pin the writhing creatures to the earth. I lay very still, expecting that my turn would soon come. The dead horse served to conceal me for a little; but I panted rather than breathed, and my breath came in gasps as they drew near me; for on discovering that I was an officer, my gold wings and lace would be sure to kindle their spirit of acquisition. I had my revolver in my right hand, and remembered with grim joy that of its six chambers, three were yet undischarged. Just as the first Russian came straight towards me, I shot him through the head, and he fell backward like a log; the second uttered a howl, and came rushing on with his butt in the air and his bayonet pointed down. I fired both barrels. One ball took him right in the shoulder, the other in the throat, and he fell wallowing in blood, but not until he had hurled his musket at me. The barrel struck me crosswise on the head, and I again became insensible. Moonlight was stealing over the valley when consciousness returned again, and I felt more stiff and more helpless than ever. Something was stirring near me; I looked up, and uttered an exclamation on seeing our regimental goat, Carneydd Llewellyn, quietly cropping some herbage among the débris of dead bodies and weapons that lay around me. Like Caradoc, I had made somewhat a pet of it. The poor animal knew my voice, and on coming towards me, permitted me to stroke and pat it; and a strong emotion of wonder and regard filled my heart as I did so, for it was a curious coincidence that this animal, once the pet of Winifred Lloyd, should discover me there upon the field of Inkermann. After a little I heard a voice, in English, cry, "Here is our goat at last, by the living Jingo!" and Dicky Roll, its custodian--from whose tent it had escaped, when a shot from the batteries broke the pole--came joyfully towards it. "Roll, Dicky Roll," cried I, "for God's sake bring some of our fellows, and have me taken from here!" "Captain Hardinge! are you wounded, sir?" asked the little drummer, stooping in commiseration over me. "Badly, I fear, but cannot tell with certainty." Dicky shouted in his shrill boyish voice, and in a few minutes some of our pioneers and bandsmen came that way with stretchers. I was speedily freed from my superincumbent load, and very gently and carefully borne rearward to my tent, when it was found that a couple of contusions on the head were all I had suffered, and that a little rest and quiet would soon make me fit for duty again. "You must be more than ever careful of our goat, Dicky," said I, as the small warrior, who was not much taller than his own bearskin cap, was about to leave me (by the bye, my poor fellow Evans had been cut in two by a round shot). "But for Carneydd Llewellyn, I might have lain all night on the field." "There is a date scratched on one of his horns, sir," said Roll; "I saw it to-day for the first time." "A date!--what date?" "Sunday, 21st August." "Sunday, 21st August," I repeated; "what can that refer to?" "I don't know, sir--_do you?_" The drummer saluted and left the tent. I lay on my camp-bed weak and feverish, so weak, that I could almost have wept; for now came powerfully back to memory that episode, till then forgotten--the Sunday ramble I had with Winifred Lloyd when we visited the goat, by the woods of Craigaderyn, by the cavern in the glen, by the Maen Hir or the Giant's Grave, and the rocking stone, and all that passed that day, and how she wept when I kissed her. Poor Winifred! her pretty white hand must have engraved the date which the little drummer referred to--a date which was evidently dwelling more in her artless mind than in mine. CHAPTER XXXVIII.--THE CAMP AGAIN. After the living were mustered next morning, and burial parties detailed to inter the dead, Caradoc and one or two others dropped into my tent to share some tiffin and a cigar or two with me; for, as Digby Grand has it, "whatever people's feelings may be, they go to dine all the same." Poor Phil looked as pale and weary, if not more so, than I did. He was on the sick-list also, and had his head tied up by a bloody bandage, necessitated by a pretty trenchant sword-cut, dealt, as we afterwards discovered on comparing notes, by Volhonski just before his recapture. "I was first knocked over by Cathcart's riderless horse--" "Poor old Cathcart--a Waterloo man!" said Gwynne, parenthetically. "Well, Phil?" "It was wounded and mad with terror," continued Caradoc; "then the splinter of a shell struck me on the left leg. Still I limped to the front, keeping the men together and close to the colours, till that fellow you call Volhonski cut me across the head; even my bearskin failed to protect me from his sabre. Then, but not till _then_, when blood blinded me, I threw up the sponge and went to the rear." "What news of our friends in the 19th?" I asked. "O, the old story, many killed and wounded." "Little Tom Clavell?" "Untouched. Had the staff of the Queen's colours smashed in his hands by a grape shot. Tom is now a bigger man than ever," said Charley Gwynne. "By the way, he was talking of Miss Dora Lloyd last night in my bunk between the gabions, wondering what she and the girls in England think of all this sort of thing." "Thank God, they know nothing about it!" said Caradoc, lighting a fresh cigar with a twisted cartridge paper; "the hearts of some of them would break, could they see but yonder valley." "Poor Hugh Price!" observed Charley, with a sigh and a grimace, for he had a bayonet prod in the right arm; "he was fairly murdered in cold blood by one of those Kazan fellows--brained clean by the heel of a musket, ere our bandsmen could carry him off to the hospital tents; but I am thankful the assassin did not escape." "How?" "He too was finished the next moment by Evan Rhuddlan." Other instances of assassination, especially by a Russian major, were mentioned, and execrations both loud and deep were muttered by us all at these atrocities, which ultimately caused Lord Raglan to send a firm remonstrance on the subject to Sebastopol. "Is it true, Charley, that the Duke of Cambridge has gone on board ship, sick and exhausted?" asked I. "I believe so." "And that Marshal Canrobert was wounded yesterday?" "Yes, and had his horse shot under him, too." "The poor Coldstreamers were fearfully cut up in the redoubt!" "I saw eight of their officers interred in one grave this morning, and three of the Grenadier Guards in another." "Poor fellows!" sighed Caradoc; "so full of life but a few hours ago." For a time the conversation, being of this nature, languished; it was the reverse of lively, so we smoked in silence. We were all in rather low spirits. This was simply caused by reaction after the fierce excitement of yesterday, and to regret for the friends who had fallen--the brave and true-hearted fellows we had lost for ever. Victorious though we were, we experienced but little exultation; and from my tent door, we saw the burial parties, British and French, hard at work in their shirt sleeves, interring the slain in great trenches, where they were flung over each other in rows, with all their gory clothing and accoutrements, just as they were found; and there they lay in ghastly ranks, their pallid faces turned to heaven, the hope of many a heart and household that were far away from that horrible valley; their joys, their sorrows, their histories, and their passing agonies all ended now, with no tears on their cheek save those with which the hand of God bedews the dead face of the poor soldier. A ring or a watch, or it might be a lock of hair, taken, or perhaps hastily shorn by a friendly hand from the head of a dead officer as he was borne away to these pits--the head that some one loved so well, hanging earthward heavily and untended--shorn for a widowed wife or anxious mother, then at home in peaceful England, or some secluded Scottish glen; and there his obsequies were closed by the bearded and surpliced chaplain, who stood book in hand by the edge of the ghastly trench, burying the dead wholesale by the thousand; and amid the boom of the everlasting and unrelenting cannonade, now going on at the left attack, might be heard the solemn sentences attuned to brighter hopes elsewhere than on earth, where "Death seemed scoffed at and derided by the reckless bully Life." "Here is an old swell, with no end of decorations," said a couple of our privates, as they trailed past the body of a Russian officer, one half of whose head had been shot away, and they threw him into a trench where the gray-coats lay in hundreds. The "old swell" proved to be the brave Pulkovnich Ochterlony of Guynde; he who had led his regiment so bravely at Bayazid on the mountain slopes of the Aghri Tagh in Armenia, when, in the preceding August, the Russians had defeated the Turks, and laid two thousand scarlet fezzes in the dust. The episode of meeting with Guilfoyle, his conduct after the action, and the character he had borne as a civilian, formed a topic of some interest for my friends, who were vehement in urging me to denounce this distinguished "cornet" of the wagon-corps to the commander-in-chief. And this I resolved to do so soon as I was sufficiently recovered to write, or to visit Lord Raglan in person. But to take action in the matter soon proved impossible, as he was taken prisoner the next day by some Cossacks who were scouting near the Baidar Valley, and who instantly carried him off. Some there were in the camp who gave this capture the very different name of wilful desertion, from two reasons; first, he had been gambling to a wonderful extent, and with all his usual success, so that he had completely rooked many of his brother officers, nearly all of whom were deserving men from the ranks; and second, that on the day after he was taken, the Russians opened a dreadful fire of shot and shell on one of our magazines, the exact _locale_ of which could only have been indicated to them by some traitor safe within their own lines; and none knew better than I the savage treachery of which he was capable. It was now asserted that we should not assault Sebastopol until the arrival of fresh reinforcements, which were expected by the way of Constantinople in a few weeks. There were said to be fifteen thousand French, and our own 97th, or Earl of Ulster's, and 99th Lanarkshire coming from Greece, with the 28th from Malta; but that we were likely to _winter_ before the besieged city was now becoming pretty evident to the Allies, and none of us liked the prospect, the French perhaps least of all, with the freezing memories of their old Russian war and the retreat from flaming Moscow still spoken of in their ranks; and the cruel and taunting boast of the Emperor Nicholas concerning Russia's two most conquering generals--January and February. So when the wood for the erection of huts began to arrive at Balaclava, and the winter siege became a prospect that was inevitable, I thought of having a wigwam built for myself and two other officers; and confess that as the season advanced, some such habitation would have been more acceptable than my bell-tent, which, like much more of our warlike gear, had probably lain in some of John Bull's shabby peace-at-any-price repositories since Waterloo, and was all decaying. Hence the door was always closed with difficulty, especially on cold nights, the straps being rotten and the buckles rusty. Add to this, that our camp-bedding and clothes were alike dropping to pieces--the result of constant wet and damp. Already no two soldiers in our ranks were clad alike; they looked like well-armed vagrants, and wore comically-patched clothing, with caps of all kinds, gleaned off the late field or near the burial trenches. Some of the Rifles, in lieu of dark green, were fain to wear smocks made by themselves from old blankets, and leggings made of the same material or old sacking, and many linesmen, who were less fortunate, had to content them with the rags of their uniforms. Happy indeed were the Highlanders, who had no trousers that wore out. Alas for those to whom a flower in the button-hole, kid gloves, glazed boots, and Rimmel's essences, were as the necessaries of life! But ere the wished-for materials for _my_ hut arrived, circumstances I could little have foreseen found me quarters in a very different place. Every other day I was again on duty in the trenches, and without the aid of my field-glass could distinctly see the dark groups of the enemy's outposts, extending from the right up the valley of Inkermann, towards Balaclava. The rain rendered our nights and days in the trenches simply horrible; as we had to shiver there for four-and-twenty hours, literally in mud that rose nearly to our knees, and was sometimes frozen--especially towards the darkest and earliest hours of the morning, when the cold would cause even strong and brave fellows almost to sob with weakness and debility, while we huddled together like sheep for animal warmth, listening the while, perhaps, for a sound that might indicate a Russian mine beneath us. Those who had tobacco smoked, of course, and shared it freely with less fortunate comrades, who had none; and under circumstances such as ours, great indeed was the solace of a pipe, though some found their tobacco too wet to smoke; then the Russians and the rain were cursed alike. The latter also often reduced the biscuits in our havresacks to a wet and dirty pulp; but hunger made us thankful to have it, even in that condition. "By Jove," one would say, "how the rain comes down! Awful, isn't it?" "Won't spoil our uniforms, Bill, anyhow." "No, lads, they are past spoiling," said I, and often had to add, "keep your firelocks under your greatcoats, men, and look to your ammunition." And such care was imperatively necessary, for on dark nights especially we never knew the moment when an attempt to scour the trenches might bring on another Inkermann. So we would sit cowering between the gabions, while ever and anon the fiery bombs, often shot at random, came in quick succession through the dark sky of night, making bright and glittering arcs as they sped on their message of destruction, sometimes falling short and bursting in mid-air, or on the earth and throwing up a column of dust and stones, and sometimes fairly into the trenches, scattering death and mutilation among us. Erelong, as the season drew on, we had the snow to add to our miseries, and for many an hour under the lee of a gabion I have sat, half awake and half torpid, watching the white flakes falling, like glittering particles, athwart the slanting moonlight on the pale and upturned faces and glistening eyes of the dead, on their black and gaping wounds, and tattered uniform; for many perished nightly in the trenches, on some occasions over a hundred; and at times and places their bodies were so frozen to the earth, that to remove or tear them up was impossible, so they had to be left where they lay, or be covered up _pro tem_, with a little loose soil, broken by a sapper's pickaxe. And with the endurance of all this bodily misery, I had the additional grief that no letters ever came from Estelle for me. My dream-castle was beginning to crumble down. I began to feel vaguely that something had been taken out of my life, that life itself was less worth having now, and that the beauty of the past was fading completely away. I had but one conviction or wish--that I had never met, had never known, or had never learned to love her. CHAPTER XXXIX.--A MAIL FROM ENGLAND. THE dreamy conviction or thought with which the last chapter closes, proved, perhaps, but a foreshadowing of that which was looming in the future. On the day after that terrible storm of wind, rain, and hail in the Black Sea, when some five hundred seamen were drowned, and when so many vessels perished, causing an immense loss to the Allies; a terrific gale, such as our oldest naval officers had never seen; when the tents in camp were uprooted in thousands, and swept in rags before the blast; when the horses broke loose from their picketing-ropes, and forty were found dead from cold and exposure; when every imaginable article was blown hither and thither through the air; and when, without food, fire, or shelter, even the sick and wounded passed a night of privation and misery such as no human pen can describe, and many of the Light Division were thankful to take shelter in the old caverns and cells of Inkermann--on the 15th of November, the day subsequent to this terrible destruction by land and water, there occurred an episode in my own story which shall never be forgotten by me. Singular to say, amid all the vile hurly-burly incident to the storm, a disturbance increased by the roar of the Russian batteries, and a sortie on the French, a mail from England reached our division, and it contained one letter for me. Prior to my opening it, as I failed to recognise the writing, Phil Caradoc (wearing a blanket in the fashion of a poncho-wrapper, a garment to which his black bearskin cap formed an odd finish) entered my tent, which had just been re-erected with great difficulty, and I saw that he had a newspaper in his hand, and very cloudy expression in his usually clear brown eyes. "What is up, Phil?" said; "a bad report of our work laid before the public, or what?" "Worse than that," said he, seating himself on the empty flour-cask which served me for a table. "Can you steel yourself to hear bad news?" "From home?" I asked. "Well, yes," said he, hesitating, and a chill came over my heart as I said involuntarily, "Estelle?" "Yes, about Lady Cressingham." "What--what--don't keep me in suspense!" I exclaimed, starting up. "She is, I fear, lost to you for ever, Hardinge." "Ill--dead--O, Phil, don't say dead!" "No, no." "Thank God! What, then, is the matter?" "She is--married, that is all." "Married!" "Poor Harry! I am deuced sorry for you. Look at this paper. Perhaps I shouldn't have shown it to you; but some one less a friend--Mostyn or Clavell--might have thrown it in your way. Besides, you _must_ have learned the affair in time. Take courage," he added, after a pause, during which a very stunned sensation pervaded me; "be a man; she is not worth regretting." "To whom is she married?" I asked, in a low voice. "Pottersleigh," said he, placing in my hand the paper, which was a _Morning Post_. I crushed it up into a ball, and then, spreading it out on the head of the inverted cask, read, while my hands trembled, and my heart grew sick with many contending emotions, a long paragraph which Phil indicated, and which ran somewhat as follows, my friend the while standing quietly by my side, manipulating a cheroot prior to lighting it with a cinder from my little fire. The piece of fashionable gossip was headed, "Marriage of the Right Hon. the Earl of Aberconway and the Lady Estelle Cressingham;" and detailed, in the usual style of such announcements, that, on a certain--I forget which day _now_--the lovely and secluded little village of Walcot, in Hampshire, presented quite a festive appearance in honour of the above-named event, the union of the young and beautiful daughter of the late Earl of Naseby to our veteran statesman; that along the route from the gates of Walcot Park to the porch of the village church were erected several arches of evergreen, tastefully surmounted by banners and appropriate mottoes. Among the former "we observed the arms of the now united noble houses of Potter and Cressingham, and the standards of the Allies now before Sebastopol. The beautiful old church of Walcot was adorned with flowers, and crowded to excess long before the hour appointed. The lovely bride was charmingly attired in white satin, elegantly trimmed with white lace, and wore a wreath of orange blossoms on her splendid dark hair, covered with a long veil, _à la juive_. The bridesmaids, six in number, were as follows:" but I omit their names as well as the list of gifts bestowed upon the noble bride, who was given away by her cousin, the young earl. "Lord Aberconway, with his ribbon of the Garter, wore the peculiar uniform of the Pottersleigh Yeomanry." "Rather a necessary addition," said Phil, parenthetically; "his lordship could scarcely have figured in the ribbon alone." "--Yeomanry, of which gallant regiment he is colonel, and looked hale and well for his years. After a choice _déjeûner_ provided for a distinguished circle, the newly-wedded pair left Walcot Park, amid the most joyous demonstrations, for Pottersleigh Hall, the ancestral seat of the noble Earl, to spend the honeymoon." "A precious flourish of penny whistles!" said Phil, when I had read, deliberately folded the paper, and thrust it into the fire, to the end that I might not be troubled by the temptation to read it all over again; and then we looked at each other steadily for a minute in silence. Forsaken! I remembered my strange forebodings now, when I had ridden to Walcot Park. They were married--married, she and old Pottersleigh! My heart seemed full of tears, yet when seating myself wearily on the camp-bed, I laughed bitterly and scornfully, as I thought over the inflated newspaper paragraph, and that the _sangre azul_ of the Earl of Aberconway must be thin and blue indeed, when compared with the red blood of my less noble self. "Come, Harry, don't laugh--in that fashion at least," said Caradoc. "I've some brandy here," he added, unslinging his canteen, "I got from a confiding little vivandière of the 10th Regiment, Infanterie de Ligne. Don't mix it with the waters of Marah, the springs of bitterness, but take a good caulker neat, and keep up your heart. _Varium et mutabile semper_--you know the last word is feminine. That is it, my boy--nothing more. Even the wisest man in the world, though he dearly loved them, could never make women out; and I fear, Harry, that you and I are not even the wisest men in the Welsh Fusileers. And now as a consolation, "'And that your sorrow may not be a dumb one, Write odes on the inconstancy of woman.'" "I loved that girl very truly, very honestly, and very tenderly, Phil," said I, in a low voice, and heedless of how he had been running on; "and she kissed me when I left her, as I then thought and hoped a woman only kisses _once_ on earth. In my sleep I have had a foreshadowing of this. Can it be that the slumber of the body is but the waking of the soul, that such thoughts came to me of what was to be?" "The question is too abstruse for me," said Caradoc, stroking his brown beard, which was now of considerable length and volume; "but don't worry yourself, Harry; you have but tasted, as I foresaw you would, of the hollow-heartedness, the puerile usages, the petty intrigues, and the high-born snobbery of those exclusives 'the upper ten thousand.' Don't think me republican for saying so; but 'there is one glory of the sun and another of the moon,' as some one writes; 'and there is one style of beauty among women which is angelic, and another which is _not_,' referring, I presume, to beauty of the spirit. We were both fated to be unlucky in our loves," continued Caradoc, taking a vigorous pull at the little plug-hole of his canteen, a tiny wooden barrel slung over his shoulder by a strap; "but do take courage, old fellow, and remember there are other women in the world in plenty." "But not for me," said I, bitterly. "Tush! think of me, of my affair--I mean my mistake with Miss Lloyd." "But she never loved you." "Neither did this Lady Estelle, now Countess of Aberconway" (I ground my teeth), "love you." "She said she did; and what has it all come to? promises broken, a plight violated, a heart trod under foot." "Come, come; don't be melodramatic--it's d--d absurd, and no use. Besides, there sounds the bugle for orders, and we shall have to relieve the trenches in an hour. So take another cigar ere you go." "She never loved me--never! never! you are right, Phil." "And yet I believe she did." "Did!" said I, angrily; "what do you mean now, Caradoc? I am in no mood to study paradoxes." "I mean that she loved you to a certain extent; but not well enough to sacrifice herself and her--" "Don't say position--hang it!" "No--no." "What then?" I asked, impatiently. "Her little luxuries, and all that she must have lost by the tenor of her father's will and her mother's bad will, or that she should have omitted to gain, had she married you, a simple captain of the 23rd Foot, instead of this old Potter--this Earl of Aberconway." "A simple captain, indeed!" "Pshaw, Harry, be a man, and think no more about the affair. It is as a tale that is told, a song that is sung, a bottle of tolerable wine that has become a marine." "_L'infidelité_ du _corps_, ou l'infidelité du _c[oe]ur_, I care not now which it was; but I am done with her now and for ever," I exclaimed, with a sudden gust of rage, while clasping on my sword. "Done--so I should think, when she is married." "But to such a contemptible dotard." "Well, there is some revenge in that." "And she could cast me aside like an old garment," said I, lapsing into tenderness again; "I, to whose neck she clung as she did on that evening we parted. There must have been some trickery--some treachery, of which we are the victims!" "Don't go on in this way, like a moonstruck boy, or, by Jove, the whole regiment will find it out; so calm yourself, for we go to the front in an hour;" and wringing my hand this kind-hearted fellow, whose offhand consolation was but ill-calculated to soothe me, left for his own tent, as he had forgotten his revolver. I was almost stupefied by the shock. Could the story be real? I looked to the little grate (poor Evans' contrivance) where the charred remains of the _Morning Post_ still flickered in the wind. Was I the same man of an hour ago? "The plains of life were free to traverse," as an elegant female writer says, "but the sunshine of old lay across them no longer. There were roses, but they were scentless--fruits, but they were tasteless--wine, but it had lost its flavour. Well, every created being must come to an hour like this, when he feels there is nothing pleasant to the palate, or grateful to the sense, agreeable to the ear, or refreshing to the heart; when man delights him not and woman still less, and when he is sick of the dream of existence." To this state had I come, and yet I had neither seen nor heard the last of her. "Estelle--Estelle!" I exclaimed in a low voice, and my arms went out into vacancy, to fall back on the camp-bed whereon I reclined. Abandoned for another; forgotten it might too probably--nay, must be. I stared up, and looked from the triangular door of the tent over the wilderness of zigzags, the sand-bags, and fascines of the trenches; over the gun-batteries to the white houses and green domes of Sebastopol, and all down the long valley of Inkermann, where the graves of the dead lay so thick and where the Russian pickets were quietly cooking their dinners; but I could see nothing distinctly. The whole features of the scenery seemed blurred, faint, and blended, for my head was swimming, my heart was sick, and all, all this was the doing of Estelle! Did no memory of sweet Winifred Lloyd come to me in my desolation of the heart? None! I could but think of the cold-blooded treachery of the one I had lost. My letter! I suddenly remembered it, and tore it open, thinking that the writer, whose hand, as I have said, I failed to recognise, might cast some light upon the matter; and to my increasing bewilderment, it proved to be from Winifred herself. A letter from her, and to _me_; what could it mean? But the first few words sufficed to explain. Craigaderyn, . . . . "My dear Captain Hardinge,--Papa has sprained his whip hand when hunting with Sir Watkins Vaughan, and so compels me to write for him." (Why should compulsion be necessary? thought I.) "You will, no doubt, have heard all about Lady Estelle's marriage by this time. She was engaged to Lord Pottersleigh _before_ she came here, it would seem, and matters were brought to an issue soon after your transport sailed. She wished Dora and me to be among her bridesmaids, but we declined; nor would papa have permitted us, had we desired to be present at the ceremony. She bade me say, if I wrote to you, that you must forgive her, as she is the victim of circumstances; that she shall ever esteem and love you as a brother, and so forth; but I agree with papa, who says that she is a cold-hearted jilt, undeserving of any man's love, and that he 'will never forgive her, even if he lived as long as Gwyllim ap Howel ap Jorwerth ap Tregaian,' the Old Parr of Wales. "We are all well at Craigaderyn, and all here send you and Mr. Caradoc kindest love. We are quite alone just now, and I often idle over my music, playing 'The Men of Harlech,' and other Welsh airs to papa. More often I wander and ride about the Martens' dingle, by Carneydd Llewellyn's hut--you remember it?--by Glendower's oak, by the Elwey, Llyn Aled, and the rocking stone, and think--think very much of you and poor Mr. Caradoc, and all that might have been." (Pretty pointed this--with which--Phil or me? Could I be uncertain?) "Next to hearing from you, our greatest pleasure at Craigaderyn is to hear about you and our own Welsh Fusileers, of whose bravery at Alma we are so justly proud; so we devour the newspapers with avidity and too often with sorrow. How is my dear pet goat?" And so, with a pretty little prayer that I might be spared, her letter ended; and hearing the voices of the adjutant and sergeant-major, I thrust it into my pocket, and set off to relieve the trenches, with less of enthusiasm and more recklessness of life than ever before possessed me, and without reflecting that I did not deserve to receive a letter so kind and prayerful as that of the dear little Welsh girl, who was so far away. It was cold that night in the trenches, nathless the Russian _fire_--yea, cold enough to freeze the marrow in one's bones; but my heart seemed colder still. In the morning, four of my company were found dead between the gabions, without a wound, and with their muskets in their hands. The poor fellows had gone to their last account--slipt away in sheer exhaustion, through lack of food, warmth, and clothing--and this was glory! CHAPTER XL.--A PERILOUS DUTY. I have said that, ere the regular hutting of the army for the winter siege began, quarters were found for me by fate elsewhere; a circumstance which came about in the following manner. All may have heard of the famous solitary ride of Lieutenant Maxse of the Royal Navy, to open a communication between headquarters and Balaclava; and it was my chance to have a similar solitary ride to perform, but, unfortunately, to fail in achieving the end that was in view. One afternoon, on being informed by the adjutant of ours that I was wanted at headquarters, I assumed my sword and sash--indeed, these appurtenances were rarely off us--and putting my tattered uniform in such order as the somewhat limited means of my "toilet-table" admitted, repaired at once, and not without considerable surprise, and some vague misgivings, to the house inhabited by Lord Raglan. I had there to wait for some time, as he was busy with some of the headquarter staff, and had just been holding a conference with certain French officers of rank, who were accompanied by their aides and orderlies. Among them I saw the fat and full-faced but soldier-like Marshal Pelissier, the future Duc de Malakoff, with his cavalry escort and banner; and grouped about the place, or departing therefrom, I saw Chasseurs d'Afrique in sky-blue jackets and scarlet trousers; Imperial Cuirassiers in helmets and corslets of glittering steel; French horse artillery with caps of fur and pelisses covered with red braid. There, too, were many of our own staff officers, with their plumed hats; even the Turkish cavalry escort of some pasha, stolid-looking fellows in scarlet fezzes, were there, their unslung carbines resting on the right thigh; and I saw some of our Land Transport Corps, in red jackets braided with black, loitering about, as if some important movement was on the tapis; but whatever had been suggested, nothing was fated to come of it. Through the buzz and Babel of several languages, I was ushered at last, by an orderly sergeant, into the little dingy room where the Commander-in-chief of our Eastern army usually held his councils or consultations, received reports, and prepared his plans. The military secretary, the chief of the staff, the adjutant-general, and some other officers, whose uniforms were all threadbare, darned, and discoloured, and whose epaulettes were tattered, frayed, and reduced almost to black wire, were seated with him at a table, which was littered with letters, reports, despatches, telegrams, and plans of Sebastopol, with the zigzags, the harbour, the valley of the Tchernaya, and of the whole Crimea. And it was not without an emotion of interest and pleasure, that I found myself before our old and amiable leader, the one-armed Lord Raglan--he whose kindly nature, charity, urbanity, and queer signature as _Fitzroy Somerset_, when military secretary, had been so long known in our army during the days of peace; and to whom the widow or the orphan of a soldier never appealed in vain. "Glad to see you, Captain Hardinge," said he, bowing in answer to my salute; "I have a little piece of duty for you to perform, and the chief of the staff" (here he turned to the future hero of the attack on the Redan) "has kindly reminded me of how well you managed the affair of the flag of truce sent to the officer on the Russian left, concerning the major of the 93rd Highlanders." I bowed again and waited. "My personal aides," he continued, "are all knocked up or engaged elsewhere just now, and I have here a despatch for Marshal Canrobert, requiring an immediate answer, as there is said to be an insurrection among the Polish troops within Sebastopol, and if so, you will readily perceive the necessity for taking instant advantage of it. At this precise time, the Marshal is at a Tartar village on the road to Kokoz." (Here his lordship pointed to a map of the Crimea.) "It lies beyond the Pass of Baidar, which you will perceive indicated there, and consequently is about thirty English miles to our rear and right. You can neither miss him nor the village, I think, by any possibility, as it is occupied by his own old corps, the 3rd Zouaves, a French line regiment, and four field guns. You will deliver to him this letter, and bring me his answer without delay." "Unless I fail, my lord." "As Richelieu says in the play, 'there is no such word as fail!'" he replied, smiling. "But, however, in case of danger, for there _are_ Cossacks about, you must take heed to destroy the despatch." "Very good, my lord--I shall go with pleasure." "You have a horse, I presume?" "I had not thought of that, my lord--a horse, no; here I can scarcely feed myself, and find no use for a horse." "Take mine--I have a spare one," said the chief of the staff, who was then a major-general and C.B. He rang the hand-bell for the orderly sergeant, to whom he gave a message. Then I had a glass or two of sherry from a simple black bottle; Lord Raglan gave me his missive sealed, and shook my hand with that energy peculiar to the one-armed, and a few minutes more saw me mounted on a fine black horse, belonging to the chief of the staff, and departing on my lonely mission. The animal I rode--round in the barrel, high in the forehead, and deep in the chest, sound on its feet and light in hand--was a thorough English roadster--a nag more difficult to find in perfection than even the hunter or racer; but his owner was fated to see him no more. I rode over to the lines of the regiment, to let some of our fellows--who all envied me, yet wished me well--know of the duty assigned me. What was it to me whether or not _she_ saw my name in despatches, in orders, or in the death list? Whether I distinguished myself or died mattered little to me, and less now to her. It was a bitter conviction; so excitement and forgetfulness alike of the past and of the present were all I sought--all I cared for. Caradoc, however, wisely and kindly suggested some alteration or modification in my uniform, as the country through which I had to pass was certainly liable to sudden raids by scouting Cossacks. So, for my red coat and bearskin, I hastily substituted the blue undress surtout, forage cap, and gray greatcoat. I had my sword, revolver, and ammunition pouch at my waist-belt. Perceiving that I was gloomy and sullen, and somewhat low-spirited in eye and bearing, Caradoc and Charley Gwynne, who could not comprehend what had "been up" with me for some time past, and who openly assured me that they envied me this chance of "honourable mention," accompanied me a little way beyond the line of sentries on our right flank. "Au revoir, old fellow! Keep up your heart and remember all I have said to you," were Phil's parting words, "and together we shall sing and be merry. I hope to keep the 1st of March in Sebastopol, and there to chorus our old mess room song;" and as he waved his hand to me, the light-hearted fellow sang a verse of a ditty we were wont to indulge in on St. David's-day, while Toby Purcell's spurs were laid on the table, and the band, preceded by the goat led by the drum-major with a salver of leeks, marched in procession round it: "Then pledge me a toast to the glory of Wales-- To her sons and her daughters, her hills and her vales; Once more--here's a toast to the mighty of old-- To the fair and the gentle, the wise and the bold; Here's a health to whoever, by land or by sea, Has been true to the Wales of the brave and the free!" And poor Phil Caradoc's voice, carolling this local ditty, was the last sound I heard, as I took the path that led first towards Balaclava and thence to the place of my destination, while the sun of the last day of November was shedding lurid and farewell gleams on the spires and white walls of Sebastopol. Many descriptions have rendered the name and features of Balaclava so familiar to all, with its old Genoese fort, its white Arnaout dwellings shaded by poplars and other trees, that I mean to skip farther notice of it, and also of the mud and misery of the place itself--the beautiful and landlocked harbour, once so secluded, then crowded with man-of-war boats and steam launches, and made horrible by the swollen and sweltering carcasses of hundreds of troop-horses, which our seamen and marines used as stepping-stones when leaping from boat to boat or to the shore. Some little episodes made an impression upon me, which I am unlikely to forget, after approaching Balaclava by a cleft between those rocky heights where our cavalry were encamped, and where, by ignominiously making draught-horses of their troopers for the conveyance of planks, they were busily erecting a town of huts that looked like a "backwood" hamlet. A picturesque group was formed by some of the kilted Highland Brigade, brawny and bearded men, their muscular limbs displayed by their singular costume, piling a cairn above the trench where some of their dead comrades lay, thus fulfilling one of the oldest customs of their country--in the words of Ossian, "raising the stones above the mighty, that they might speak to the little sons of future years." Elsewhere I saw two Frenchmen carrying a corpse on a stretcher, from which they coolly tilted it into a freshly dug hole, and began to cover it up, singing the while as cheerily as the grave-digger in _Hamlet_, which I deemed a striking proof of the demoralising effect of war--for their comrade was literally buried exactly as a dog would have been in England; and yet, that the last element of civilisation might not be wanting, a gang of "navvies" were laying down the sleepers for the first portion of the camp-railway, through the main street of Balaclava, the Bella-chiare of the adventurous Genoese. Though I did not loiter there, the narrow way was so deep with mud, and so encumbered by the débris and material of war, that my progress was very slow, and darkness was closing in on land and sea when I wheeled off to the left in the direction of Kokoz, after obtaining some brandy from a vivandière of the 12th French Infantry--not the pretty girl with the semi-uniform, the saucy smile, and slender ankles, who beats the drum and pirouettes so prettily as the orthodox stage vivandière--but a stout French female party, muffled in a bloodstained Russian greatcoat, with a tawny imp squalling at her back. I passed the ground whereon the picturesque Sardinian army was afterwards to encamp, and soon entered the lovely Baidar valley. The mountains and the dense forests made me think of Wales, for on my right lay a deep ravine with rocks and water that reflected the stars; on my left were abrupt but well-wooded crags, and I could not but look first on one side, and then on the other, with some uneasiness; for Russian riflemen might be lurking among the latter, and stray Cossacks might come prowling down the former, far in rear of Canrobert's advanced post at the Tartar village. A column such as he had with him might penetrate with ease to a distance most perilous for a single horseman; and this valley, lovely though it was--the Tempe of the Crimea--I was particularly anxious to leave behind me. I have said that I felt reckless of peril, and so I did, being reckless enough and ready enough to face any danger in front; yet I disliked the idea of being quietly "potted" by some Muscovite boor lying _en perdue_, behind a bush, and then being brained or bayoneted by him afterwards; for I knew well that those who were capable of murdering our helpless wounded on the field, would have few compunctions elsewhere. Reflection now brought another idea--a very unpleasant one--to mind. Though I was in _rear_ of this French advanced post, there was nothing to prevent Cossack scouts--active and ubiquitous as the Uhlans of Prussia--from deeming me a spy and treating me as such, if they found me there; for was not Major André executed most ignominiously by the Americans on that very charge, though taken in the uniform of the Cameronian regiment? Unfortunately for me, there were and are two roads through the Baidar valley: one by the pass, of recent construction; and the other, the ancient horse-road, which is old, perhaps, as the days of the Greeks of Klimatum. A zigzag ascent, and a gallery hewn through the granite rocks for some fifty yards or so, lead to a road from whence, by its lofty position, the whole line of shore can be seen for miles, and the sea, as I saw it then, dotted by the red top-lights of our men-o'-war and transports. The other follows for some little distance, certainly, the same route nearly, but comes ere long to the Devil's Staircase, the steps of which are trunks of trees alternated by others hewn out of the solid rock; and this perilous path lies, for some part of the way at least, between dark, shadowy, and enormous masses of impending cliffs, where any number of men might be taken by surprise. And certainly I felt my heart beat faster, with the mingled emotions of fierce excitement and stern joy, as I hooked my sword-hilt close up to my waist-belt, assured myself that the caps were on my revolver, and spurred my roadster forward. Darkness was completely set in now, and before me there twinkled one solitary star at the distant end of the gloomy and rocky tunnel through which I was pursuing my solitary way. CHAPTER XLI.--THE CARAVANSERAI. I pursued the old road just described, urging my horse to a trot where I dare do so, but often being compelled--by the rough construction and nature of the way, and at times by my painful doubts as to whether I was pursuing the right one--to moderate his pace to a walk. Frequently, too, I had to dismount and lead him by the bridle, especially at such parts as those steps of wood and stone by the Merdven or Devil's Staircase, when after passing through forests of beech and elm, walnut and filbert trees, I found myself on the summit of a rock, which I have since learned is two thousand feet above the Euxine, and from whence the snow-capped summits of the Caucasus can be seen when the weather is clear. Around me were the mountains of Yaila, rising in peaks and cliffs of every imaginable form, and fragments of rock like inverted stalactites started up here and there amidst the star-lighted scenery. Anon the way lay through a forest entirely of oaks, where the fallen leaves of the past year lay deep, and the heavy odour of their decay filled all the atmosphere. The country seemed very lonely; no shepherd's cot appeared in sight, and an intense conviction of utter solitude oppressed me. Frequently I reined in my horse and hearkened for a sound, but in vain. I knew a smattering of Arabic and that polyglot gibberish which we call Hindostani, but feared that neither would be of much service to me if I met a Tartar; and as for a Greek or Cossack, the revolver would be the only means of conferring with them. Once the sound of a distant bell struck my ear, announcing some service by night in a church or monastery among the hills; and soon, on my left, towered up the range of which Mangoup-Kaleh is the chief, crowned with the ruins of a deserted Karaite or Jewish tower, and which overlooks Sebastopol on one side, and Sebastopol on the other. After a time I came to a place where some buffaloes were grazing, beside a fountain that plashed from a little archway into a basin of stone. This betokened that some habitation must be in the vicinity; but that which perplexed me most, was the circumstance that there the old road was crossed by another: thus I was at a loss which to pursue. One might lead me to the shore of the Black Sea; another back towards Sebastopol, or to the Russian pickets in the valley of Inkermann; and the third, if it failed to be the way to Kokoz, might be a path to greater perils still. While in this state of doubt, a light, hitherto unnoticed, attracted my attention. It glimmered among some trees about a mile distant on my left, and I rode warily towards it, prepared to fight or fly, as the event might require. Other lights rapidly appeared, and a few minutes more brought me before a long rambling building of Turkish aspect, having large windows filled in with glass, a tiled roof, and broad eaves. On one side was a spacious yard enclosed by a low wall, wherein were several horses, oxen, and buffaloes tethered to the kabitkas or quaintly-constructed country carts; on the other was a kind of open shed like a penfold, where lighted lanterns were hanging and candles burning in tin sconces; and by these I could perceive a number of bearded Armenians and Tartars seated with chibouks and coffee before them, chatting gaily and laughing merrily at the somewhat broad and coarse jokes of a Stamboul Hadji, a pretended holy mendicant, whose person was as unwashed and whose attire was as meagre and tattered as that of any wandering Faquir I had ever seen in Hindostan. His beard was ample, and of wonderful blackness; his glittering eyes, set under beetling brows, were restless and cunning; his turban had once been green, the sacred colour; and he carried a staff, a wallet, a sandal-wood rosary of ninety-nine beads, and a bottle, which probably held water when nothing stronger could be procured. The Tartars, six in number, were lithe, active, and gaily-dressed fellows, with large white fur caps, short jackets of red or blue striped stuff, and loose, baggy, dark blue trousers, girt by scarlet sashes, wherein were stuck their daggers and brass-butted pistols; for, though all civilians, they were nevertheless well armed. The Armenians seemed to be itinerant merchants, or pedlars, as their packages were close beside them; and two Tartar women--the wife and daughter probably of the keeper of the khan--who were in attendance, bringing fresh relays of coffee, cakes, and tobacco, wore each a white feredji, which permitted nothing of their form to be seen, save the sparkling dark eyes and yellow-booted feet, as it covered them so completely that each looked like nothing else than a walking and talking bundle of white linen. The whole group, as I came upon it thus suddenly, when seen by the flickering light of the candles and lanterns, had a very picturesque effect; but the idea flashed upon me, that as all these men were, too probably, subjects of the Russian empire, I ran some risk among them; and on my unexpected appearance the Tartars started, eyed each other and me, in doubt how to act, and instinctively laid hands on their weapons, like men who were wont to use them. The Armenians changed colour and laid down their pipes, fearing that I was but the precursor of a foraging party; and even the Hadji paused in his story, and placed a hand under his short cloak, where no doubt a weapon was concealed. All seemed doubtful what to make of me. I heard "Bashi-bazouk" (Irregular) muttered, and "Frank," too. My gray greatcoat enabled me, in their unprofessional eyes, to pass for anything. If a Russian officer, they feared me; if one of the Allies, I was the friend--however unworthy an instrument--of the successor of Mahomet; one of those who had come to fight his battles against the infidels of the Russian-Greek church; so either way I was pretty secure of the Tartars' good will; and boldly riding forward, I proceeded to "air" some of the Arabic I had picked up in the East, by uttering the usual greeting; to which the keeper of the khan replied by a low salaam, bending down as if to take the dust from my right boot and carry it to his lips, while more than once he said, "_Hosh ghieldiniz!_" (_i. e_., Welcome!) Then a Tartar, as a token of goodwill, took a pipe from his mouth and presented it to me, while another offered me sliced water-melon on an English delph-plate. "_Aan coon slaheet nahss?_" (Have you any coppers?) whined the Hadji. I gave him a five-piastre piece, on which he salaamed to the earth again and again, saying, "_Kattel herac! kattel herac!_" (Thank you, sir.) The meeting was a narrow escape, for I might have fallen among Russians; but fortunately not one of their nation happened at that moment to be about the place. I laid some money on the low board around which they were seated, and asked for coffee and a chibouk, which were brought to me, when I dismounted. However, I remained near my horse, that I might vault into the saddle and be off on the shortest notice. On inquiring if I was on the right road for Kokoz, the host of the establishment shook his head, and informed me that I was several versts to the left of it. I next asked whether there were any Russian troops in the immediate neighbourhood. Still eyeing me keenly and dubiously, several of the Tartars replied in the affirmative; and the tattered Hadji, whose goodwill I had won by my peace-offering, told me that a party of Cossacks were now hovering in the Baidar Valley, the very place through which I had passed, and must have to repass, unless for safety I remained with Canrobert's flying column. But then my orders were to return with his answer, and without delay. Here was a pleasant predicament! After mature consideration I resolved to wait for daylight, when the Hadji promised to be my guide to the Tartar village, where the Franks were posted, and which he led me to understand was nearer the base of Mangoup-Kaleh than the town of Kokoz; and in the meantime, he added, he should resume a story, in the narration of which he had been interrupted by my arrival. This announcement was greeted with a hearty clapping of hands; the women came nearer; all adjusted themselves in attitudes of attention, for oral storytelling is the staple literature of the East. Thus their thoughts, suspicions, and conjectures were drawn from me; and as all seemed good-humoured, I resolved to make the best of the situation and remain passive and patient, though every moment expecting to hear the clank of hoofs or the jingle of accoutrements, and to see the glitter of Cossack lances; and while I sat there, surveying the singular group of which I formed one, the quaint aspect of the caravanserai on one side, the dark forest lands and starlit mountains on the other, my thoughts, in spite of me, reverted to the news I had so lately heard--to her I had now lost for ever, and who, in her splendid English home, was far away from all such wild scenes and stirring perils as those which surrounded me. The story told by the Hadji referred to a piece of court scandal, which, had he related it somewhere nearer the Golden Horn, might have cost him his head; and to me it became chiefly remarkable from the circumstance that, soon after the Crimean War, a portion of it actually found its way as news from the East into the London papers; but all who heard it in the khan listened with eyes dilated and mouth agape, for it was replete with that treachery and lust of cruelty which are so peculiarly oriental. After extolling in flowing and exaggerated terms the beauty of Djemila Sultana, whom he called the third and youngest daughter of the Sultan Abdul Medjid, the Hadji told us that he had been present when she was bestowed in marriage upon Mahmoud Jel-al-adeen Pasha, to whom, notwithstanding the charms of this royal lady, the possession of her hand was anything but enviable, as oriental princesses usually treat worse than slaves their husbands, leading them most wretched lives, in consequence of their tyrannical spirit, their caprice, pride, and jealousy of other women. Now the Sultana Djemila was no exception to this somewhat general rule, and having discovered by the aid of her royal papa's chief astrologer, the Munadjim Bashee, that her husband had purchased and secluded in a pretty little kiosk near the waterside at Pera a beautiful Circassian, whom he was wont to visit during pretended absences on military duty, she found means to have the girl carried off, and ordered the Capi Aga, or chief of the White Eunuchs, an unscrupulous Greek, to decapitate her; an operation which he performed by one stroke of his sabre, for the neck of the victim was very slender, and shapely as that of a white swan. Not contented with this, she resolved still farther to be revenged upon her husband the Pasha when he returned to dinner. Seating herself in the divan-hanee while the meal of which the Pasha was to partake alone--as women, no matter what their rank may be, never eat with men in the East--was being spread, she rose up at his entrance, and rendering the usual homage accorded by wives (much to his astonishment), she then clapped her white hands, on which the diamonds flashed, as a signal to serve up the dinner. Crushed and abashed by a long system of domestic tyranny and despair, Mahmoud Jel-al-adeen, who feared his wife as he had never feared the Russians, against whom he had fought valiantly at Silistria, failed to perceive the malignant light that glittered in the beautiful black eyes of Djemila. But a fear of coming evil was upon him, as on that day, when he had ridden past the great Arsenal, he had seen a crow fly towards him; in the East an infallible sign of something about to befall him, as it was a crow that first informed Adam that Abel was slain. "So I pray you, Djemila, neither to taunt nor revile me to-day," said he, "for a strange gloom is upon me." She laughed mockingly, and Mahmoud shivered, for this laugh was often the precursor of taunts that could never be recalled or forgotten, and of having his beard rent, his turban knocked off, and his lips--the same lips at whose utterance his brigade of three thousand Mahomediyes trembled--beaten with the heel of her tiny slipper. But she began to storm as was her wont; and then, while her husband's fingers went into the pillau from time to time, there began their usual taunting discussion, with quotations from the Koran, "which, as all the world knows, or ought to know," continued the Hadji, "is the one and only book for laws, civil, moral, religious, and domestic." "Doth not the Prophet say," she exclaimed, closing the slender tips of her henna-dyed fingers, "in the fourth chapter entitled 'Women,' and revealed at Mecca, act with equity towards them?" "Yes; but he adds, 'If ye act not with equity towards orphans of the female sex, take in marriage such other as please you, two, three, or four; but not more." "So--so; and your fancy was for a slave!" "_Was?_" stammered Mahmoud; then he added, defiantly, yet tremulous with apprehension the while, "A Circassian, whose skin is as the egg of an ostrich--her hair as a shower of sunbeams." "This to me!" she exclaimed; and starting from the divan, she smote him thrice on the mouth with the heel of her embroidered slipper. The eyes of the Pasha flashed fire; yet remembering who she was, he sighed and restrained his futile wrath, and said, "If you will quote the Prophet, remember that he says in chapter iv., 'Men shall have pre-eminence above women, because of those advantages wherein God hath caused one of them to excel the other.'" Djemila laughed derisively and fanned herself. "Who dared to tell you of this slave girl?" asked Mahmoud, glancing nervously at the pretty little slipper; "who, I demand?" "The wire of the Infidels, that passes over men's houses, and reveals the secrets of all things therein--even those of the harem," said she, laughing, but with fierce triumph now; "yea, telling more than is known by the Munadjim Bashee himself." The Pasha knew not what to say to this; he quaffed some sherbet to keep himself cool, and then ground his teeth, resolving, if he dared, to have all the telegraph wires in his neighbourhood cut down; indeed, about this time, such was the terror the Turks had of those mysterious speaking wires, that in Constantinople, to prevent their destruction as telltales, a few human heads were placed upon the supporting poles by order of Stamboul Effendi, or chief of the police. "Thou shalt be stoned by order of my brother, and according to the holy law!" said Djemila, her proud lips curling and quivering. "Woman, she is but a slave--an odalisque!" "Whom you would marry before the kadi?" "Yes," said Mahmoud, through his teeth, for his temper was rising fast. "And you love her?" "Alas, yes--God and the Prophet alone know how well!" said the Pasha, whose head drooped as he mentally compared the sweet gentleness of his Circassian girl with the fiery fury of the royal bride he had been compelled to espouse, as _a cheap reward_ for his military services. "_Chabauk!_" exclaimed Djemila. "Serve the next dish. Eat, eat, I say, and no more of this!" The cover was removed by a trembling servant, and there lay before the Pasha Mahmoud the head of the poor Circassian girl--the masses of golden hair he had so frequently caressed, the eyes, now glazed, he had loved to look on, and the now pale lips he had kissed a thousand times in that lonely kiosk beside the sea. "There is your dessert--_alfiert olsun!_" (May it do you good!) exclaimed Djemila, with flashing eyes and set teeth. Mahmoud, horror-struck, had only power to exclaim, as he threw his hands and turned his eyes upward, "My love--my murdered love--_Allah bereket versin!_" (May God receive your soul!) and then fell back on his divan, and expired. As he had prior to this drunk some sherbet, it was whispered abroad, ere long, that the poor Pasha had been poisoned; but as no examination after death took place, the high rank of his wife precluding it, it was given out that he had died of apoplexy. So he was laid in the Place of Sleep, with his turban on, his toes tied together, and his face turned towards Mecca, and there was an end of it with him; but not so with the Capi Aga, whom the Sultan, for being guilty of obeying Djemila's order to execute the odalisque, subjected to an old Turkish punishment now, and long before that day, deemed as obsolete. He was taken to the Sirdan Kapussi, or Dungeon Gate of Stamboul, close by the Fruit Market, and placed in a vaulted room, where he was stripped of all his clothes by the Capidgi Bashi, who then brought in a large copper plate or table, supported by four pedestals of iron, and underneath which was a grate of the same metal, containing a fire of burning coals, at the sight of which a shriek of despair escaped the miserable Greek. When the plate of copper had become quite hot, the executioner took the turban-cloth of the doomed man, unwound it, and placing it round his waist, by the aid of two powerful hamals had it drawn tight, until his body was compressed into the smallest possible place. Then by one blow of his sabre he slashed the hapless wretch in _two_, and placing his upper half instantly upon the burning copper, the hissing blood was staunched thereby, and he was kept alive, but in exquisite torture, till the time for which he was ordained to endure it was fulfilled. He was then lifted off, and instantly expired. Eagerly, with fixed eyes, half-open mouths, and in hushed silence, forgetting even to smoke, and permitting their chibouks to die out, his audience listened to this most improbable story, which the cunning Hadji related with wonderful spirit and gesticulation; and so "having supped full with horrors," at its close they showered coins--kopecs, paras, and even English pennies--upon the narrator. The whole story was a hoax, the Sultan having no such daughter as Djemila, the names of the three sultanas being quite unlike it; but that made as little difference then in Crim Tartary as it did afterwards nearer Cornhill; and Charley Gwynne and others of ours to whom I mentioned it were wont to call it "the bounce of the cold chop and the hot plate." CHAPTER XLII.--THE TCHERNIMORSKI COSSACKS. The night passed slowly with me in the khan. After the conclusion of the Hadji's story, the travellers who were halting there coiled themselves up to sleep, on the divan or on their carpets or felt mats; but I was too much excited, too wakeful and suspicious of the honest intentions of all about me, too anxious for dawn and the successful completion of the important duty confided to me, to attempt following their example, or even to allow that my horse should be unsaddled. I simply relaxed his girths, and remained in the travellers' common apartment, listening to every passing sound, and watching the sharp oriental features of the black-bearded and picturesque-looking sleepers by the smoky light of a solitary oil-lamp, which swung from a dormant beam that traversed the apartment. The arched rafters of the ceiling were painted in alternate stripes of white and black. There was a fireplace or open chimney, where smouldered on the hearthstone a heap of branches and dry fir-cones, the embers of which reddened and whitened in the downward puffs of wind that eddied in the vent; and round the walls were rows of shining tin plates, and under these were other rows of white cloths, like towels in shape and size, but worked and embroidered with gold thread, all made and prepared before marriage by the Tartar hostess in her bridal days. All these quaint objects appeared to recede or fade from my sight, and sleep was just beginning to overpower me, when my sleeve was twitched by the Hadji, who pointed to the snow-covered summits of the mountains then visible from the windows, and becoming tipped with red light; and stiff and weary I started up, to have my horse corned and watered for the task of that day, the close of which I could little foresee. The wife of the Tartar placed before me, on a table only a foot high and little more than a foot square, a large tin tray, containing some hard boiled eggs, black rye bread, and a vessel filled with the sweet juice of pears. It was a strange and humble repast, but proved quite Apician to me after our mode of messing before Sebastopol. I had barely ended this simple Tartar breakfast, when the Stamboul Hadji, who was to be my guide to Canrobert's post near Kokoz, exclaimed, in a startled voice, "_Allah kerim_--look!" I followed the direction indicated by his hand and dark, gleaming eyes, and with emotions of a very chequered kind saw, through an open window, "a clump of spears," as Scott would have called them; in short, a party of Cossacks riding slowly and leisurely down the mountain-path that led straight towards the house. In the eastern sunlight the tips of their lances shone like fiery stars; but no other appointments glittered about them; for unlike the gay light cavalry of France and Britain, their uniforms are generally of the most plain and dingy description. As yet they were about a mile distant, and if I would escape them, there was not a moment to be lost. I rushed to my horse, looked hastily but surely to bridle-bit, to saddle-girth, and stirrup-leather; and without waiting for the Hadji, who, being afoot, would only serve to retard my pace and lead to my capture, I gave some money to the Tartar hostess, and galloped away, diving deep into the forest, hoping that I had been as yet unseen, and should escape if none of the people at the caravanserai betrayed me, either under the inspiration of cowardice or malevolence. To avoid this party, who, it would appear, were coming right along the road I should pursue, I rode due eastward towards the ridge of Mount Yaila, which rose between me and the Black Sea, and which extends from Balaclava nearly to Alushta, a distance of fifty miles. The day was clear and lovely, though cold and wintry, as the season was so far advanced, and I proceeded lightly along a narrow forest path, the purely-bred animal I rode seeming scarcely to touch, but merely to brush, the dewy grass with its small hoofs. The air was loaded by the fragrance of the firs; here and there, between the dark and bronze-looking glades, fell the golden gleams of the morning sun; and at times I had a view of the sombre sea of cones that spread over the hills in countless lines, and in places untrodden, perhaps, save by the wolf and the badger; overhead the black Egyptian vulture hovered in mid-air, the brown partridges whirred up before my horse's feet, and the hare, too, fled from its lurking-place among the long grass; but by wandering thus deviously in such a lonely place, though I might avoid those ubiquitous Cossacks, who were scattered "broadcast" over all Crim Tartary, I should never reach Kokoz, or deliver that despatch, which, if taken by the enemy, I meant to destroy. Once or twice I came upon some Tartar huts, whose occupants seemed to be chiefly women--the men being all probably employed as military wagoners, in the forest or afield; but they drew close their yashmacs and shut their doors at my approach; so midday came on, and I was still in ignorance of the route to pursue, and in a district so primitive that, when the simple natives saw me scrape a lucifer-match to light a cigar, they were struck dumb with fear and wonder. Vague, wild, and romantic dreams and hopes came into my mind, that, if I perished and my name appeared in the _Gazette_, Estelle would weep for me; and in my absurd, most misplaced regard, and almost boyish enthusiasm, I felt that I should cheerfully have given up the life God gave me, for a tear from this false girl, could I be but certain that she would have shed it. Ay, there was the rub! Would she shed it, or the sacrifice be worth the return? "Bah!" thought I, as I bit my lip, and uttering something like a malediction rode sullenly and madly on. "Why cling thus to the dead past?" thought I, after a time. "Pshaw! Phil Caradoc was right in all he urged upon me. Yet that past is so sweet--it was so brilliant and tender--that memory cannot but dwell upon it with fondness and regret, with passion and bitterness." Pausing for nearly an hour, my whole "tiffin" being a damp cheroot, I loosened my horse's girths for the time, and turned his quivering and distended nostrils to the keen winter blast that blew from the Euxine, and then I remounted. After wandering dubiously backward and forward, and seeking to guide my motions by the sun, just as I was about to penetrate into a narrow rocky defile, the outer end of which I hoped would bring me to some proper roadway or place where my route could be ascertained, the distant sound of a Cossack trumpet fairly in my front, and responded to by another apparently but some fifty yards in my rear, made me rein in my horse, while my heart beat wildly. "Cossacks again!" I exclaimed, for I was evidently between two scouting parties, and if I escaped one, was pretty certain to be captured by the other. Instinctively I guided my horse aside into a clump of wild pear-trees, the now leafless stems and branches of which I greatly feared would fail to conceal either it or me; but no nearer lurking place was nigh, and there I waited and watched, my spirit galled and my heart swollen with natural excitement and anxiety. Death seemed very close to me at that moment; yet I sat in my saddle, revolver in hand, the blade of my drawn sword in the same grasp with my reins, and ready for instant use, as I was resolved to sell my life dearly. Preoccupied, I had been unconscious for some time past that the cold had been increasing; that the sun, lately so brilliant, had become obscured in sombre gray clouds, and even that snow had begun to fall. Delicate and white as floating swans'-down fell the flakes over all the scenery. On my clothing and on my horse-furniture it remained white and pure; but on the roadway I had to traverse it speedily became half-frozen mud. If I escaped these scouting parties my horse-tracks might yet betray me, and I thought vainly of the foresight of Robert Bruce when he fled from London over a snow-covered country with his horse-shoes inverted. If I escaped them! I was not left long in uncertainty of my fate in that respect. Riding in double file, and led by an officer who wore the usual long coat with silver shoulder-straps and a stiff flat forage-cap, a party of forty Cossacks issued slowly from the defile. Their leader was either a staff-officer or a member of some other force, as his uniform was quite different from theirs, which declared them to be Tchernimorski Cossacks, the tribe who inhabit the peninsula of Tamar, and all the country between the Kuban and Asof, being literally the Cossacks of the Black Sea, and natives of the district. They carried their cartridges ranged across their breast in rows of tin tubes, _à la Circassienne_, and were all bronzed, bearded, and rough-looking men, whose whole bearing spoke of Crimean and Circassian service, of hard outpost work among the wild Caucasus, of many a bloody conflict with Schamyl--conflicts in which quarter was neither asked nor given! I had never been quite so near those wild warriors of the Russian steppes before, and have no desire ever to be so again, at least under the same dubious circumstances. They wore little squab-shaped busbies of brown fur; sheepskin shoubahs, or cloaks, over their coarse green uniforms; and had trusses of straw and bags of corn so secured over the shoulders and cruppers of their small shaggy horses, that but little more of the latter were visible than their noses and tails. They rode with their knees high and stirrup-leathers short, their lances slung behind them, and carbines rested on the right thigh. Captivity or escape, life or death, were in the balance as they slowly rode onward; but favoured by the already failing light and the falling snow, I am now inclined to think that my figure should have escaped even their keen and watchful eyes, had not evil fortune caused my horse, on discovering a mare or so among their cattle, after snuffing the air with quivering nostrils, to whinny and to neigh! At that moment we were not more than fifty yards apart. A shout, or rather a series of wild cries, escaped the Cossacks. I pressed the spurs into the flanks of my gallant black horse, and he sprang away with a wild bound; while the bullets from nearly twenty carbines whistled past me harmlessly, thank heaven, and I rode steadily away--away. I cared not in what direction now, so that the more pressing danger was eluded, while cries and threats, and shot after shot followed me; but I had no great fear of them so long as they fired from the saddle, experience having taught me that even the best-trained cavalry are but indifferent marksmen. Before me rose the green ridge of Mount Yaila; the ground was somewhat open there, being pastoral hill-slopes gradually culminating in those peaks, from whence, in a clear day, the snow-clad summits of the Caucasus can be discerned; and to reach a ravine or cleft in the hills before me, I strained every effort of my horse, hoping, with the coming night, to escape, or find some shelter by the seashore. The idea was vague, uncertain, and wild, I know; but I had no other alternative save to halt, wheel about, and sell my life as best I could at terrible odds; while to prevent me eluding them, the Cossacks had gradually opened out their files into a wide semicircle, lest I should seek to escape by some sudden flank movement; and all kept their horses--wiry, fiery, and active little brutes--well in hand. Their leader was better mounted and kept far in advance of them--unpleasantly close on my flanks, indeed--but still his nag was no match for the noble English horse I rode; and so as the blue shadows lengthened and deepened in the snow-coated valley, I began to breathe more freely, and to think, or hope, there was perhaps a chance for me after all. Perhaps some of the Cossacks began to think so, for they dismounted, and, while the rest kept fiercely and closely in pursuit, levelled their carbines over their saddles, over each other's shoulders, or with left elbow firmly planted on the knee, and thus took quiet and deliberate pot-shots at me; and two had effect on the hind legs of my horse, tending seriously to injure his speed and strength; and as each ball struck him he gave a snort, and shivered with pain and terror. On and on yet up the mountain valley! An emotion of mockery, defiance, and exultation almost filled me--the exultation of the genuine English racing spirit--on finding that I was leaving the most of them behind, and was already well through the vale, or cleft, in the mountains, the slopes of which were then as easy to traverse as if coursing on the downs of Sussex; and already I could see, some three miles distant, the waters of the Euxine, and the smoke of our war-steamers cruising off Yalta and Livadia. I looked back. The Cossack leader was very close to me now, and five of his men, all riding with lance in hand, as they had probably expended their ammunition, were but a few horse-lengths behind him. I could perceive that he had also armed himself with a lance, and felt assured that in his rage at having had so long and futile a pursuit, he would certainly not receive my sword, even if I offered it, as a prisoner of war; so I resolved to shoot him as soon as he came within range of my "Colt," the six chambers of which I had been too wary to discharge as yet. Checking my panting and bleeding horse for a second or two, to let the galloping Russian come closer, I fired at him under my bridle arm, and a mocking laugh informed me that my Parthian shot had gone wide of its mark. Not venturing to fire again, I continued to spur my black horse on still; for now the friendly twilight had descended on the mountains and the sea, whose waves at the horizon were yet reddened by the farewell rays of the winter sun as he sank beyond them. Suddenly the character of the ground seemed to change--vacancy yawned before me, and I found myself within some twenty yards of a pretty high limestone cliff that overhung the water! The hand of fate seemed on me now, and reining round my horse, I found myself almost face to face with the leader of the Cossacks; and all that passed after this occurred in shorter time than I can take to write it. Uttering an exulting cry, he raised himself in his stirrups, and savagely launched at me with all his force the Cossack spear. I eluded it by swerving my body round; but it pierced deeply the off flank of my poor horse, and hung dangling there, with the crimson blood pouring from the wound and smoking upward from the snow. The animal was plunging wildly and madly now, yet I fired the five remaining pistol shots full at the Russian ere he could draw his sword; and one at least must have taken effect somewhere, for he fell almost beneath my horse's hoofs, and as he did so his cap flew off, and I recognised Volhonski--whom, by a singular coincidence, I thus again encountered--Count Volhonski, the Colonel of the Vladimir Infantry! At the same moment I was fiercely charged by the five advanced Cossacks, with their levelled lances, and with my horse was literally hurled over the cliffs into the sea, the waves of which I heard bellowing below me. Within the pace of one pulsation--one respiration--as we fell whizzing through the air for some sixty feet together, I seemed to live all my past life over again; but I have no language wherewith to express the mingled bitterness and desolation that came over my soul at that time. Estelle lost to me; life, too, it seemed, going, for I must be drowned or taken--taken but to die. The remembrance of all I had loved and of all who loved me; all that I had delighted in--the regiment, which was my pride--my friends and comrades, and all that had ever raised hope or fancy, or excited emulation--seemed lost to me, as the waves of the Black Sea closed over my head, and I went down to die, my fate unknown, and even in my grave, "unhousled, disappointed, unaneled." Even now as I write, when the danger has long since passed away, and when the sun has shone again in all his glory on me, in my dreams I am sometimes once more the desperate and despairing fellow I was then. CHAPTER XLIII.--WINIFRED'S SECRET. It was Christmas-eve at Craigaderyn as well as before Sebastopol, and all over God's land of Christendom--the "Land of Cakes," perhaps, excepted, as Christmas and all such humanising holidays were banished thence as paganish, by the acts of her Parliament and her "bigots of the Iron Time," as in England by Cromwell, some eighty years later, for a time. A mantle of gleaming white covered all mighty Snowdon, the tremendous abysses of Carneydd Llewellyn, and the lesser ranges of Mynyddhiraeth. Llyn Aled and Llyn Alwen were frozen alike, and the Conway at some of its falls exhibited a beard of icicles that made all who saw them think of the friendly giant--old Father Christmas himself! Deep lay the snow in the Martens' dingle and under all the oaks of the old forest and chase; for it was one of those hearty old English yules that seem to be passing away with other things, or to exist chiefly in the fancy of artists, and which, with their concomitants of cold without and warmth and glowing hospitality within, seemed so much in unison with an old Tudor mansion like Craigaderyn--a genuine Christmas, like one of the olden time, when the yule-log was an institution, when hands were shaken and faces brightened, kind wishes expressed, and hearts grew glad and kind. But on this particular Christmas-eve Winifred and Dora were not at the Court, but with some of their lady friends were busy putting the finishing touches to the leafy decorations of the parish church, for the great and solemn festival of the morrow, with foliage cut from the same woods and places where the Druids procured similar decorations for their temples, as it is simply a custom--an ancient usage--which has survived the shock of invading races and changing creeds. The night was beautiful, clear, and frosty, and to those who journeyed along the hard and echoing highway the square tower of the old church, loaded alike by snow and ivy, could be seen to loom, darkly and huge, against the broad face of the moon, that seemed to hang like a silver shield or mighty lamp amid the floating clouds, and right in a cleft between the mountains. The heavens were brilliant with stars; and lines of light, varied by the tinting of heraldic blazons and quaint scriptural subjects, fell from the traceried and mullioned windows of the ancient church on the graves and headstones in the burial-place around it; while shadows flitted to and fro within--those of the merry-hearted and white-handed girls who were so cheerily at work, and whose soft voices could be heard echoing under the groined arches in those intervals when the chimes ceased in the belfry far above them. Huge icicles depended from the wyverns and dragons, through whose stony mouths the rain of fully five centuries had been disgorged by the gutters of the old church, and being coated with snow, the obelisks and other mementos of the dead had a weird and ghostlike effect in the frosty moonlight. In the cosy porch of the church were Sir Madoc Lloyd and his hunting bachelor friend, Sir Watkins Vaughan, each solacing himself with a cigar while waiting for the ladies, to escort whom home they had driven over from the Court after dinner in Sir Watkins' bang-up dog-cart. While smoking and chatting (about the war of course, as no one spoke of anything else then), they peeped from time to time at the picturesque vista of the church, where garlands of ivy and glistening holly, green and white, with scarlet berries, and masses of artificial flowers, were fast making gay the grim Norman arches and sturdy pillars, with their grotesque capitals and quaint details. Nor were the tombs and trophies of the Lloyds of other times forgotten; so the old baronet watched with a pleased smile the slender fingers of his young daughter as they deftly wreathed with holly and bay the rusty helmet that whilom Madoc ap Meredyth wore at Flodden and Pinkey, her blue eyes radiant the while with girlish happiness, and her hair as usual in its unmanageable masses rolling down her back, and seeming in the lights that flickered here and there like gold shaded away with auburn. The curate, a tall, thin, and closely-shaven man, in a "Noah's-ark coat" with a ritualistic collar, stood irresolutely between the sisters, though generally preferring the graver Winifred to the somewhat hoydenish Dora, who insisted on appropriating his services in the task of weaving and tying the garlands; but he was little more than an onlooker, as the ladies seemed to have taken entire possession of the church and reduced him to a well-pleased cipher. At last Sir Watkins, a pleasant and gentlemanly young man, though somewhat of the "horsey" and fox-hunting type, who had a genuine admiration for Winifred, and had actually proposed for her hand (but, like poor Phil Caradoc, had done so in vain), seemed to think that he was letting his reverence have the ladies' society too exclusively, tossed his cigar into the snow, entered the church, and joined them; while Sir Madoc preferred to linger in the porch and think over the changes each of those successive festivals saw, and of the old friends who were no longer here to share them with him. "Here comes Sir Watkins, to make himself useful, at last!" said Dora, clapping her hands, as she infinitely preferred the fox-hunter to the parson. "I shall insist upon him going up the long ladder, and nailing all those leaves over that arch." But Winifred, to whom his rather clumsy attentions, however quietly offered, were a source of secret annoyance, drew nearer her female friends, four gay and handsome girls from London, who were spending Christmas at the Court (but have nothing else to do with our story), and whose eyes all brightened as the young and eligible baronet joined them. But for the charm which the presence of Winifred always had for him, and the pleasure of attending on her and the other ladies, Sir Watkins would infinitely have preferred, to a cold draughty church on Christmas night, Sir Madoc's cosy "snuggery," or the smoking-room at the Court, where they could discuss matters equine and canine, reckon again how many braces of grouse, black-cock, and ptarmigan they lad "knocked over" that day, or discuss the comparative merits of coursing in well-fenced Leicestershire, and in Sussex, where the downs are all open and free as the highway, or other kindred topics, through the medium of hot brandy-and-water. "Now, Sir Watkins, here are my garlands and there is a ladder," said Dora. "Any mistletoe among them, Miss Dora?" he asked, laughing. "No; we leave the arrangement of that mysterious plant to such Druids as you; but here are some lovely holly-berries," said Dora, holding a bunch over the head of one of her companions, and kissing her with all that _empressement_ peculiar to young ladies. "By Jove," said the baronet, with a positive sigh, "I quite agree with some fellow who has written that 'two women kissing each other is a misapplication of one of God's best gifts.'" Glancing at Winifred, who looked so handsome in her cosy sealskin jacket, with its cuffs and collar of silver-coloured grebe, the bachelor curate smiled faintly, and said, while playing nervously with his clerical billycock. "I do not plead for aught approaching libertinism, but I do think that to kiss in friendship those we love seems a simple and innocent custom. In Scripture we have it as a form of ceremonious salutation, as we may find in the fourteenth chapter of Genesis, and in first Samuel, where the consecration of the Jewish kings to regal authority was sealed by a kiss from the officiator in the ceremony." "And we have also in Genesis the courtship of Jacob and the 'fair damsel' Rachel," said Dora, looking up from her task with her bright face full of fun, "wherein we are told that 'Jacob kissed Rachel, and then lifted up his voice, and _wept_.' If any gentleman did so after kissing me, I am sure that I should die of laughter." "We are having quite a dissertation on this most pleasant of civilised institutions," said Sir Watkins, merrily, as he flicked away a cobweb here and there with his silver-mounted tandem whip; "have you nothing to say on the subject, Miss Lloyd--no apt quotation?" "None," replied Winifred, dreamily, while twirling a spray of ivy round her white and tapered fingers. "None--after all your reading?" "Save perhaps that a kiss one may deem valueless and but a jest may be full of tender significance to another." "You look quite _distraite_, Winny, dear, as you make this romantic admission," said one of her friends. "Do I--or did I?" she asked, colouring. "Yes. Of what or of _whom_ were you thinking?" "Such a deuced odd theme you have all got upon!" said Sir Watkins, perceiving how Winifred's colour had deepened at her own thoughts. "But how funny--how delightful!" exclaimed the girls, laughing together; while Dora added, with something like a mock sigh, as she held up a crape rose, "When last I wore this rose in my hair, I danced with little Mr. Clavell--and he is spending his Christmas before Sebastopol! Poor dear fellow--poor Tom Clavell!" Winifred's colour faded away, her usual calm and self-possessed look returned; and, stooping down, she bent all her energies to weave an obstinate spray of ivy round the carved base of a pillar, some yards distant from the group. "Permit me to be your assistant, Miss Lloyd," said the baronet, in a low voice and with an earnest manner. "Miss Dora must excuse me; but I don't see the fun of craning my neck up there from the top of a twelve-foot ladder." Winifred started a little impatiently, for as he stooped by her side, his long fair whiskers brushed her brow. "Do I annoy you?" he asked, gently. "O no; but I feel nervous to-night, and wish our task were ended." "It soon will be, if we work together thus. But you promised to tell me, Miss Lloyd, why your old gamekeeper would not permit me to shoot that hare in the Martens' dingle, to-day." "Need I tell you, Sir Watkins--a Welshman?" "You forget that my place is in South Wales, almost on the borders of Monmouthshire, and this may be a local superstition." "It is." "Well, I am all attention," said he, looking softly down on the girl's wonderfully thick and beautiful eyelashes. "The story, as I heard it once from dear mamma, runs thus: Ages ago, there took shelter in our forests at Pennant Melangell, the daughter of a Celtic king, called St. Monacella, to whom a noble had proposed marriage; one whom she could not love, and could never love, but on whom her father was resolved to bestow her." "By Jove!" commented Sir Watkins, while poor Winifred, feeling the awkwardness of saying all this to a man she had rejected, became troubled and coloured deeply; "and so, to escape her tormentors, she fled to the wilderness." "Yes, and there she dwelt in peace for fifteen years, without seeing the face of a man, till one day Brochwel, Prince of Powis, when hunting, discovered her, and was filled with wonder to find in the depth of the wild forest a maiden of rare beauty, at prayer on her knees beside a holy well; and still greater was his wonder to find that a hare his dogs had pursued had sought refuge by her side, while they shrank cowering back with awe. Brochwel heard her story; and taking pity, gave to God and to her some land to be a sanctuary for all who fled there; she became the patron saint of hares, and for centuries the forest there teemed with them; and even at this hour our old people believe that no bullet can touch a hare, if any one cries in time, 'God and St. Monacella be with thee!'" "A smart little nursery legend," said Sir Watkins, who perhaps knew it well, though he had listened for the pure pleasure of having her to talk to him, and him alone. "It is one of the oldest of our Welsh superstitions," said Winifred, somewhat piqued by his tone. "Why are you so cross with me?" he asked, while venturing just to touch her hand, as he tied a spray of ivy for her. "Cross--I, with you?" "Reserved, then." "I am not aware, Sir Watkins, that I am either; but please don't begin to revert to--to--" "The subject on which we spoke so lately?" "Yes." "Ah, Miss Lloyd--my earnest and loving proposal to you." "In pity say no more about it!" said Winifred, colouring again, but with intense annoyance at herself for having drawn forth the remark. "Well, Miss Lloyd, pardon me; I am but a plain fellow in my way, and your good papa understands me better than you do." "And likes you better," said she, smiling. "I am sorry to be compelled to admit that such is the case; but remember the maxim of Henry IV. of France." "Why--the roses please--what was it?" "There are more flies caught by one spoonful of honey than by ten tuns of vinegar." "Thanks, very much, for the maxim," replied Winifred, proudly and petulantly; "but I hope I am not quite of the nature of vinegar, and I don't wish to catch flies or anything else." It was now Sir Watkins' turn to blush, which he did furiously, for her proud little ways perplexed him; but she added, with a laugh, "The base of the next pillar requires our attention, and then I think the decorations are ended. Do let the cobwebs alone with your whip, and assist me, if you would please me." "There is not in all the world a girl I would do more to please," said Sir Watkins, earnestly, his blue eyes lighting up with honest enthusiasm as he spoke in a low and earnest tone, "and I know that there is not in all England another girl like you, Winifred: you quite distance them all, and it is more than I can understand how it comes to pass that those who--who--don't love you--" "Well, what, Sir Watkins?" "Can love any one else!" said he, confusedly, while smoothing his fair moustache, for there was a quick flash in the black eyes of Winifred Lloyd that puzzled him. In fact, though he knew it not, or was without sufficient perception to be aware of it, this was an offhand style of love-making that was infinitely calculated to displease if not to irritate her. "You flatter me!" said she, her short upper lip curling with an emotion of disdain she did not care at that moment to conceal. "Does it please you?" "No." "I am sorry for that, as we are generally certain of the gratitude at least, if not the love, of those we flatter." Much more of this sort of thing, almost sparring, passed between them; for Sir Watkins, piqued by her rejection of him, would not permit himself again as yet to address her in the language of genuine tenderness, and most unwisely adopted a manner that had in it a _soupçon_ of banter. But Winifred Lloyd heard him as if she heard him not: the memories of past days were strong at that time in her heart, and glancing from time to time towards the old oak family pew, then half lost in obscurity and gloom, she filled it up in fancy with the figures of some who were far away--of Philip Caradoc and another; of Estelle Cressingham, who, for obvious reasons of her own, had omitted her and Dora from the Christmas circle at Pottersleigh House; and so, while Sir Watkins continued to speak, she scarcely responded. The girl's thoughts "were with her heart, and that was far away," to where the lofty batteries of Sebastopol and the red-and-white marble cliffs of Balaclava looked down upon the Euxine, where scenes of which her gentle heart could form no conception were being enacted hourly; where human life and human agony were of no account; and where the festival of the Babe that was born at Bethlehem, as a token of salvation, peace, and goodwill unto men, was being celebrated by Lancaster guns and rifled cannon, by shot and shell and rockets, and every other device by which civilisation and skill enable men to destroy each other surely, and expeditiously. Just as some such ideas occurred to her she saw her father, followed by old Owen Gwyllim, enter the church, and in the faces of both she read an expression of concern that startled her; and from her hands she dropped the ivy sprays and paper roses, which she was entwining together. Sir Madoc held in his hand an open newspaper, with which the old butler had just ridden over from the Court, and he silently indicated a certain paragraph to the curate, who read it and then lifted up his hands and eyes, as with sorrow and perplexity. "What the devil is up now?" asked Sir Watkins, bluntly; "no bad news from the Crimea, I hope--eh?" "Very--very bad news! we have lost a dear, dear friend!" replied Sir Madoc, letting his chin drop on his breast; while Sir Watkins, taking the journal from his hand, all unconscious of error or misjudgment, read aloud: "'It is now discovered beyond all doubt, by the Chief of the Staff, that Captain Henry Hardinge, of the Royal Welsh Fusileers, whose disappearance, when on a particular duty, was involved in so much mystery, has been drowned in the Black Sea, by which casualty a most promising young officer has been lost to her Majesty's service.'" "Drowned--Harry Hardinge drowned in the Black Sea!" exclaimed Dora, with sudden tears and horror. "By Jove, the same poor fellow I met at your fête, I think--so sorry, I am sure!" said Sir Watkins, with well-bred regret; "and see--I have quite startled poor Miss Lloyd!" Winifred, who for a moment seemed turned to stone, covered her face with her handkerchief, while her whole delicate form shook with the sobs she dared not utter. Mothers, wives, and friends, the tender, the loving, and the true, had all read, until their hearts grew sick and weary, of the perils and sufferings of those who were before Sebastopol, as the horrors of the Crimean winter, adding to those which are ever attendant on war, deepened over them. And now here was one horror more--one that was quite unlooked for in its nature, but which now came home to their own hearts and circle. "Take me away, papa--take me home!" said Winifred, in a faint voice, as she laid her face on his shoulder, for her tears were irrepressible; and the tall, slender curate in the long coat--an Oxonian, who chanted some portions of his church service, turned to the east when he prayed, had an altar whereon were sundry brazen platters, like unto barbers' basins, and tall candles, which (as yet) he dared not light, and who secretly, but hopelessly, admired Winifred in his inner heart--knew not what to think of all this sudden emotion; but he kindly caressed her passive white hands between his own, and whispered lispingly in her ear, that "the Lord loved those whom He chastened--afflictions come not out of the ground--all flesh was grass--that God is the God of the widow and fatherless--yet there were more thorns than roses in our earthly path," with various other old stereotyped crumbs of comfort. "To the Court--home!" cried Sir Madoc; "call round the carriages to the porch, Owen, and let us begone." A few minutes after this they had all quitted the church, and were being driven home in their close vehicle, Sir Watkins excepted, who drove in his dog-cart, sucking a cigar he had forgotten to light, and wondering what the deuced fuss was all about. Had Hardinge stood in his way? If so, by Jove, there was a chance for him yet, thought the good-natured fellow. In the dark depth of the large family carriage, as it bowled along noiselessly by a road where the white mantle of winter lay so deep by hill and wood that one might have thought the Snow-King of the Norsemen had come again, Winifred could weep freely; and as she did so, her father's arm stole instinctively and affectionately round her. "Drowned," she whispered in his ear; "poor Harry drowned--and I loved him so!" "It may all be some d--d mistake," sighed Sir Madoc, in sore grief and perplexity. "But, O papa," whispered the girl, "I loved him so--loved him as Estelle Cressingham never, never did!" "You, my darling?" "Yes, papa." "My poor pet! I suspected as much all along. Well, well, we are all in the hands of God. It is a black Christmas, this, for us at Craigaderyn, and I shall sorrow for him even as Llywarch Hen sorrowed of old for all the sons he lost in battle. But what a strange fatality to escape so narrowly at the Bôd Mynach, and then to be drowned in the distant East!" And with a heart swollen alike by prayer and sorrow, the girl, whose tender and long-guarded secret had at last escaped her in the shock of grief, sat alone in her room that night, and heard the Christmas chimes ringing out clearly and merrily to all, it seemed, but for her; for those bells, those gladsome bells, which speak to every Christian heart of bright hope here and brighter hope elsewhere, seemed to chime in vain for Winifred Lloyd; so she thought in her innocent heart, "I shall go to him yet, though he can never come back to me!" CHAPTER XLIV.--THE CASTLE OF YALTA. I presume that I need scarcely inform my reader that, notwithstanding the predicament in which a preceding chapter left me, and the tenor of that paragraph which caused such consternation among my warm-hearted Welsh friends at Craigaderyn, I was _not_ drowned in the Black Sea, though my dip in the waters thereof was both a cold and deep one. Such fellows as I, are, perhaps, hard to kill--at least, I hope so. On rising to the surface, I found myself minus forage-cap, sword, and revolver, and also my horse, which, being sorely wounded, floated away out of the creek into which we had fallen (or been hurled by the Cossack lances), and the poor animal was helplessly drowned, without making any attempt to swim landward. This was, perhaps, fortunate for me, as the Cossacks saw it drifting in the moonlight, and continued to fire at it with their carbines, leaving me to scramble quietly ashore unnoticed and unseen. My swimming powers are very small; thus, when just about to sink a second time, I was fortunate enough to grasp some sturdy juniper bushes, that grew among the rocks and overhung the water. Aided by these I gained footing on a ledge in safety, and remained there for a few minutes, scarcely venturing to breathe, until all sounds ceased on the cliffs above, and the flashing of the Cossacks' carbines, and their wild hurrahs died away; and the moment I was assured of silence, I proceeded steadily, but not without great difficulty, to climb to the summit of the opposite side of the creek, my recently fractured arm feeling stiff and feeble the while, three lance-prods bleeding pretty freely, and my undress uniform wet, sodden, and becoming powdered fast by the still falling flakes of snow. Even amid all that bodily misery I thought more sorrowfully than bitterly of her I had lost. "Estelle gone from me, a terrible death before me, either by capture or privation," thought I. "What have I done, O God, to be dealt with thus hardly?" Even mortification that I had failed in the execution of my once coveted duty, existed no longer in my heart, at that time at least. At last I gained the summit; the uprisen moon was shining on the far-stretching Euxine, and casting a path of glittering splendour on its waters, even to the foot of the cliffs on which I stood. On the other side, to my comfort, the scouting Cossacks had entirely disappeared. That Count Volhonski, once my pleasant companion in Germany, and in whose way, coincidence and chance had so often cast me, should have fallen by my hand, was certainly a source of deep regret to me; but for a time only; a sense of my own pressing danger soon became paramount to all minor considerations. Exposure to the keen wind from the sea on ground so lofty, the night having closed in, and the snow flakes falling, all rendered shelter, warmth, and dry clothing, with dressing for the lance-thrusts, most necessary, if I would save my life; and yet in seeking to obtain these, I ran the most imminent risk of summarily losing it. I was, I knew, far in rear of the advanced line of all the Russian posts, and was certain to fall, alive or dead, into their hands at some time or other; so drawing Lord Raglan's despatch to Marshal Canrobert from my breast-pocket--a piece of wet pulpy paper--I destroyed and cast it away; an unwise proceeding, perhaps, as it was the only credential I possessed to prove that I was not a--spy, but simply an officer on duty, who had lost his way. The cliffs of marble that bordered the shore were silent and lonely. The tall mountains of the Yaila range, their sides bristling with sombre pines and rent by old volcanic throes into deep chasms and rugged ravines of rock, rose on my left; a little Tartar village, the feeble lights of which I could discern, nestled at their base about a mile distant. Should I endeavour to reach it, and risk or lose all at once? By this time I had struck upon a path which soon led to a roadway between vineyard walls, and ere long these were replaced by what appeared to be the trees of a park, between the branches of which the moon and the stars shone on the slanting snow-flakes and turned them to diamonds and prisms. In summer, the cypress and olive, the pomegranate and laurel trees, the quince and the Byzantine poplar, made all that road lovely. Then it was dreary enough, especially to me. Anon I came to a stately gate of elaborate cast-iron work, between two ornate pillars of the native red-and-white marble, surmounted each by some heraldic design. It stood invitingly open; the track of recent carriage-wheels lay there; and beyond the now white sheet of snow that covered a spacious park, there towered a handsome mansion, in that quaint and almost barbaric style of architecture peculiar to the châteaux of the Crimea, half Russian, half Turkish, with four domes, shaped like inverted onions, but of clearly-burnished copper, surmounting four slender tourelles, and under the broad cornices of which the pigeons--the holy birds of Muscovy--were clustered in cooing rows. In front was a pretty porch, under the open arches of which hung a large coloured lamp; while many lights, all suggestive of heat and comfort, were gleaming through the rich hangings of the windows on the snowy waste without. It was evidently the country residence of some wealthy Russian landholder, and there I felt more certain and safe in seeking shelter than among the wood-cutting boors or Tartar herdsmen of the village; yet my heart had more misgivings than hope as I approached it. If the Russians, even in time of peace, are ever suspicious of strangers, how was I likely to be received there in time of war? Should I fall among good Samaritans, kindly perhaps; if otherwise, I might be accused of spying in an enemy's country, be hanged, shot, knouted perhaps, and sent to Siberia, for my horrible surmises were endless. But to remain where I was would be to die; so I boldly approached, not the door, but a lower window that overlooked a balustraded terrace on which a flood of light from within was falling. Between hangings of pale blue satin laced with silver, and through the double sashes of the windows, which were ornamented with false flowers in the old Russian fashion, I perceived a handsome and lofty apartment, the furniture of which was singularly elaborate and florid. It seemed, with its drapery, sofas, fauteuils, statuettes under glass shades, and its pretty watercolours hung on the wall, to be a tiny drawing-room or ladies' boudoir; but on one side, built into the partition and forming a part thereof, were the stone ribs of a _peitchka_ or Russian stove, faced with brilliantly-coloured porcelain. Through 'these ribs the light of a cheerful fire shone across the softly carpeted floor; and above the stove was an _eikon_, or Byzantine Madonna, with a bright metal halo like a gilt horseshoe round the head; a little silver lamp hung before it. From this a tiny jet of flame shot upward, while a golden tassel dangled below. In the foreground, between the window and the glowing wall-stove at a table littered with books and needlework, were seated two ladies in easy-chairs, their feet resting on tabourettes, as they cosily read by the softened light of a great shaded lamp. One seemed young; the other somewhat portly and advanced in years; and she wore a red _sarafan_--the ancient Russian dress--a readoption about that time, when our invasion of the Crimea acted as a powerful and angry stimulant to the national enthusiasm of the whole empire; and at that precise moment, I should have preferred to find this noble matron--for such I had no doubt she was--in some dress nearer the Parisian mode. However, in my then predicament I felt more disposed to trust to the protection of women than of men, and so knocked gently, and then more loudly, on the window. Both ladies started, laid down their books, and rose. The double sashes and the false flowers placed between them rendered my figure indistinct, if not invisible. They conferred for a moment, and then, most fortunately for me, instead of summoning assistance by furiously ringing the bell, or indulging in outcries, as some ladies might have done in a land of well-ordered police, the younger drew out a drawer, in which probably pistols lay; while the elder boldly unclasped the sashes, threw them open, and then both surveyed me with perplexity and with something of pity, too, as I was bareheaded, unarmed, deadly pale, and covered with snow that in some places was streaked with blood. The elderly lady, a keen-looking woman, evidently with a dash of the nomadic Tartar in her blood, asked me rather imperiously some questions in Russian--that language which Golovine so rightly says "is altogether inaccessible to foreigners;" but the other added, in softer French, "Who are you, and from whence do you come?" I replied that I was a British officer from the army before Sebastopol, wounded and unhorsed in a recent skirmish with Cossacks; that I had lost my way, and was literally perishing of cold, hunger, and loss of blood. "How come you to be here, as you have no troops in this quarter?" asked the young lady, to my surprise and pleasure, in English, which she spoke fluently, but with a pretty foreign accent. "I lost my way, I have said, and being pursued have ridden far in a wrong direction." "Far, indeed, from Sebastopol at least; do you know where you are, sir?" "No." "This is Prince Woronzow's castle of Yalta." "Yalta!" "On the shore of the Black Sea," she added, smiling brightly at my surprise. "Then I am more than thirty miles in _rear_ of the Russian posts in the valley of Inkermann!" "Yes; and as a soldier, must know that you are in great danger of the darkest suspicions if you are taken." "I am aware of that," said I, faintly, as a giddiness came over me, and I leaned against the open sash of the window; "but I care not what happens." The elder lady, who had a son with the army in Sebastopol, now said something energetically, and in my favour apparently, and the other added, softly and kindly, "Enter, sir, and we shall succour you." The closed sashes excluded the icy air, I felt myself within the warm influence of the peitchka, and then the three smarting lance-wounds began to bleed afresh. "Madame Tolstoff," said the younger lady, in French, "we must act warily here, if we would prevent this poor fellow becoming a prisoner of war, or worse. Bring here old Ivan Yourivitch the _dvornik_." This was the butler, but it also signifies "servant." "Can you trust him in this matter?" "In any matter, implicitly. His wife nursed me and my brother too. There is a perilous romance in all this, and to his care I shall consign our unfortunate visitor, who does seem in a very bad way." After a little explanation and some stringent directions, she confided me to a white-headed butler, who wore a livery that looked like semi-uniform, and he took me to his own rooms. He jabbered a great deal in Russ, of which I knew not a word, but first he gave me a large goblet of golden Crimskoi, the wine of the district. Then he exchanged all my wet and sodden clothing for a suit which he selected from among many in a large wardrobe: a caftan of dark green cloth, tied at the waist by a scarlet sash; trousers also of dark green, with boots that came half way up the calf of the leg. Under all I wore a soft red shirt; and this attire I afterwards learned was the most thoroughly national costume in Russia, being that of the Rifle Militia of the Crown peasants--one worn by the Emperor himself on certain gala-days. This old man, Ivan Yourivitch, also dressed tenderly the three lance-prods, and though giddy and weak, I felt unusually comfortable when he led me back to the presence of the two ladies, of whose names and rank I was quite ignorant, while shrewdly suspecting that both must be noble. Their mansion was evidently one of great magnificence, and exhibited all that luxury in which the wealthier Russian nobles are wont to indulge, displaying the extravagance and splendour of petty monarchs. I saw there a broad staircase of Carrara marble, and lackeys flitting about in the powdered wigs and liveries of the old French court; apartments with tessellated floors and roofs of fretted gold; furniture in ormolu and mother-of-pearl; hangings of silk and cloth-of-gold; and in that castle of Yalta were ball, and card, and tea rooms; a library, picture-gallery, and billiard-room; and everywhere the aroma of exotic plants and perfumes; so I began to flatter myself that I was quite as lucky as the Lieutenant of H.M.S. Tiger, when _he_ fell into the hands of the Russians at Odessa in the preceding May, and whose adventures made such a noise. When I rejoined the ladies, they both laughed merrily at the rapid transformation effected in my appearance; and the younger saying, "My brother's shooting-clothes suit you exactly," relinquished her book, which, with some surprise, I detected to be a Tauchnitz edition of "_Oliver Twist!_" "In stumbling upon us here," she added, with great sweetness of manner, "how fortunate it is that you lighted first on Madame Tolstoff and myself, instead of any of our Tartar or Cossack servants!" "Fortunate indeed! I may truly bless my stars that I have fallen into such gentle hands." "All Russians are not the barbarians you islanders deem them; yet you deserve a heavier punishment than we shall mete out to you, for venturing hither to fight against holy Russia and our father the Czar." "May I ask if I have the honour of addressing any of the family of Prince Woronzow!" "O, no!" she replied. "Madame Tolstoff's son is serving in Sebastopol; my brother serves there also; and the kind Prince has merely given us the use of this mansion, as he has done the more regal one at Alupka to other ladies similarly situated; and now that you know our secret," she added, archly, "pray what is yours?" "Secret!--I have none." "You were not--well, reconnoitring?" I coloured, feeling certain that she had substituted that word for one less pleasant to military ears. "No, madam: while seeking to convey a despatch from Lord Raglan to Marshal Canrobert I lost my way, fell among Cossacks, and am here." "When my brother arrives--we expect him ere long--we shall be compelled to confide you to his care; meantime you are safe, and here are refreshments, of which you seem sorely in need; and for greater secrecy, Ivan Yourivitch will serve you here." "Who the deuce can this brother be of whom she talks so much, and where can she have acquired such capital English?" were my surmises as I seated myself at a side-table, and, with old Ivan standing towel in hand at my back, fell _à la Cosaque_, on the good things before me, with an appetite unimpaired by all that I had undergone. To the elder lady's horror, I omitted previously to cross myself or turn towards the _eikon_; but fragrant coffee made as only Orientals and Continentals can make it, golden honey from the hills and woods of Yaila, newly-laid eggs, salmon fresh from the Salghir, boar's ham from the forests of Kaffa, and wine from Achmetchet, made a repast fit for the gods--then how much so for a long-famished Briton! While I partook of it the ladies conversed together in a low voice in Russian, seeming to ignore my presence; for though full of natural female curiosity and impatience to question me, they were too well-bred to trouble me just then. Those who have starved as we starved in the Crimea can alone relish and test the comforts of a good meal. You must sleep--or doze--amid the half-frozen mud and ooze of the trenches, or in a cold draughty tent, to know the actual luxury of clean sheets, a soft bed, and cosy pillows. Hence it is, that though accustomed to "rough it" in any fashion and degree, no one so keenly appreciates the warmth, the food, and the genuine comforts of home as the old campaigner, or the weather-worn seaman, who has perhaps doubled "the Horn," and known what it is to hand a half-frozen topsail in a tempestuous night, with his nails half torn out by the roots, as he lay out to windward. Yet when I found myself in quarters so comfortable, hospitable, and splendid, I could not but think regretfully of the regiment, of Phil Caradoc, of Charley Gwynne, and others who were literally starving before the enemy--starving and dying of cold and of hunger! CHAPTER XLV.--EVIL TIDINGS. I had now time amply to observe and to appreciate that which had impressed me powerfully at first--the wonderful beauty of the lady who protected me, and who spoke English with such marvellous fluency. If the artist's pencil sometimes fails to convey a correct idea of a woman's loveliness--more than all of her expression--a description by mere ink and type can give less than an outline. In stature she was fully five feet seven, full-bosomed and roundly limbed, and yet seemed just past girlhood, in her twentieth or twenty-second year. Her skin was fair, dazzlingly pure as that of any Saxon girl at home; while, by strange contrast, her eyes were singularly dark, the deepest, clearest, and most melting hazel, with soft voluptuous dreamy-looking lids, and long black lashes. Her eyebrows, which were rather straight, were also dark, while the masses of her hair were as golden in hue as ever were those of Lucrezia Borgia; they grew well down upon her forehead, and in the light of the shaded lamp by which she had been reading, ripples of sheen seemed to pass over them like rays of the sun. Her features were very fine, and her ears were white and delicate as if formed of biscuit china, and from them there dangled a pair of the then fashionable Schogoleff earrings of cannon-balls of gold. Her dress was violet-coloured silk, cut low but square at the neck, with loose open sleeves, trimmed with white lace and ruches of white satin ribbon, and its tint consorted well with the fair purity of her complexion. Every way she was brilliant and picturesque, and seemed one of those women whom a man may rapidly learn to love--yea, and to love passionately--and yet know very little about. Once in a lifetime a man may see such a face and such a figure, and never forget them. The dame, in the red sarafan, was a somewhat plain but pleasant-looking old Muscovite lady, whose angularity of feature and general outline of face reminded me of a good-humoured tom cat; and while playing idly with the leaves of her book, she regarded me with a rather dubious expression of eye; for British prisoners did not quite find themselves so much at home in Kharkoff and elsewhere, nor were they so petted and fêted, as the Russian prisoners were at Lewes, among the grassy downs of Sussex. My repast over, and the massive silver tray removed by Ivan Yourivitch, a conversation was begun by the younger lady saying, a little playfully, "You must give me your parole of honour, that you will not attempt to leave this place in secret, or without permission." "From you?" "From me, yes." "Did not duty require it of me, I might never seek the permission, but be too happy to be for ever your captive," said I, gallantly; but she only laughed like one who was quite used to that sort of thing, and held up a white hand, saying, "Do you promise?" "I do, on my honour. But will this pledge to a lady be deemed sufficient?" "By whom?" "Well, say Prince Menschikoff." "We shall not consult him, unless we cannot help it; besides," she added, with a proud expression on her upper lip, "what is he, though Minister of Marine, Governor of Finland and Sebastopol, but the grandson of a pastry-cook!" "Prince Gortchakoff, then?" "They are cousins; but do not take rank even in Russia with the old families, like the Dolgourikis and others, who are nobles of the first class." On the suggestion, apparently, of the elder lady, whom she named Madame Tolstoff, she proceeded to ask me many questions, which I cared not to answer, as they had direct reference to the strength of our forces, and the plans and projects of the Allied Generals regarding Sebastopol; and though my information was only limited to such as one of subaltern rank could possess, I knew how artfully the most important military and political secrets have been wormed from men by women, and was on my guard. Her excellent English she accounted for by telling me that in her girlhood she had an English governess. She told me, among other things, that she had gone in her carriage, with hundreds of other ladies from Sebastopol, Simpheropol, and Bagtchi Serai (or "the Seraglio of Gardens"), to see the battle of the Alma. It began quite like a _prasnik_ or holiday with them all, as they had expected, among other marvels, to see St. Sergius, whose sacred image was borne by the Kazan column, till the latter was routed by the Highland Brigade, and bundled over the hill, image and all, though Innocent, Archbishop of Odessa, in one of his sermons to the garrison of Sebastopol (published in the _Russian Messenger_) confidently predicted a fourth appearance of the patriotic saint on that occasion; but my fair informant added, that when the fighting began, she had driven away homeward in horror. She quizzed me a little about the small dimensions of the island in which we dwelt, an island where the people elbowed each other for lack of room; she asked me if it were really true that our soldiers were sailors; and if it was also true that our Admiral in the Baltic always carried a little sword under one arm, and a great fish under the other, alluding to a popular Moscow caricature of Sir Charles Napier. It was impossible not to laugh with her, for her charming tricks of foreign manner, the arch smiles of her occasionally half-closed eyes, and her pretty ways of gesticulation with the loveliest of white hands, from which she had now drawn the gloves, were all very seductive; moreover the Russians have a natural mode of imbuing with heartiness every phrase and expression, however simple or merely polite. She always spoke of the Czar with more profound awe and respect than even Catholics do of the Pope, or Mahometans do of the Sultan; but it should be borne in mind that in Russia, as Golovine says, "next to the King of Heaven, the Czar is the object of adoration. He is, in the estimation of the Russian, the representative and the elect of God; so he is the head of his church, the source of all the beatitudes, and the first cause of all fear. His hand distributes as bounteously as his arm strikes heavily. Love, fear, and humble respect are blended in this deification of the monarch, which serves most frequently only to task the cupidity of some, and the pusillanimity of others. The Czar is the centre of all rays, the focus to which every eye is directed; he is the 'Red Sun' of the Russians, for thus they designate him. The Czar is the father of the whole nation; no one has any relation that can be named in the same day with the Emperor; and when his interest speaks, every other voice is hushed!" So, whenever this lady spoke of him, her eyes seemed to fill with melting light, and her cheek to suffuse with genuine enthusiasm; and as I listened to her, and looked upon her rare beauty, her singular hair, her laughing lips; and her ease of manner that declared a perfect knowledge of the world, I could not but confess that if there is no absolute cure for a heart disappointed in love, there may be found a most excellent _balm_ for it. I know not now all we talked of, how much was said, and more left unsaid, for my new friend had all the airs of a coquette, and could fill up her sentences in a very eloquent fashion of her own, by a movement of the graceful hand, by the tapping of a dainty foot that would peep out ever and anon from under her violet-coloured skirt; with a blush, a smile, a drooping of the sunny brown eyes! Had the wine, the golden Crimskoi, affected me, that, while talking to the fair unknown, I seemed to tread on air; that my love for Estelle--a love thrust back upon my heart--was already--Heavens, already!--being replaced by an emotion of revenge against her, and exultation that the dazzling Russian might love me in her place? She was, indeed, gloriously beautiful; but, then, I have ever been a famous builder of castles in the air, and I was in the hands of one who felt her power and knew how to wield it. The Russian women, it has been truly written, like the gentlewomen of other European countries, who are reared in the lap of luxury, can employ and practise all the accomplishments and seductive arts that most enchant society, and employ them well! They have great vivacity of mind, much grace of manner, and possess the most subtle and exquisite taste in dress; yet the domestic virtues are but little cultivated under the double-headed Eagle, and marriages are too often mere matters of convenience; so there is little romance in the character, and often much of intrigue in the conduct of the Russian lady. "I trust that your wounds are not painful?" said she, with tender earnestness, after a short pause, during which she perceived me to wince once or twice. "My immersion in salt water has made them smart, perhaps; and then the blood I have lost has caused such a dimness of sight, that at times, even while speaking with you, though I hear your voice, your figure seems to melt from before me." "I am so deeply sorry to hear this; but a night's repose, and perhaps the rest of to-morrow may, nay, I doubt not shall, cure you of this weakness." "I thank you for your good wishes and intentions." "In that skirmish, fought single-handed by you against our Cossacks, they thrust you into the water--actually into the sea?" "Yes; by the mere force of their charged lances--horse and man we went over together; but not before I had shot their leader--a resolute fellow--poor Volhonski!" At this name both ladies started and changed colour, though the younger alone understood me. "_Whom_ did you say?" she asked, in a voice of terror, while trembling violently. "Paulovitch Count Volhonski, a name well known in the Russian army, I believe; he commanded the Vladimir regiment at the Alma and in Sebastopol." "And he--he fell by _your_ hand?" "I regret to say that he did," I replied, slowly and perplexedly. "You know him, and are certain of this?" "Certain as that I now address you--most certain, to my sorrow." "_O Gospodi pomiloui!_"[4] she exclaimed, clasping her hands together, and seeming now pale as the new-fallen snow; "my brother--my brother!" "Your _brother?_" I exclaimed, in genuine consternation. "Slain by you--your hand!" she wailed out, wildly and reproachfully. "O, it cannot be." "Speak--how?" She stamped her foot as she spoke, and no prettier foot in all Russia could have struck the carpet with a more imperial air. Her eyes were flashing now through tears; even her teeth seemed to glisten; her hands were clenched, and I felt that she regarded me, for the time, with hate and loathing. "He fell, and his horse, too--yet, now that I think of it," I urged, "he may be untouched; and from my soul I hope that such may be the case, for personally he is my friend." I felt deeply distressed by the turn matters had so suddenly taken; while Madame Tolstoff, to whom she now made some explanation in Russian, regarded me with fierce and undisguised hostility. "Then there is yet hope?" she asked, piteously. "That he may be simply wounded--yes." "For that hope I thank you, Hospodeen: a little time shall tell us all." "I was attacked and outnumbered; my own life was in the balance, and I knew him not, nor did he know me, until we were at close quarters, in the moment of his fall. To defend oneself is a natural impulse; and it has been truly said, that if a man armed with a red-hot poker were to make a lunge even at the greatest philosopher, he would certainly parry it, though he were jammed between two sacks of gunpowder. Then I have the honour of addressing the Hospoza Valerie?" "Yes," she replied, with hauteur; "but who are you, that know _my_ name?" "I am Captain Henry Hardinge, who--" "The Hospodeen Hardinge" (Hardin_ovitch_ she called it), "who so greatly befriended my dear brother in Germany, and who saved his life at Inkermann?" "The same." "I cannot receive you with joy; the present terrible tidings cloud all the past. Yet I have promised to protect you," she added, giving me both her hands to kiss, "and protected you shall be--even should my dead brother be borne here to-night!" So the slender girl with the dark orbs and golden hair, she of whose miniature I had custody for a little time on that memorable and exciting morning in the Heiligengeist Feld at Hamburg, was now a lovely woman in all the budded bloom of past twenty--a fair Russian, with "more peril in her eyes than fifty of their swords!" I felt sincere sorrow for the grief and consternation I had so evidently and so naturally excited, and I greatly feared that the hostility of the elder lady, Madame Tolstoff, might yet work me some mischief; though I knew not in what relation she could stand to Volhonski, who, at Hamburg, had distinctly said that his sister Valerie was the only one he had in the world. While I sat silently listening, and not without an emotion of guiltiness in my heart, to their sobs and exclamations of woe, uttered singly and together, the rapid clatter of hoofs, partially muffled by the snow, was heard without; bells sounded and doors were banged; and then Ivan Yourivitch, his old wrinkled face full of excitement and importance, entered the room unsummoned. My heart for a moment stood still. "What fresh evil tidings," thought I, "does this old Muscovite bring us now?" CHAPTER XLVI.--DELILAH. Even while Ivan Yourivitch was conferring with his startled mistress, I saw a tall figure in Russian uniform--the eternal long gray greatcoat--appear at the room door, and I was instinctively glancing round for some weapon wherewith to defend me, when to my astonishment Volhonski entered, somewhat splashed with mud, certainly, and powdered with snow, but whole and well, without a wound, and with a cry of joy Valerie threw herself into his arms. Wholly occupied by his beautiful sister, to whom he was tenderly attached, fully a minute elapsed before he turned to address Madame Tolstoff and then me. Was it selfishness, was it humanity, was it friendship, or what was the sentiment that inspired me, and caused so much of genuine joy to see Volhonski appear safe and untouched?--I, who from the trenches had been daily wont to watch with grim satisfaction the murderous "potting" of the Ruskies from the rifle-pits, and literal showers of legs, arms, and other fragments of poor humanity, by their appearance in the air, respond to the explosion of a well-directed shell! He now turned to me with astonishment on recognising my face in that place, and with the uniform of the Rifle Militia. "By what strange caprice or whirligig of fortune do I find you here?" he exclaimed, as he took my hand, but certainly with a somewhat dubious expression of eye; "you have not come over to us, I hope, as some of our Poles have lately gone to you?" "No," I replied, almost laughing at the idea. "Don't mistake me; I came here as a fugitive, glad to escape you and your confounded Cossacks; but I thank God, Volhonski, that you eluded my pistol on the cliffs yonder." "Then it was _you_, Captain Hardinge, whom I followed so fast and so far from that khan on the Kokoz road? By St. George, my friend, but you were well mounted! In our skirmish one of your balls cut my left shoulder-strap, as you may see; the other shred away my horse's ear on the off side, making him swerve round so madly that he threw me--that was all. You, however, fell into the sea--" "And was soaked to the skin; the reason why, 'only for this night positively,' as the play-bills have it, I appear in the uniform of the Imperial Rifle Militia, after finding my way here by the happiest chance in the world," I added, with a glance at his smiling sister. "Marshal Canrobert--" "Has fallen back with his slender force from Kokoz. You had a despatch for him, I presume, by what fell from you at the Tartar caravanserai?" "Precisely." "Ah, I thought as much." "I should not have been touring so far from our own lines else. It concerned, I believe--if I may speak of it--an _émeute_ among the Poles in Sebastopol." "A false rumour spread by some deserters; there was no such thing; and be assured that our good father, the Emperor, is too much beloved, even in Poland, to be troubled by disaffection again." Volhonski now threw off his great coat, and appeared in the handsome full uniform of the Vladimir Infantry, on a lapel of which he wore, among other orders, the military star of St. George the Victorious, which is only bestowed by the Czar, for acts of personal bravery, like our Victoria Cross. "How came you to know of me and of my despatch?" I inquired, while Yourivitch replaced the wine and some other refreshments on the table. "I had Menschikoff's express orders to watch, with a sotnia of Cossacks, Canrobert's flying column on the Kokoz road; and the Tartars were prompt enough in telling me of _your_ movements--at least of the appearance of an officer of the Allies, where, in sooth, he had no right to be. But, my friend, you look pale and weary." "He has no less than three lance-wounds!" urged Valerie. "Three!" "In the arms and shoulder." "This is serious; but take some more of the Crimskoi--it is harmless wine. Excuse me, Captain Hardinge, but of course you are aware how dangerous it is for you to remain long here?" "I have no intention of remaining a moment absent from my duty, if I can help it!" said I, energetically. "So we must get you smuggled back to your own lines somehow--unless you consent to become a prisoner of war." "I have already given my parole of honour." "Indeed! to whom?" "To the Hospoza Volhonski," said I, laughing. "More binding, perhaps, than if given to me; yet as I don't wish to avail myself of your promises to Valerie, but for the memory of past times," he added, with a pleasant smile, "to see you safe among your friends, I must contrive some plan to get you hence without delay." "Why such inhospitable haste?" asked Valerie. "Think of the peril to him and to us of being discovered here--and in that dress, too!" "I fear I shall not be able to ride for days," said I, despondingly, as sensations of lassitude stole over me. "I fear that with Valerie for your nurse, you may never return to health at all," said Volhonski, laughing, as he knew well the coquettish proclivities of his sister; "hence, to insure at least convalescence, I must commit you to the care of old Yourivitch or Madame Tolstoff." Joy for her brother's safe return made Valerie radiant and splendidly brilliant; while some emotion of compunction for her temporary hostility to me, led her to be somewhat marked in her manner, softly suave; and this _he_ observed; for, after a little time, he said, smilingly, "You and my Valerie seem to have become quite old friends already; but remember the moth and the candle--_gardez-vous bien, mon camarade Hardinge!_" "I don't understand you, Paulovitch," said Valerie, pouting. "As little do I," said I, colouring, for the Colonel's speech was pointed and blunt, though his manner was scrupulously polite; but with all that, foreigners frequently say things that sound abrupt and strange to English ears. "This stupid soldier is afraid that, if left in idleness, you will fall in love with Madame Tolstoff--or me," said Valerie; "he is thinking of the Spanish proverb, no doubt--_Puerto abierto al santo tiento_." "I am thinking of no such thing, and did but jest, Valerie," said her brother, gravely, while he caressed her splendid hair. "Madame Tolstoff, our dear friend, is an experienced chaperone; and beside that, you are safe--set apart from the world--so far as concerns the admiration of men." "That I never shall be, I hope!" said she, smiling and pouting again. By Jove, can it be that she is destined for a nunnery? What the deuce can he mean by all these strange hints and out-of-place remarks? thought I, and not without secret irritation. Perhaps the keen Muscovite read something of this in my face, for he now clinked his glass against mine, and filled it with beautifully golden-coloured Château Yquem, bright, cool, and sparkling from its white crystal flask; and to this champagne soon succeeded; unwisely for me, though it was champagne in its best condition, that is, after being just six years in bottle, as Yourivitch assured us; and now our conversation became more gay and varied, and, as I thought, decidedly more pleasant. He gave me some recent news from the immediate seat of war, and from our own lines, that proved of interest to me. The Retribution man-of-war, with the Duke of Cambridge on board, was said to have been lost, or nearly so, in the late great storm, which the Russians naturally hoped would delay the arrival of transports with reinforcements and supplies for the Allies; and he added that if the generals of the latter "had but the brains to _cut off all communication with Simpheropol, Sebastopol would surrender in three days!_" He mentioned, also, that the Greeks at Constantinople had taken heavy bets that it would not fall before Christmas, which seemed likely enough, as Christmas was close at hand now; and that there was a rumour to the effect that General Buraguay d'Hilliers--one of the veterans of the retreat from Moscow--had landed at Eupatoria, and given battle to General Alexander Nicolaevitch von Luders, and defeated him with the 5th Infantry Corps of the Russian Army; a most improbable story, as D'Hilliers was at that moment with his army in the Aland Isles! And now Valerie, wearying of war and politics, shrugged her pretty shoulders, and gradually led us to talk on other topics. As she was well read and highly accomplished, there were many subjects on which we could converse in common, as she was wonderfully familiar with the best works of the English and French writers of the day, and knew them quite as well as those of Tourguéneff, Panaeff, Longenoff, Zernina, and others who were barely known to me by name. I was afterwards to learn, too, that she was a brilliant musician; and with all these powers of pleasing, was a Russian convent, with its oppressive atmosphere of religion and austerity, to be her doom? When I compared, mentally, the Russian with the English woman of rank--Valerie with Estelle--I could see that the latter, with less of a nervous temperament, was more quiet and unimpressionable, and with all her beauty less attractive; the former was more coquettish and seductive, more full of minute, delicate, and piquante graces--the real graces that win and enslave; more mistress of those witching trifles that at all times can inspire tenderness, provoke gallantry, and awaken love. The brilliant Valerie would have shone in a crowded _salon_, while Estelle Cressingham, with all her pale loveliness, would simply have seemed to be the cold, proud, aristocratic belle of an English drawing-room. Valerie was fascinating--she was magnetic--I know not how to phrase it; and what now to me was Estelle--the Countess of Aberconway--that I should shrink from drawing invidious comparisons? When I retired that night to a spacious and magnificent apartment, and to a luxurious Russian couch, the pillows of which were edged with the finest lace--ye gods! a laced pillow after mine in the camp, a tent-peg bag stuffed with dirty straw--I was soon sensible of the difference of sleeping indoors and within a house, after being under canvas and accustomed so long to my airy tent. I felt as if stifling; and to this was added the effect of the wines, of which, incited by the hospitality of Volhonski, I had partaken too freely. I forgot all about my promises to be up betimes, even before daybreak, in the morning, and to ride with him as near to our posts as he dared venture, to leave me in a place of safety; I forgot that if I remained in secret at the castle or château of Yalta, the great danger and the grave suspicion to which I subjected him, his sister, and all there; I forgot, too, the risk I ran personally of being taken and shot as a spy, perhaps, after short inquiry, or no inquiry at all. I thought only of the brilliant creature whose voice seemed hovering in my ear, and the remembered touch of whose velvet hand seemed still to linger in mine. The more I saw of Valerie Volhonski, the more she dazzled, charmed, and--must I admit it?--consoled me for the loss I had sustained in England far away. She seemed quite aware of the admiration her beauty excited--of the love that was inspiring me, and she seemed, I thought, in my vanity, not unwilling to return it! Why, then, should I not ask her to love me? What to us were the miserable ambitions of emperors and sultans; the intrigues and treacheries of statesmen; the wars, the battles, the difference of religion, race, and clime? And so, as the sparkling cliquot did its work, I wove the shining web of the future, and gave full reins to my heated fancy as the hours of the silent night stole on. But the morning found me ill, feverish, decidedly delirious; and Volhonski, to his great mortification, had to leave me and ride off with his Cossacks, and reach Sebastopol by making a long detour through that part of the country which we so stupidly left _open_--round by Tepekerman and Bagtchi Serai, and thence by the Belbeck into the Valley of Inkermann. I must have been in rather a helpless condition for at least two days--days wherein the short intervals of ease and sense seemed to me wearisome and perplexing indeed; while to see Madame Tolstoff and old Ivan Yourivitch gliding noiselessly about my room in fur slippers, caused me to marvel sorely whether I was dreaming or awake; whether or not I was myself, or some one else; for all about me seemed strange, unusual, and unreal. On the morning of the third day I was greatly better, and on passing a hand over my head, found that my hair was gone--shorn to a crop of the true military Russian pattern, doubtless by a doctor's order. Then I saw Madame Tolstoff and Valerie Volhonski standing near and smiling at my perplexity. "You miss your dark brown locks," said the latter, with one of her most seducing smiles; "forgive me; but I am the Delilah who made a Samson of you!" CHAPTER XLVII.--VALERIE VOLHONSKI. Though convalescent, I was still too feeble to think of saddle-work; and the Hospoza Volhonski had no means of transmitting me otherwise than mounted, or of having me--even when able to travel--guided to the British camp, without aid from her brother, of whom we had no tidings for weeks; so the time slipped away at Yalta pleasantly enough for me. To conceal me entirely from all the visitors who came there was an impossibility; thus, though dressed in plain clothes now, and generally passing for a German shut out from business at Sebastopol, I ran hourly risks of suspicion and discovery. Some of Volhonski's abrupt and ill-judged remarks, or some perhaps of mine, which had escaped me when delirious under the double effect of wound and wine, rendered Valerie a little reserved in her demeanour towards me for the first day or two after I was able to leave my room; but she was so frank in nature and so gay in spirit, that this unusual mood rapidly wore away. We had many visitors from the Valley of Inkermann and from Sebastopol itself, as the city was left unblockaded on one side; and the tidings they brought us--tidings which we eagerly devoured--varied strangely. Once we were informed that it had been assaulted, and that all the outworks were in the hands of the Allies; next we heard that another Inkermann had been fought--that the Allies had been scattered and the siege raised; that the Austrians had entered Bulgaria; that torpedoes had blown up the sunken ships; and that the British fleet was actually in the harbour, shelling the town and burning it with rockets and red-hot shot. But all reports converged in one unvarying tale--the dreadful sufferings of our soldiers among the snow in the trenches, where young men grew gray, and gray-haired men grew white with misery. And so the Christmas passed; and when the Russian bells by hundreds rang the old year out from the spires, the forts, and the ships that lay above the booms and bridge of boats, the new year's morning saw the black cross of St. Andrew still waving defiantly on the Mamelon, and Redan, and all the forts of Sebastopol. Once among our visitors came Prince Menschikoff himself, Valerie advised my non-appearance, much to my relief; but I heard the din of voices, the laughter, and the sound of music in the _salon_ or great dining-room where a _déjeûner_ was served for him and his staff, while the band of the Grand Duchess Olga's Hussars were stationed in the marble vestibule, and played the grand national anthem of Russia and Luloff's famous composition, _Borshoe zara brangie_--God save the Emperor. After the Prince's departure we had the huge mansion entirely to ourselves again, and any longings I might have to rejoin the Welsh Fusileers and share the dangers they underwent, together with my natural anxiety to hear of my friends in their ranks, I was compelled to stifle and seek to forget, when tidings came that a great body of Tchernimorski Cossacks had formed a temporary camp between Yalta and the head of the long Baidar Valley, thus, while they remained, completely cutting off all my chances of reaching either Balaclava or the Allied camp; so there was nothing for me now but to resign myself to a protracted residence in the same luxurious mansion with the brilliant Valerie (and her watchful chaperone), with the somewhat certain chance of losing my heart in the charms, of her society. Madame Tolstoff assuredly kept guard over us with Argus eyes; but a few of the devices in the heart that laugheth at locksmiths enabled me to elude her at times; while, fortunately for me, the language we spoke was perfectly unknown to her; yet "the Tolstoff," as I used to call her, seemed, I knew not why, to exercise considerable control over Valerie. In her youth she had been carried off by Schamyl's mountaineers from a Russian outpost, and was a detained for three years in the Caucasian chief's seraglio, where, with all my heart, I wished her still. But while enjoying all the good things of this life at Yalta--grapes, melons, and pineapples from Woronzow's hothouses at Alupka, oysters from Hamburg, pickled salmon from Ladoga, sterlit from the Volga, sturgeon from the Caspian Sea, reindeer's tongue from Archangel, Crimean wines that nearly equalled champagne, imitation Sillery from the Don, Cliquot, Burgundy, and Bordeaux,--I thought often with compunction of the wretched rations and hard fare of our poor fellows who were starving in the winter camp. Volhonski was wealthy, and thus his sister and her attendants were able to command every luxury. His rank was high, for he claimed, as usual with all the Russian nobles of the first _tchinn_ or class, to be descended from Ruric the Norman--Ruric of Kiev and Vladimir--who, more than a thousand years ago, founded the dynasty by which Muscovy was governed prior to the accession of the Romanoffs. All the best families in the land boast of a descent from Gedemine the Lithuanian, or from this Ruric and his followers; a weakness common also to the English aristocracy, whose genealogical craze is a real or supposed descent from those who were too probably the offscourings of Normandy. Beauty belongs peculiarly to neither race nor nation; yet somehow Valerie seemed to me, in her bearing and style, the embodiment of all that was noble and lovely; and though always graceful, her air and sometimes the carriage of her head seemed haughty--even defiant. In the many opportunities afforded by propinquity and close residence together in the same house, and by our speaking a language which we alone understood, I know not all I said to her then, nor need I seek to remember it now; suffice it, that softly and imperceptibly the sentiments of those who love are communicated and adopted; and so it was with me. She was catching my heart at the rebound--at the ricochet, as we might say in the trenches. I was beginning to learn that there were other women who might love me--others whom I might love, and who were not worshippers of Mammon, like--ah, well--Estelle Cressingham. If Pottersleigh died or broke his old neck in the hunting-field, where he sometimes rashly ventured, would Estelle--I thrust her image aside, and turned all my thoughts to Valerie; yet my second choice seemed, by the peculiarity of our circumstances, a more ambitious one and more hopeless of attainment than the first. Daily, however, I strove to win her heart and to inspire her with that pure passion which, as a casuist affirms, can only be felt by the pure in spirit, as all virtues are closely connected with each other, and the tenderness of the heart is one of them. Was the devil at my elbow, or my evil angel, if such things be, whispering in my ear? Or how was it, that whenever I grew tender with Valerie, the image of Estelle came revengefully, yet sadly, to memory, as of an idol shattered, but certainly not by me? Oddly enough I still wore her ring on my finger--the single pearl set in blue and gold enamel--a gift I had as yet no means of restoring, and could not give away. "Have you ever looked at a portrait till it haunted you?" asks a writer. "Have you ever seen the painted face of one, it may be, who was an utter stranger to you, yet that seemed to fill your mind with a sort of recognition that sent you out over the sea of speculation, wondering where you had seen it before, or when you would see it again? The eyes talk to you and the lips tell you a dreamy story." Such, then, was the haunting character of the face of Valerie. Her beauty and her graces of manner filled up all my thoughts, and her strange dark eyes seemed to say that if it was impossible we had known each other in the years that were past, we might be dear enough to each other in the future; and I hoped in my heart that ours should be one; thus yielding blindly to the influence, to the charm of her presence and the whole situation. Once she was at the piano, and sang to me with wonderful grace and brilliance "The Refusal," a Russian gipsy song, in which a young man makes many desperate professions and promises of love to a giddy young beauty, who laughs at them and rejects him, because she values nothing so much as her own liberty. When turning the leaves for her, the pearl ring of Estelle--a ring so evidently that of a lady--caught her attention, and I saw Valerie's colour heighten as she did so. I instantly drew it off; I felt no compunction in doing so then, and said, "You admire this ring, apparently?" "Nay--do not say so, please," said she, bending over the instrument; "when a lady admires thus, it seems only another fashion of coveting." "In this instance that were useless," said I, laughing, "as the ring is not mine to bestow; otherwise I should glory in your accepting it." "Is it your wife's?" "My wife's!" "Yes. Have you one in that wretched little island of yours?" she continued, sharply. "No," I replied, delighted by this undisguised little ebullition of jealousy. "To whom does it belong, then?" "The wife of another, to whom it shall be restored in England." "This is very strange--it has, then, a history?" said she, bending her dark eyes on mine. "Yes." "And this history--what is it?" "I cannot--dare not tell you." "Indeed!" Her black lashes drooped for a moment, and she passed a white hand nervously over her golden braids. "And wherefore?" "It would be to reveal the secrets of another." "Another whom you love?" she asked, hurriedly, while her teeth seemed to glitter as well as her eyes, for her lips were parted. "No, no; on my honour, no!" said I, laying my right hand on my breast, and feeling that then I spoke but the truth and without the equivocation, to which her questions were forcing me. Then Valerie seemed to blush with pleasure, and my heart beat lightly with joy. I should certainly have done something rash; but the inevitable Madame Tolstoff was in the room, embroidering a smoking cap for her son the colonel, then in command of the 26th at Sebastopol; so I was compelled to content myself by simply touching the hand of Valerie, and by caressing it tenderly, while affecting to admire a beautiful opal ring she wore, and urging her to continue her music. The whole episode partook somewhat of the nature of a scene between us, and even the usually self-possessed Valerie seemed a little confused, as she once more laid her tapered fingers on the ivory keys. "I am very far from perfect in my music, or anything else, perhaps," she said. "Do not say so," I whispered; "yet had you been more perfect than you are, I think no other woman in this world would have had the chance of a lover." "How--why?" "All men would be loving you, and you only." "This is more like the inflated flattery of a Frenchman than the speech of a sober Briton," said Valerie, a little disdainfully. "Does it displease you?" "Yes, certainly." "Why?" "People don't love when they flatter," was the pretty pointed and coquettish response, and preluded an air with a crash on the keys, thus interrupting something I was about to say--heaven only knows what--a formal declaration, I fear. "You admired my opal. Listen to the story of its _origin_; I doubt if the story of your ring is half so pretty," said she. And then she sang in English the following song, which she had been taught by her governess, a song the author of which I have never been able to discover; but then and there, situated as I was, the English words came deliciously home to my heart, and I quote them now from memory:-- "A dew-drop came, with a spark of flame It had caught from the sun's last ray, To a violet's breast, where it lay at rest, Till the hours brought back the day. With a blush and a frown a rose look'd down, But smiled at once to view, With its colouring warm, her own bright form Reflected back by the dew! Then a stolen look the stranger took At the sky so soft and blue, And a leaflet green, with its silvery sheen, Was seen by the idler, too. As he thus reclined, a cold north wind Of a sudden blew around, And a maiden fair, who was walking there, Next morning _an opal_ found!" I ventured to pat her shoulder approvingly. I glanced furtively round; the Tolstoff had gone out of the room, and somehow my arm slipped round Valerie, who looked up at me, smiling archly, yet she said, firmly, "Pray don't." "How much longer am I to keep this silence?" I asked. "How--what silence?" "To be thus in suspense, Valerie," I added, lowering my voice and bending my face towards her ear. Her smile passed away, her white lids drooped, and perplexity and trouble stole over her eyes, as she drew her head back. "I do not know what you mean, or whither your conversation tends," she said. "You know that I love you!" "No, I don't." "You must have seen it--must have guessed it--since the happy hour in which I first saw you." "Do not speak to me thus, I implore you," said she, colouring deeply, and covering her face with her beautiful hands. "Why, Valerie, dearest, dearest Valerie?" "I must not--dare not listen to you." "Dare not?" "I speak the truth," said she, and her breast heaved. "Will you marry me, Valerie?" "I cannot marry you." "Why?" "O heavens, don't ask me! But enough of this; and here comes Madame Tolstoff, to announce that the _samovar_--the tea-urn--is ready." In my irritation I muttered something that she of the red _sarafan_, Madame Tolstoff, would not wish graved on her tombstone, and resumed my previous task of turning the leaves at the piano; but Valerie sang no more then, and for two entire days gave me no opportunity of learning why she had received my declaration in a manner so odd and unexpected. I could but sigh and conjecture the cause, and recall the words of her brother on the night he first met me at Yalta; and if it were the case that a convent proved the only barrier, I was not without hopes of smoothing all such scruples away. CHAPTER XLVIII.--THE THREATS OF TOLSTOFF. In the growth of my passion for Valerie I forgot all about the probable opposition of her brother, the Count, to my wishes. Indeed, he entered very little into my schemes of the future; for the perilous contingencies of war caused life to be held by a very slight tenure indeed; so we might never see him again, though none would deplore more than I the death of so gallant a fellow. Then, in that instance, did one so lovely as Valerie require more than ever a legitimate protector, and who could be more suitable than I? I felt convinced at that time, that those who loved Valerie once could never feel for another as they had loved her. She was so full of an individuality that was all her own. Was it the coquetry of her manner, the strange and indescribable beauty of her dark eyes, the coils of her golden hair, the smile on her lips, or the subtle magnetism the kisses of those lips might possess, that entangled them? God knows, but I have heard that those who loved her once were never quite the same men again. If Valerie married me, with what pride and exultation should I display her beauty, if occasion served, before Estelle and her dotard Earl, as a bright being I had won from hearts that were breaking for her, and as one who was teaching me fast to forget _her_, even as she had forgotten me! A Russian wife, at that crisis of hostility and hatred, seemed a somewhat singular alliance certainly; what would the regiment say, and what would my chief friend old Sir Madoc, with all his strong national prejudices, think? I should be pretty certain to find the doors of Craigaderyn closed for long against me. These, however, were minor considerations amid my dreams; for dreams they were, and visions that might never be realised; _châteaux en Espagne_ never, perhaps, to be mine! On the morning of the third day after the musical performance recorded in the preceding chapter, Valerie met me, accompanied by Madame Tolstoff. Her face wore a bright smile, and interlacing her fingers, she raised her eyes to the _eikon_ above the fireplace, and said to me, "O Hospodeen, have I not cause to thank Heaven for the news a Cossack has just brought me, in a letter from Colonel Tolstoff?" "I hope so; but pray what is the news?" I. asked, while drawing nearer her. "My brother Paulovitch has been taken prisoner by your people." "Call you that good news?" I asked, with surprise. "Yes, most happy tidings." "How?" "My brother will now be safe, and I hope that they will keep him so till this horrible and most unjust war is over." "Unjust! how is it so?" I asked, laughing. "Can it be otherwise, when it is waged against holy Russia and our good father the Czar?" I afterwards learned that Volhonski had been taken prisoner in that affair which occurred on the night of Sunday, the 14th January, when the Russians surprised our people in the trenches, and captured one officer and sixteen men of the 68th, or Durham Light Infantry, into whose hands Volhonski fell, and was disarmed and taken at once to the rear. "I am so happy," continued Valerie, clapping her hands like a child, "though it may be long, long ere I see him again, my dear Paulovitch! He will be taken to England, of course." "Should you not like to join him there?" I asked, softly. "Yes, but I cannot leave Russia." "Why?" "Do not ask me; but we may keep _you_ as a hostage for him," she added, merrily; "do you agree?" "Can I do otherwise?" said I, tenderly and earnestly. "Of course not, while those Cossacks are in the Baidar Valley. Poor Paulovitch! and this was his parting gift!" she continued, and drew from her bosom--and none in the world could be whiter or more lovely--a gold cross; and after kissing, she replaced it, looking at me with a bright, coquettish, and most provoking smile, as it slipped down into a receptacle so charming. "And dear Madame Tolstoff is so happy, too, for her son arrives here to-morrow; he has been severely bruised by the splinter of a shell in the Wasp Battery, and comes hither to be nursed by us." I cannot say that I shared in "dear Madame's" joy on this occasion, and would have been better pleased had Valerie seemed to be less excited than she was. Moreover, I feared that the arrival of a Russian officer as an inmate might seriously complicate matters, and completely alter my position; and a pang seemed to enter my heart, as I already began to feel with wretchedness that Valerie might soon be lost to me. I had no time to lose if I would seek to resume the subject of conversation on that evening when Madame Tolstoff arrived just in time to interrupt us; but Valerie seemed studiously never to afford me an opportunity of being with her alone. This was most tantalising, especially now when a crisis in my affairs seemed approaching. Moreover, I had already been at Yalta longer than I could ever have anticipated. The love of the brother and sister for each other was, I knew, strong and tender; could I, therefore, but persuade her to escape--"to fly" with me, as novels have it--to our camp, now that he was a prisoner, and probably _en route_ for England! A meagre choice of comforts would await her in the allied camp; but in the excess of my love, my ardour, and folly, I forgot all about that, and even about the Cossacks who occupied the Pass of the Baidar Valley. It was not without emotions of undefined anxiety that on the following day I heard from Ivan Yourivitch that Colonel Tolstoff had arrived, and would meet me at dinner. The whole of that noon and afternoon passed, but I could nowhere see Valerie; and on entering the room when dinner was announced--a dinner _à la Russe_, the table covered with flowers fresh from the conservatory--I was sensible that she received me with an air of constraint which, in her, was very remarkable; while something akin to malicious pleasure seemed to twinkle in the little dark beadlike eyes of Madame Tolstoff as she introduced me to her son the Colonel; at least, by his reception of me I understood so much of what she said, for the old lady spoke in her native Russian. He was a tall, grim-looking man, who, after laying aside the long military _capote_, appeared in the dark green uniform of the 26th Infantry, with several silver medals dangling on his well-padded breast. He had fierce keen eyes, that seemed to glare at times under their bristling brows; and he had an enormous sandy-coloured moustache, that appeared to retain the blue curling smoke of his _papirosse_, or to emit it grudgingly, as if it came through closely-laid thatch; a thick beard of the same hue, streaked with grizzled gray hair, concealed a massive jaw and most determined chin. He was huge, heavy-looking, and muscular; and on seeing me, held out a strong, weather-beaten hand but coldly and dryly, as he addressed me in German; and then we immediately recognised each other, for he was the officer who commanded the regiment which had occupied the abattis, and who received me when I took the flag of truce into Sebastopol. Volhonski, I have said, was a noble of the first class--that which traces nobility back for a single century; but Tolstoff was only of the second, or military class, being the son of a merchant, who after serving eight years in the ranks as a _junker_, on being made an officer becomes an hereditary noble, with the right to purchase a landed estate. Tolstoff was quite lame--temporarily, however--by the bruises his left leg had suffered from the explosion of a shell. He spoke to me in bad and broken German, though I shall render his words here in English. "So my friend Volhonski is taken prisoner?" said I. "Yes; less lucky than you, Herr Captain, who have to be taken yet," he replied, tossing the fag end of his paper cigar into the _peitchka_. "It was in a sortie, I understand?" "A little one; his party was led astray by their guide towards the trenches." "Their guide! could one be found?" "Yes; an officer who deserted to us." "An officer!" said I, with astonishment. "Yes; one who was a prime favourite with the Lord Raglan. Strange that he should desert, was it not!" "With Lord Raglan!" I continued, more bewildered still. "The devil! You are strangely fond of repeating my words! Anyway he wears a diamond ring that was given him by Lord Raglan for some great service he performed; but as he is to be here to-night, you shall see him yourself." Guilfoyle! The inevitable Guilfoyle and his ring! I could have laughed, but for rage at his cowardice, villainy, and treachery, in actually acting as guide in that affair which caused a loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners to our 68th Foot. However, thought I, through my clenched teeth, I shall see him to-night. "Have you ever seen this officer?" I asked. "No; but he comes to Yalta with certain reports for my signature. I doubt if Prince Woronzow, who is now Governor of Tiflis in Georgia, knows who--_all_--honour his mansion by a residence therein. You have made a longer visit among us this time than you did under the flag of truce!" "Circumstances have forced me to do so, with what willingness you may imagine," said I, justly displeased by his tone and tenor of his speech, which seemed to class me with a rascal and a traitor like Guilfoyle. "I was most fortunate, however, in finding my way here, after escaping death, first at the hands of your Cossacks, and afterwards in the sea." "Ah, they are troublesome fellows those Cossacks, and I fear you are not quite done with them yet." "They, and your infantry, too, found us pretty well prepared on that misty morning at Inkermann," said I, growing more and more displeased by his tone and manner. "Well prepared! By----, I should think so; when people come on frivolous errands with flags of truce, to see what an enemy is about behind his own lines." I felt the blood rush to my temples, and Valerie, with a piteous expression in her soft face, said something in Russian, and with a tone of expostulation; to which the grim Pulkovnick made no response, but sat silently making such a dinner as seemed to indicate that rations had been scarce in Sebastopol, and keeping Ivan Yourivitch in constant attendance, but chiefly on himself. I could see that the man was a soldier, and nothing but a soldier, a Russian military tyrant in fact, and felt assured that the sooner I was out of Yalta, and beyond his reach--risking even the Cossacks in the Valley--the better for myself. He was twice assisted by his amiable "mamma," to the _bativina_, i.e., soup made of roasted beef cut into small pieces, with boiled beetroot, spring onions, carraway-seeds, purée of sorrel, with chopped eggs and kvass. He was thrice helped to stuffed carrots with sauce, to roast mutton with mushrooms, and compote of almonds; and he drank great quantities of hydromel flavoured with spices, and so fermented with hops that it foamed up in the silver tankard and over his vast moustache. But in the intervals during dinner, and often speaking with his mouth very full, he related for the express behoof of his mother and Valerie, a very strange incident, which they seemed implicitly to believe, and which the latter politely translated for me. It was to the effect, that on the night Volhonski was taken prisoner, one of his officers, a man of noble rank, and major of the Vladimir Regiment, was carried into Sebastopol mortally wounded in an attempt to rescue him; and as he was dying, the host was borne to him under a canopy by Innocent, Bishop of Odessa, in person. As the procession passed a tratkir, or tea-house, some soldiers and girls were dancing there to the sound of a violin; and though they heard the voices of the chanters, and the occasional ringing of the sanctus bell, they ceased not their amusement, neither did they kneel, so the host passed on; but like those who were enchanted by hearing the wonderful flute of the German tale, they could not cease dancing, neither could the violinist desist from playing, and for six-and-thirty hours they continued to whirl in a wild waltz--in sorrow and tears, a ghastly band--till, exhausted and worn nearly to skeletons, they sank gasping and breathless on the floor, where they were still lying, paralysed in all their limbs, and hopelessly insane! Tolstoff seemed to hasten the ceremonies of the dinner-table to get rid of the ladies; and the moment they rose he gave his mother some _papirosses_, or cigarettes, to smoke, and then proceeded, leisurely, to roll up one for himself, after pushing across the table towards me the champagne, which he despised as very poor wine indeed. "Hah, Yourivitch!" said he, taking up a decanter, and applying his somewhat snub nose thereto; "what is this? corn-brandy!" he added, draining a glassful; "as it is good, I must have a glass;" so he took a second of the fiery fluid. "O, now I feel another man, and being another man, require another glass;" so he took a _third_. These additions to the hydromel did not seem to improve his temper, and assuredly I would have preferred to follow the ladies to the drawing-room, than to linger on with him "In after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine," but that I feared to offend the man unnecessarily. "Excuse me," said he, as he lay back in his seat, with his coat unbuttoned, and proceeded, very coolly, to pick his teeth with one of those small cross-hilted daggers, the slender blades of which are about four inches long, and which are worn in secret by so many Russian officers, and are all of the finest steel. After a pause, during which he again dipped his long moustache in the foaming hydromel, he said, "Though Volhonski told me about you, I scarcely expected, Herr Captain, to have found you here _still_." "Where should I have gone--into the hands of the Cossacks, at Baidar?" "Towards Kharkoff, at all events." I coloured at this very pointed remark, as it was to that province in the Ukraine that the Russians had transmitted many of the prisoners taken during the war. "Here I felt myself on a special footing." "How, Herr Captain?" "As the guest of the Volhonskis," said I, sternly. "Though an enemy of Russia?" "Politically or professionally, yes: but I have the honour to be viewed as a friend by the Count, and also by his sister." "Ah, indeed! I have heard as much. The Hospoza Valerie is, you see, beautiful." "Wondrously so," said I, with fervour, glad that I could cordially agree with this odious fellow in one thing at least. "Then beware," said Tolstoff, his face darkening; "for I don't believe that much friendship can subsist between the sexes without its assuming a warmer complexion." "Colonel Tolstoff!" "Besides, the Hospoza Valerie is a coquette--one who would flirt with the tongs, if nothing better were at hand--so don't flatter yourself, Herr Captain." I felt inclined to fling the decanter at his head; for in his tone of mentor he far exceeded even Volhonski. "This is a somewhat offensive way to speak of a noble lady--the sister of your friend," said I. "We shall dismiss that subject; and now for another," said he. "It must be pretty apparent to you, Herr Captain, that you cannot remain here, unparoled, in your present anomalous position." "I quite agree with you, and feel it most keenly; but I gave my parole of honour to Valerie," I added, gaily and unwisely, for again the face of Tolstoff lowered. "To let you remain or go free were treason to Russia and the Czar; you must therefore be sent as a prisoner of war to Kharkoff, and--" "What then?" "Be treated there according to the report I shall transmit with your escort." "What will Volhonski say?" "Just what he pleases; the Count is a prisoner now himself." I read some hidden meaning in his eyes, though he sat quietly cracking walnuts and sipping his hydromel. "An officer on duty, I fall into the hands of an enemy--" I was beginning passionately, when he interrupted me, and his eyes gleamed as he said, "You had a despatch; I think you told Volhonski or his sister so?" "Yes, Colonel--a despatch for Marshal Canrobert." "Where is it?" "I destroyed it." "Bah!--I thought so," said he, scornfully. "On my honour, I did so, Colonel Tolstoff!" "Honour! ha, ha, you are a spy!" "Rascal!" I exclaimed, feeling myself grow white with passion the while; "recall this injurious epithet, or--" "Or what? Dare you threaten me? I can pick the ace of hearts off a card at twenty paces with a revolver, so beware; and yet I am not obliged to meet any one who is amenable to the laws of war, and is in a position so dubious as yours." I was choking with rage; yet a conviction that he spoke with something of warrant, so far as appearances went, and of the absolute necessity for acting with policy, if I would leave myself a chance of winning Valerie and escape greater perils than any I had encountered, compelled me to assume a calmness of bearing I was far from feeling. "Seek neither to threaten nor to trifle with me," said he, loftily and grimly; "you may certainly know the common laws of war regarding the retention of prisoners and the punishment of spies, but you know not those of Russia. If I do not treat you as one of the latter, it is because Volhonski is your friend; but I have it in my power, in treating you as one of the former, to have you transmitted farther than the Ukraine--to where you should never be heard of more. We are not particular to a shade here," he continued, with a sneering smile; "when the Emperor commanded a certain offender to be taken and punished, the minister of police could not find the right individual. What the deuce was to be done? Justice could not remain unsatisfied; so, instead, he seized a poor German, who had just arrived and was known to none. He slit his tongue, tore out his nostrils, sent him to Siberia to hunt the ermine, and reported to the Czar that his orders had been obeyed. So don't flatter yourself that any persons in office among us would be very particular in analysing _any report_ that I may transmit with you, a mere English captain!" And rising from the table with these ominous words, he bowed to the _eikon_, crossed himself after the Greek fashion, inserted a _papirosse_ into his dense moustache, and limped away, leaving me in a very unenviable frame of mind. Already I saw Valerie lost to me! I beheld myself, in fancy, marched into the interior of Russia under armed escort, maltreated and degraded, with my hands tied to the mane of a Cossack pony, or a foot chained to a six-pound shot; a secret report transmitted with me--a tissue of malevolent lies--to be acted upon by some irresponsible official with a crackjaw name; to be never more heard of, my sufferings and my ultimate fate to be--God alone knew what! I was weak enough to feel jealous of this ungainly Tolstoff--this Muscovite Caliban--in addition to being seriously alarmed by his threats, and enraged by his tone and bearing. Had Valerie ever viewed him with favour? The idea was too absurd! If not, what right had _he_ to advise me concerning her? But then she was so beautiful, one could not wonder that he--coarse though he was--might love her in secret. Full of these and other thoughts that were vague and bitter, I quitted the table just as Yourivitch was lighting the lamps, and wandered into the long and now gloomy picture-gallery, one of the great windows of which was open. Beyond it was a terrace, whereon I saw the figure of Valerie. She was alone, and in defiance of all prudence and the warning of Tolstoff, I followed her. CHAPTER XLIX.--BETROTHED. She seemed absorbed in thought as I drew near her, and did not perceive my approach. She was leaning on the carved balustrade of the terrace, and gazing at the sea and the scenery that lay below it, steeped in the brilliance of a clear and frosty moonlight. The snow had entirely departed from the vicinity of Yalta, though its white mantle still covered all the peaks of the Yaila range of mountains. About a mile distant on one side lay the town, its glaring white-walled houses gleaming coldly in the moonshine. A beach was there, with most civilised-looking bathing-machines upon it; for prior to the war, Yalta had been the fashionable watering-place for the ladies of Sebastopol, Bagtcheserai, and Odessa, who were wont there to disport themselves in fantastic costumes, and take headers in the Euxinus Pontus. On the other side were lovely valleys and hills, covered with timber--pine-groves dark and huge as those that overhang the fjords of Norway. In the distance lay the Black Sea--so called from the dark fogs that so often cover it--sleeping in silver light, its waves in shining ripples rolling far away round the points of Orianda and Maragatsch; and Valerie, absorbed in thought, and her dark eyes fixed apparently on that point where the starry horizon met the distant sea. She wore an ample jacket or pelisse of snow-white ermine lined with rose-coloured silk, and clasped at the tender throat by a brooch which was a cluster of bright amethysts. A kind of loose silken hood, such as ladies when in full dress may wear in a carriage, was hastily thrown over the masses of her golden hair, which formed a kind of soft framework for her delicately-cut and warmly-tinted face, for the cold air had brought an unwonted colour into her usually pale complexion. Her eyes wore an expression of languor and anxiety. Heaven knows what the girl was thinking of; but as she watched the shining sea I could see her full pink nervous lips curling and quivering, as if with the thoughts that ran through her impulsive mind. And this bright creature might be mine! I had but to ask her, perhaps, and I had not so faint a heart as to lose one so fair for the mere dread of asking her. Yet, as I drew near, the reflection flashed upon my mind that for three days at least she had purposely avoided me. Why was this? Had my love for her been too apparent to others? had I underdone or overdone anything? what had I omitted, or how committed myself? "Valerie!" said I, softly. She uttered a slight exclamation, as if startled, and then placing her firm, cool, and velvet-like hands confidingly in mine, glanced nervously round her, and more particularly up at the windows of the house. "I would speak with you," said she, in a half whisper. "And I with you, Valerie. O, how I have longed for a moment such as this, when I might again be with you alone!" "But we must not be seen together; and I have but that moment you have so wished for to spare. Come this way--this way, quick; those cypresses in the tubs will shield us from any curious eyes that may lurk at yonder windows." "O, Valerie!" I sighed with happiness, and as I passed a hand caressingly over her jacket of ermine I thought vengefully of Tolstoft's dark hint about hunting that small quadruped in Siberia; and then as I gazed tenderly into her dark and glittering eyes, I could perceive that their long tremulous lashes were matted. "Tears--why tears, Valerie?" She spoke hurriedly. "I have most earnestly to apologise to you for much that I heard the Pulkovnick say during dinner; it was indeed horrid--all!" "Much that you have not heard was more horrid still." "It is unbearable! His wounds or bruises must have exasperated his temper. Yet I cannot speak to him of that which I did not hear, as to do so would appear too much as if you and I had some secret confidences, and Madame Tolstoff, I fear, has hinted at something of this kind already." "I asked you to marry me, dearest Valerie." "Yes--vainly," said she, with a half-smile on her partly-averted face. "Vainly--why?" "Do not press me to say why." "Could you love me, Valerie?" "I might." "Might, Valerie?" (I was never weary of repeating her sweet name; and what meant this admission, if she declined me?) "You do not doubt my love for you?" I urged. "No, though I fear it is but a passing fancy, born of idleness and the ennui of Yalta." "Think you, Valerie, that any man could see, and only love you thus? O no, no! But say that you will be mine--that you will come with me to England, where your brother is, or soon shall be--to England, where women are treated with a courtesy and tenderness all unknown in Russia, and where the girl a man loves is indeed as an empress to him, and has his fate in life in her own hands." "I don't quite understand all this--nor should I listen to it," said she, looking me fully in the face, with calm confidence and something of sadness; too. Her right hand was still clasped in mine, and as I pressed it against my heart, I placed my left arm round her waist, modestly, tenderly, and with a somewhat faltering manner; for she looked so stately, and in her white ermine seemed taller and more ample than usual, a beauty on a large scale and with "a presence." But starting back, she quickly freed herself from my half-embrace, and said, "Captain Hardinge, you forget yourself!" "Can it be that you receive my tenderness thus?" said I, reproachfully, and feeling alike disappointed and crestfallen. "I love you most dearly, Valerie, and implore you to tell me of my future, for on your answer depends my happiness or misery." "I hope that I am the holder of neither. I did not ask you to love me; and O, I would to Heaven that you had never come to Yalta--that we had never, never met!" "Why--O, why?" I asked, imploringly. "Because I am on the very eve of being _married_." "Married!" I repeated, breathlessly; and then added passionately and hoarsely, "To whom?" "Colonel Tolstoff, to whom I was betrothed in form by the Bishop of Odessa." Her refusal was really a double-shotted one, and for a moment I was stupefied. Then I said, in a voice I could scarcely have recognised as my own, "It was to this tie, and not to a convent, that Volhonski alluded, when hinting that you were set apart from the world?" "Yes. I thank you from my soul for the love you offer me, though it fills me with distress. I pity you; but can do no more. Alas! you have been here only too long." "Too long, indeed!" said I, sadly, while bending my lips to her hand; and then hurrying into the house by the picture-gallery, she left me--left me to my own miserable and crushing thoughts, with the additional mortification of knowing that Madame Tolstoff, watchful as a lynx, had overseen and overheard our interview from another angle of the terrace, though she could not understand its nature; but of course she suspected much, and was all aflame for the interests of her suave and amiable son. However, this was not to be my last moment of tenderness with Valerie. But I was left little time for reflection, as events were now to succeed each other with a degree of speed and brevity equalled only by the transitions and discoveries of a drama on the stage. CHAPTER L.--CAUGHT AT LAST. I re-entered the château feeling sad, irresolute, and crushed in spirit. I had lost that on which I had set my heart, and at the hands of Tolstoff, my rival, I might yet lose more, if his threats meant anything--liberty, perhaps life itself. What, then, was to be done? I was without money, without arms, or a horse. All these Valerie might procure for me; but how or where was I to address her again? After the result of our last interview she would be certain to avoid me more sedulously than ever. As I passed through the magnificent vestibule, which was hung with rose-coloured lamps, the light of which fell softly on the green malachite pedestals and white marble Venuses, Dianas, and Psyches, which had no part of them dressed but their hair, which was done to perfection, I met Ivan Yourivitch, who made me understand that the officer whom the Pulkovnick expected with certain papers from Sebastopol had arrived, and was now in the dining-room; but the Pulkovnick had smoked himself off to sleep, and must not, under certain pains and penalties, be disturbed. Would I see him? And so, before I knew what to say, or had made up my mind whether to avoid or meet the visitor, I was ushered into the stately room, when I found myself once more face to face with Mr. Hawkesby Guilfoyle! The ex-cornet of wagoners was clad now in the gray Russian military capote, with a sword and revolver at his girdle. His beard had grown prodigiously; but his hair--once so well cared for--was now very thin indeed, and he did not appear altogether to have thriven in the new service to which he had betaken himself. His aspect was undoubtedly haggard. Suspected by his new friends (who urged him on duties for which he had not the smallest taste), and in perpetual dread of falling into the hands of the old, by whom he would be certainly hanged or shot, his life could not be a pleasant one; so he had evidently betaken himself to drink, as his face was blotched and his eyes inflamed in an unusual degree. He was very busy with a decanter of sparkling Crimskoi and other good things which the dvornick had placed before him, and on looking up he failed to recognise me, clad as I was in a suit of Volhonski's plain clothes, which were "a world too wide" for me; and no doubt I was the last person in the world whom he wished or expected to see in such a place and under such circumstances--being neither guest nor prisoner, and yet somewhat of both characters. He bowed politely, however, and said something in Russian, of which he had picked up a few words, and then smiled blandly. "You smile, sir," said I, sternly; "but remember the adage, a man may smile and smile, and be----" "Stay, sir!" he exclaimed, starting up; "this is intolerable! Who the devil are you, and what do you mean?" "Simply that you are a villain, and of the deepest die!" His hand went from the neck of the decanter towards his revolver; then he reseated himself, and with his old peculiar laugh said, while inserting his glass in his right eye, "O, this beats cock-fighting! Hardinge of the Welsh Fusileers! Now, where on earth did you come from?" "Not from the ranks of the enemy, at all events," I replied. His whole character--the wrongs he had tried to do me and had done to many others; the artful trick he had played me at Walcot Park his pitiless cruelty to Georgette Franklin; his base conduct to me when helpless on the field of Inkermann; his guiding a sortie in the night; his entire career of unvarying cunning and treachery--caused me to regard the man with something of wonder, mingled with loathing and contempt, but contempt without anger. He was beneath that. "So you are a prisoner of war?" said he, after a brief pause, during which he had drained a great goblet of the Crimskoi--a kind of imitation champagne. "What I am is nothing to you--my position, mind, and character are the same." "Perhaps so," he continued; "but I think that the most contemptible mule on earth is a fellow in whom no experience or time can effect a change of mind, or cure of those narrow opinions in which he is first brought up, as the phrase is, in that little island of ours." "So you have quite adopted the Russian idea of Britain?" said I, with a scornful smile. "Yes; and hope to have more scope for my talents on the Continent than I ever had there. I should not have left the army of my good friend Raglan----" "Who presented you with that ring, eh?" "Had there not been the prospect of a row about a rooking one night in camp, and a bill which some meddling fellow called a forgery. Bah! a bad bill may be a very useful thing at times; it is like a gun warranted to burst; but, as Lever says, you must always have it in the right man's hands, when it comes for explosion. If you are a prisoner, I am afraid that your chances of early seeing our dear mutual friends in Taffyland--by the way, how _is_ old Sir Taffy?--are very slender, if once you are sent towards the Ukraine," he went on mockingly, as he lit a papirosse. "And so the fair Estelle threw you over, eh? Good joke that! Preferred old Potter's company to yours, for the term of his natural life? What a deuced sell! But what a touching picture of love they must present--quite equal to Paul and Virginia, to Pyramus and Thisbe!" At that moment, and while indulging in a loud and mocking laugh, his countenance suddenly changed; he grew very pale, the glass fell from his pea-green eye, and the lighted papirosse from his lips; all his natural assurance and insouciance deserted him, and he looked as startled and bewildered as if a cannon-shot had just grazed his nose. I turned with surprise at this sudden change, and saw the face and figure of Colonel Tolstoff, who had limped into the room and been regarding us for half a minute unperceived. He stood behind me, grim and stern as Ajax, and was gazing at Guilfoyle with eyes that, under their bristling brows, glittered like those of a basilisk, and seemed to fascinate him. "We have not met since that night at Dunamunde!" exclaimed Tolstoff, in a voice of concentrated fury; "but, I thank God and St. Sergius, we have met at last--yes, at last! And so you know each other--_you two?_" he added, in German, while bestowing a withering glance on me. "Dunamunde!" said I, sternly, as the name of that place recalled something of a strange story concerning Tolstoff told by Guilfoyle to Lord Pottersleigh at Craigaderyn; "and you two would seem to have known each other and been friends of old, that is, if you are the same Count Tolstoff whom he saved from the machinations of a certain Colonel Nicolaevitch, then commanding the Marine Infantry at Riga." "What rubbish is this you speak?" demanded the other, with angry surprise; "there never was a _Count_ Tolstoff; and I am the Pulkovnick Nicolaevitch Tolstoff who commanded in Dunamunde, and was custodian of eighty thousand silver roubles, all government money. This ruffian was my friend--my chief friend then, though of the gaming table; but he joined in a plot, with others like himself, among whom was the Head of the Police, to rob me. He admitted them masked into my rooms, when they shot me down with my own pistols, and left me, with a broken thigh, bound hand and foot and cruelly gagged, while they escaped in safety across the Prussian frontier and got to Berlin, where they started a gaming-house. But he is here--here in my power at last; and sweetly and surely, I shall have such vengeance as that power gives me. Ha! look at him, the speechless coward; he has no bones in his tongue now!" he added, using a favourite Russian taunt. "All over--run to earth, by Jove!" muttered Guilfoyle, with trembling lips, forgetting about the papers he had brought, his new character of a Russian officer, and forgetting even to deny his identity; "I have thrown the dice for the last time, and d--nation, they have turned up aces!" Ivan Yourivitch and other Cossack servants, who had heard the loud voice of Tolstoff raised in undisguised anger, now appeared, and received some orders from him in Russian. In a moment they threw themselves upon Guilfoyle, disarmed, stripped him of his uniform, and bound him with a silken cord torn from the window-curtains. At first I was not without fears that they meant to strangle him with it, so prompt and fierce was their manner; but they merely tied his hands behind him, and thrust him into a closet, the door of which was locked, and the key given to the Pulkovnick. The latter, without deigning to take farther notice of me, turned on his heel and limped away, muttering anathemas in Russian; and I felt very thankful that he had not made me a close prisoner also, after the humiliating fashion to which he had subjected the wretched Guilfoyle. But he was not without secret and serious ulterior views regarding me. All remained still now in the great mansion after this noisy and sudden episode; and I heard no sound save once--the clatter of a horse's hoofs, which seemed to leave the adjoining stable-yard and die away, as I thought, in the direction of the Baidar Valley, where the Cossacks lay encamped; and somehow my heart naturally connected these circumstances and foreboded coming evil, as I sat alone in the recess of a window overlooking the terrace, and the same moonlighted scenery which Valerie had viewed from it so lately. CHAPTER LI.--FLIGHT. I was full of gloomy, perplexing, and irritating thoughts. "If I am to drag on my life for years perhaps as a Russian prisoner, better would it have been, O Lord, that a friendly shot had finished my career for ever. What have I now to live for?" I exclaimed, in the bitterness of my heart, as I struck my hands together. "You speak thus--you so young?" said Valerie, reproachfully yet softly, as she suddenly laid a hand on my shoulder, while her bright eyes beamed into mine--eyes that could excite emotion by emitting it. "Life seems so worthless." "Why?" she asked, in a low voice. "Can you ask me after what passed between us the other evening, and more especially on yonder terrace, less than an hour ago?" "But why is existence worthless?" "Because I have lost you!" (Had I not thought the same thing about Estelle, and deemed that "he who has most of heart has most of sorrow"?) "This is folly, dear friend," said she, looking down; "I never was yours to lose." "But you lured me to love you, Valerie; and now--now you would cast--nay, you have cast--my poor heart back upon itself!" "I lured you?" asked the gentle voice; "O unjust! How could I help your loving me?" "Perhaps not; nor could I help it myself." "Tell me truly--has this--this misplaced passion for me lured you from one who loves you well at home perhaps?" "From no one," said I, bitterly. "Thank Heaven for that; and we shall part as friends any way." "As friends only?" "Yes." "But you will ever be more to me, Valerie." She shook her head and smiled. A desire for vengeance on Tolstoff, for his insulting bearing on one hand, with, the love and admiration I had of herself on the other, and the pictured triumph of taking her away from him, and by her aid and presence with me reaching our camp in safety, all prompted me to urge an elopement; nor could I also forget the coquettish admission that she "might" love me; but just as I was about to renew my suit and had taken possession of her hands, she withdrew them, and while glancing nervously about her, informed me that the Pulkovnick had sent a mounted messenger to the Baidar Valley for Cossacks, to escort me and Guilfoyle to Kharkoff in the Ukraine; and when I remembered his threats of probable ulterior measures, I felt quite certain that his report would include us _both_, and thus be framed in terms alike dangerous and injurious to me. "What is to be done, Valerie?" I asked, in greater perplexity. "If I cannot love, I can still serve you," said she, smiling with a brightness that was cruel; "it is but just, in gratitude for the regard you have borne me." "That I still bear you and ever shall, beloved Valerie!" said I, with tremulous energy; "but to serve me--how?" "You must leave this place instantly, for in less than an hour the Cossacks will be here, and Tolstoff may have you killed on the march; the escort may be but a snare." "Then come--come with me--let us escape together!" "Impossible--you do but waste time in speaking thus." "Why--O why, Valerie, when you know that I love you?" "Race, religion, ties, all forbid such a step, even were I inclined for it, which fortunately I am not," she replied, lifting for a moment, as if for coolness, the rippling masses of her golden hair from her white temples, and letting them fall again; "you might and _must_ spare me more of this! Have I not told you it is useless to speak of love to me, and wrong in me to listen to you?" "And since when have you been engaged to this" (bear, I was about to say)--"to this man Tolstoff? And by what magic or devilry has he taught you to love him?" "In what can either concern you, at such a time as this especially, when you have not a moment to lose?" she asked, almost with irritation. "But hush--O, hush! here is some one." At that moment Ivan Yourivitch, with excitement on his usually stolid Russian visage, entered the room almost on tiptoe, and whispered something to her in haste, while his eyes were fixed the while on me. "Ah!--thank you, Ivan, thank you--that is well!" she said, and turning to me, she added, hurriedly and energetically, "If you would be free, and choose, it may be, between liberty or death, you have not another instant to lose! Ivan tells me that the crew of an English man-of-war boat is at this moment filling casks with water at the well of St. Basil on the beach yonder. Thrice has that ship been there for the same purpose; and I was watching for her when you came to me on the terrace, as I heard of her being off Alupka this morning." "Your thoughts, then, were of me?" said I, tenderly. "For you, rather; but away, and God be with you, sir!" I lifted the window softly, and across the moonlit park that stretched away towards the seashore she pointed to where four tall cypresses rose like dark giants against the clear and starry sky, and where, at the distance of a mile or little more, the white marble dome of the well could be distinctly seen between them, its polished surface shining like a star above a sombre belt of shrubbery. "There is the sound of hoofs! The Cossacks, your escort, are coming Away, sir; you cannot miss the well, though you may the boat!" said Valerie, with her hands clasped and her dark eyes dilated; and as she spoke the clank of galloping horses coming up the valley (and, as I fancied, the cracking of the whips carried by the Cossacks at their bridles) could be heard distinctly in the clear frosty air. "If I had but my sword and pistols!" said I, with my teeth clenched. "You do not require them. Farewell! "Adieu, Valerie--adieu!" I passionately kissed her lips and her cheek, too, ere she could prevent me, waved my hand to old Yourivitch, vaulted over the window, dropped from the balustrade of the terrace into the park, and at the risk of being seen by some of the household crossed it with all the speed I could exert in the direction that led to where I knew that the well--a structure erected by Prince Woronzow--stood on a lonely part of the shore. More than once did I look back at the lofty façade of the beautiful château, with its four towers and onion-shaped domes of shining copper, and all its stately windows that glittered in the light of a cloudless moon; and just as I drew near the belt of shrubbery, I could see the dark figures of mounted men encircling the terrace! A fugitive, in danger of losing honour and life together! Was this the end of my daydreams in Yalta? Once more I turned, and hastened to where the four cypress-trees towered skyward. "Ahoy! who comes there?" cried a somewhat gruff voice, in English, accompanied by the sound of a slap on the butt of a musket; and then the squat sturdy figure of a seaman, posted as sentinel, appeared among the bushes, with an infantry pouch, belts, and bayonet worn above his short pea-jacket. "A friend!" I replied, mechanically, yet not without a glow of sincere pleasure. "Stand there, till I have a squint at you," replied Jack, cocking his musket and giving a glance at the cap; but I was too much excited to parley with him, and continued to advance, saying, "I am an officer--Captain Hardinge, of the 23rd, a prisoner escaping from the enemy." "All right, sir--glad to see you; heave ahead," he replied, half cocking his piece again. "Who commands your party?" "Lieutenant Jekyll, sir," said the seaman, saluting now, when he saw me fully in the moonlight. "Of what ship?" "The Southesk, sir, of twenty guns." "Let me pass to your rear. He must instantly shove off his boat, as the Cossacks are within a mile of us--at yonder house." In a minute more I reached the party at the well, twelve seamen and as many marines under an officer, who had a brace of pistols in his belt, and carried his sword drawn. They were in the act of carrying the last cask of water into a ship's cutter, which lay alongside a ridge of rock that ran into the sea, forming a species of natural pier or jetty, close by the white marble fountain. I soon made myself known, and ere long found myself seated among new friends, and out on the shining water, which bubbled up at the bow and foamed under the counter as the oarsmen bent to their task, and their steadily and regularly feathered blades flashed in the silver sheen. The shore receded fast; the belt of shrubs grew lower and lower; and then the glittering domes of the distant mansion, which was ever in my mind and memory to be associated with Valerie Volhonski, rose gradually on our view, with the snow-clad range of Yaila in the background. But all were blended in haze and distance by the time we came sheering alongside H.M.S. Southesk, the water-tank of which had, fortunately for me, been empty, thus forcing her crew to have recourse to the well of St. Basil, by which circumstance I more than probably escaped the fate that ultimately overtook, but deservedly, the luckless Hawkesby Guilfoyle. In the morning, under easy sail and half steam, the ship was off Balaclava, where I saw the old Genoese fort that commands its entrance, the white houses of the Arnaouts shaded by tall poplars, and the sea breaking in foam upon its marble bluffs; and there the captain kindly put me ashore in the first boat that left the ship. It was not until long after the Crimean war, that by the merest chance, through an exchanged prisoner--a private of our 68th Foot--when having occasion to employ him as a commissionnaire in London, I learned what the fate of Guilfoyle was. En route to Kharkoff, he was run through the heart and killed by the lance of a Cossack of his escort, who alleged that he was attempting to escape; but my informant more shrewdly suspected that it was to obtain quiet possession of his ring--the paste diamond which had figured so often in his adventures, real and fictitious. CHAPTER LII.--BEFORE SEBASTOPOL STILL. On the 28th of March, I found myself once more in my old tent, and seeking hard to keep myself warm at the impromptu stove, constructed by my faithful old servant, poor Jack Evans. I was received with astonishment, and, I am pleased to say, with genuine satisfaction by the regiment, even by those who had flattered themselves that they had gained promotion by my supposed demise. I was welcomed by all, from the Lieutenant-colonel down to little Dicky Roll, the junior drummer, and for the first day my tent was besieged by old friends. I had come back among them as from the dead; but more than one man, whose name figured in the lists as missing, turned up in a similar fashion during the war. My baggage had all been sent to Balaclava, the railway to which was now partly in operation; my letters and papers had been carefully sealed up in black wax by Philip Caradoc, and with other private and personal mementos of me, packed for transmission to Sir Madoc Lloyd, as my chief friend of whom he knew. Many came, I have said, to welcome me; but I missed many a familiar face, especially from among my own company, as the Fusileers had more than once been severely engaged in the trenches. Caradoc had been wounded in the left hand by a rifle-ball; Charley Gywnne greeted me with his head in bandages, the result of a Cossack sabre-cut; Dynely, the adjutant, had also been wounded; so had Mostyn, of the Rifles, and Tom Clavell, of the 19th, when passing through "the Valley of Death." Sergeant Rhuddlan, of my company, had just rejoined, after having a ball in the chest (even Carneydd Llewellyn had lost a horn): all who came to see me had something to tell of dangers dared and sufferings undergone. All were in uniforms that were worn to rags; but all were hearty as crickets, though sick of the protracted siege, and longing to carry Sebastopol with the cold steel. "How odd, my dear old fellow, that we should all think you drowned, and might have been wearing crape on our sleeves, but for the lack thereof in camp, and the fact that mourning has gone out of fashion since death is so common among us; while all the time you have been mewed up (by the Cossacks in the Baidar Valley) within some forty miles of us; and so stupidly, too!" said Caradoc, as we sat late in the night over our grog and tobacco in his hut. "Not so stupidly, after all," I replied, while freely assisting myself to his cavendish. "How?" "There was _such_ a girl there, Phil!" I added, with a sigh. "Oho! where?" "At Yalta." "Woronzow's palace, or château?" "Yes; but why wink so knowingly?" "So, after all, you found there was balm in Gilead?" said he, laughing. "You must admit then, if she impressed you so much, that all your bitter regrets about a certain newspaper paragraph were a little overdone, and that I was a wise prophet? And what was this girl--Russian, Tartar, Greek, a Karaite Jewess, or what?" "A pure Russian." "Handsome?" "Beyond any I have ever seen, beautiful!" "Whew! even beyond _la belle_--" "There, don't mention her at present, please," said I, with a little irritation, which only made him laugh the more. "If you were love-making at Yalta, with three lance-prods in you, there was no malingering anyhow." "I should think not." "And so she was engaged to be married to that Russian bear, Tolstoff," he added, after I had told him the whole of my affair with Valerie. "Yes," said I, with an unmistakable sigh. "I think we are both destined to live and die bachelors," he resumed, in a bantering way; for though Phil had in these matters undergone, at Craigaderyn and elsewhere, "the baptism of fire" himself, he was not the less inclined to laugh at me; for of all sorrows, those of love alone excite the risible propensities. "And so, Phil, the world's a kaleidoscope--always shifting." "Not always _couleur de rose_, though?" "And I am here again!" "Thank God!" said he, as we again shook hands, "Faith, Harry, you must have as many lives as a cat, and so you may well have as many loves as Don Juan; but, _entre nous_, and excuse me, she seems to have been a bit of a flirt, your charming Valerie." "How--why do you think so?" "From all you have told me; moreover every woman to be attractive, should be a little so," replied Caradoc, curling his heavy brown moustache. "I don't think she was; indeed, I am certain she was not. But if this be true, how then about Miss Lloyd; and she is attractive enough?" At the tenor of this retort Phil's face flushed from his Crimean beard to his temples. "There you are wrong," said he, with the slightest asperity possible; "she has not in her character a grain of coquetry, or of that which Horace calls 'the art that is not to be taught by art.' She is a pure-minded and warm-hearted English girl, and is as perfect as all those wives and daughters of England, who figure in the volumes of Mrs. Ellis; and in saying this I am genuine, for I feel that I am praising some other fellow's bride--not mine, God help me!" he added, with much of real feeling. "You have heard nothing of the Lloyds since I left you?" "Nothing." "Well, take courage, Phil; we may be at Craigaderyn one day yet," said I; and he, as if ashamed of his momentary sentimental outburst, exclaimed, with a laugh, "By Jove, now that I have heard all your amours and amourettes, they surpass even those of Hugh Price." "Poor Hugh! his lieutenancy is filled up, I suppose?" "Yes--as another week would have seen your company, for we could not conceive that you were a prisoner at Yalta. Awkward that would have been." "Deucedly so." "But now you must console yourself, old fellow, by seeing what Madame la Colonelle Tolstoff----" "Don't call her by that name, Phil--I hate to hear it!" "By what, then?" "Valerie--anything but the other." "Then what, as Mrs. Henry Hardinge, she might become, if all this author (whose book I have been reading) says of the Russian ladies be true." And drawing from his pocket a small volume, he gave me the following paragraph to read, and I own it consoled me--a _little:_-- "The domestic virtues are little known or cultivated in Russia, and marriage is a mere matter of convenience. There is little of romance in the character or conduct of the Russian lady. Intrigue and sensuality, rather than sentiment or passion, guide her in her amours, and these in after-life are followed by other inclinations. She becomes a greedy gamester, and a great _gourmande_, gross in person, masculine in views, a shrewd observer of events, an oracle at court, and a tyrant over her dependents. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule." "Ah, Valerie would be one of these!" "Perhaps--but as likely not," said Phil; "and on the whole, if this traveller Maxwell is right, I have reason to congratulate you on your escape. But we must turn in now, as we relieve the trenches an hour before daybreak to-morrow; and by a recent order every man, without distinction, carries one round shot to the front, so a constant supply is kept up for the batteries." Soon after this, on the 2nd of April, a working party of ours suffered severely in the trenches, and Major Bell, who commanded, was thanked in general orders for his distinguished conduct on that occasion. As yet it seemed to me that no very apparent progress had been made with the siege. The cold was still intense. Mustard froze the moment it was made, and half-and-half grog nearly did so, too. The hospital tents and huts were filled with emaciated patients suffering under the many diseases incident to camp life; and the terrible hospital at Scutari was so full, that though the deaths there averaged fifty daily in February, our last batch of wounded had to be kept on board-ship. Phil and I burned charcoal in our hut, using old tin mess-kettles with holes punched in them. We, like all the officers, wore long Crimean boots; but our poor soldiers had only their wretched ankle bluchers, which afforded them no protection when the snow was heavy, or when in thaws the mud became literally knee-deep; and they suffered so much, that in more than one instance privates dropped down dead without a wound after leaving the trenches. So great were the disasters of one regiment--the 63rd, I think--that only seven privates and four officers were able to march to Balaclava on the 1st of February; by the 12th the effective strength of the brigade of Guards was returned at 350 men; and all corps--the Highland, perhaps, excepted--were in a similarly dilapidated state. The camp was ever full of conflicting rumours concerning combined assaults, expected sorties, the probabilities of peace, or a continuance of the war; alleged treasons among certain French officers, who were at one time alleged to have given the Russians plans of their own batteries; that Menschikoff was dead from a wound, and also Yermiloff the admiral; that _General_ Tolstoff was now in command of the left towards Inkermann. (If so, was Valerie now in Sebastopol? How I longed for the united attack--the storm and capture that might enable me to see her once again!) And amid all these varied rumours there came one--carried swiftly by horsemen through Bucharest and Varna--which reached us on the 7th of April, to the effect that Nicholas the mighty Czar of All the Russias, had gone to his last account; and I do not think it was a demise we mourned much. We sent intelligence of it by a flag of truce to the Russians; but they received it with scorn, as a "weak invention of the enemy." And now the snow began to wear away; the clouds that floated over the blue Euxine and the green spires of Sebastopol became light and fleecy; the young grass began to sprout, and the wild hyacinths, the purple crocuses, and tender snowdrops, the violet and the primrose, were blooming in the Valley of Death, and on the fresh mould that marked where the graves of our comrades lay. CHAPTER LIII.--NEWS FROM CRAIGADERYN. It was impossible for me not to feel lingering in my heart a deep and tender interest for Valerie. She had not deceived or ill-used me; we had simply been separated by the force of circumstances; by her previous troth to Tolstoff, whom I flattered myself she could not love, even if she respected or esteemed him. That they were married by this time I could scarcely doubt, as she had assured me that she was on "the very eve" of her nuptials (one of those "marriages of convenience," according to Caradoc's book); and if he held a command so high in Sebastopol, there was every reason to conclude she must be with him. In the event of a general assault, I was fully resolved to send my card to headquarters as a volunteer for the storming column, though I knew right well that I dare not allow myself to fall alive, into _his_ hands, at all events; thus the whole situation gave me an additional and more personal interest in the fall and capture of that place than, perhaps, inspired any other man in the whole allied army. What if Tolstoff should be killed? This surmise opened up a wide field for speculation. Any of those balls that were incessantly poured against the city might send that amiable commander to kingdom come, and if Valerie were left a widow--well, I did not somehow like to think of her as a widow, Tolstoff's especially, yet I was exasperated to think of her, so brilliant, so gentle, and so highly cultured, as the wife of one so coarse and even brutal in bearing, and if he did happen to stand in the way of a bullet, why should he not be killed as well as another; and so I reasoned, so true it is, that "with all our veneering and French polish, the tiger is only half dead in any of us." If I were again unluckily sent with a flag of truce into Sebastopol, on any mission such as the burial of the dead and removal of the wounded, or so forth, it would, I knew, be certainly violated by Tolstoff, and myself be made prisoner for the affairs at Yalta. Then if such a duty were again offered me, on what plea could I, with honour, decline it? I could but devoutly hope that no such contingency might happen for me again. Times there were when, brooding over the past, and recalling the strange magnetism of the smile of Valerie, and in the touch of her hand, the contour of her face, her wonderful hair, and pleading winning dark eyes, there came into my heart the tiger feeling referred to, the jealousy that makes men feel mad, wild, fit for homicide or anything; and as hourly "human lives were lavished everywhere, as the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves," I had--heroics apart--a terrible longing to have my left hand upon the throat of Tolstoff, with her Majesty's Sheffield regulation blade in the other, to help him on his way to a better world. In these, or similar visions and surmises, I ceased to indulge when with Caradoc, as he was wont to quiz me, and say that if I got a wife out of Sebastopol, I should be the only man who gained anything by the war, and even my gain might be a loss; that, like himself, I had twice burned my fingers at the torch of Hymen, and that I should laugh at the Russian episode or loving interlude, as he called it, as there were girls in England whose shoe-strings he was sure she was not fit to tie. Though she had rightly told me that my passion was but a passing fancy, she knew not that it was one fed by revenge and disappointment. "Lady Estelle may perhaps have destroyed your faith in women," added Phil, "but any way she has not destroyed _mine_." "Have you still the locket with the likeness of Winifred Lloyd?" said I. "Yes--God bless her--she left it with me," he replied, with a kindling eye. How true Phil was to her! and yet she knew it not, and as far as we knew, recked but little of the faith he bore her. On a Saturday night--the night of that 21st of April, on which we captured the rifle-pits--as we sat in our hut talking over the affair, weary with toil of that incessant firing to which the cannonading at Shoeburyness is a joke, Phil said, "Let us drink 'sweethearts and wives,' as we used to do in the transport." "Agreed," said I; and as we clinked our glasses together and exchanged glances, I knew that his thoughts went back to Craigaderyn, even as mine recurred to that moonlight night on the terrace at Yalta. "You remained with the burial party," said he, after a pause. "Yes, and I saw something which convinced me that the fewer tender ties we fighting men have, the better for our own peace. An officer of the 19th lay among the dead, a man past forty apparently. A paper was peeping from the breast of his coat; I pulled it out, and it proved to be a letter, received perhaps that morning--a letter from his wife, thrust hastily into his breast, as we marched to the front. A little golden curl was in it, and there was written in a child's hand, 'Cecil's love to dearest papa.' I must own that the incident, at such a time and place, affected me; so I replaced the letter in the poor fellow's breast, and we buried it with him. So papa lies in a rifle-pit, with mamma's letter and little Cecil's lock of hair; but, after all, king Death did not get much of him--the poor man had been nearly torn to pieces by a cannon shot." "I saw you in advance of the whole line of skirmishers to-day, Harry, far beyond the zigzags." "I was actually at the foot of the glacis." "The glacis--was not that madness?" exclaimed Phil. "The truth is, I did so neither through enthusiastic courage nor in a spirit of bravado. I was only anxious to see if from behind the sap-roller that protected me, my field-glass could enable me to detect among the gray-coated figures at the embrasures, the tall person and grim visage of old Tolstoff." "By Jove, I thought as much!" "But I looked in vain, and retired in crab-fashion, the bullets falling in a shower about me the while." At that moment a knock rung on the door of the hut, and Sergeant Rhuddlan, who acted as our regimental postman, handed a small packet to me. "The second battalion of the Scots Royals, the 48th, and the 72nd Highlanders have just come in, sir, from Balaclava, and have brought a mail with them," said he, in explanation; and while he was speaking, we heard the sound of drums and bagpipes, half drowned by cheers in the dark, as those in camp welcomed the new arrivals from home, and helped to get them tented and hutted. "From Craigaderyn!" said I, on seeing the seal--Sir Madoc's antique oval--with the lion's head _erased_, as the heralds have it. I had written instantly to the kind old man on my return to camp, and this proved to be the answer by the first mail. On opening the packet I found a letter, and a cigar-case beautifully worked in beads of the regimental colours, red, blue, and gold, with _my_ initials on one side, and those of Winifred Lloyd on the _other_. Poor Phil Caradoc looked wistfully at the work her delicate hands had so evidently wrought--so wistfully that, but for the ungallantry of the proceeding, I should have presented the case to him. However, he had the simple gratification of holding it, while I read the letter of Sir Madoc, and did so aloud, as being of equal interest to us both. It was full of such warm expressions of joy for my safety and of regard for me personally, that I own they moved me; but some passages proved a little mysterious and perplexing. "Need I repeat to you, my dear Harry, how the receipt of your letter caused every heart in the Court to rejoice--that of Winny especially? She is more impressionable than Dora, less volatile, and I have now learned _why_ the poor girl refused Sir Watkins, and, as I understand, another." "That is me," said Phil, parenthetically. "But of that unexpected refusal of Sir Watkins Vaughan nothing can be said here." "What on earth can he mean!" said I, looking up; "perhaps she has some lingering compunction about you, Phil." "If so, she might have sent the cigar-case to me--or something else; just to square matters, as it were." Remembering my old suspicions and fears--they were fears _then_--as I drove away from Craigaderyn for Chester, I read the letter in haste, and with dread of what it might contain or reveal; as I would not for worlds have inflicted a mortification, however slight, on my dear friend Caradoc, who gnawed the ends of his moustache at the following: "Young Sir Watkins had been most attentive to Winny during the past season in town--that gay London season, which, notwithstanding the war, was quite as brilliant as usual; when every one had come back from the Scotch moors, from Ben Nevis, Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, and everywhere else that the roving Englishman is wont to frequent, to kill game, or time, or himself, as it sometimes happens. But Winny won't listen to him, and I think he is turning his attention to Dora, though whether or not the girl--who has another adorer, in the shape of a long-legged Plunger with parted hair and a lisp--only laughs at him, I can't make out. "Tell Caradoc, Gwynne, and other true-hearted Cymri in the Welsh Fusileers, that when in London I attended more than one meeting, inaugurating a movement to secure for Wales judges and counsel who shall speak Welsh, and Welsh only. The meetings were failures, and the d--d Sassenachs only laughed at us; but from such injustice, _Gwared ni Argylywd daionus!_[5] say I. "And so poor Hugh Price of yours is gone. A good-hearted fellow, who could do anything, from crossing the stiffest hunting country to making a champagne cup, singing a love song or mixing a salad--one of the old line of the Rhys of Geeler in Denbighshire. My God, how many other fine fellows lie in that hecatomb in the Valley of Inkermann! Sebastopol seems to be left quite open on one side, so that the Russians may pour in stores and fresh troops, and go and come at their pleasure? It is pleasant for tax-payers at home and the troops abroad to think that things are so arranged in Downing-street, by my Lords Aberdeen, Aberconway, and suchlike Whig incapables and incurables. "I fear your regimental dinner would be a scanty one on St. David's-days." (On that day I had dined with Valerie, and forgot all about the yearly festival of the Fusileers!) "I thought of it and of you all--the more so, perhaps, that I had just seen the old colours of the Royal Welsh in St. Peter's Church at Carmarthen." The old baronet, after a few Welsh words, of which I could make nothing, rambled away into such subjects as mangold-wurzels and subsoil, scab-and-foot rot, and food for pheasants, all of which I skipped; ditto about the close of the hunting-season, which he and Sir Watkins--Winny's admirer--had shared together; and how the rain had deluged Salop, throwing the scent breast-high, so that in many a run the fox and the hounds had it all to themselves, and that following them was as bad as going all round the Wrekin to Shrewsbury, mere brooks having become more than saddle-girth deep; moreover, the mischievous, execrable, and pestilent wire fences were playing the devil with the noble old sport of fox-hunting; then, with a few more expressions of regard, and a hint about Coutts & Co., if I wanted cash, his characteristic letter closed, and just when folding it, I detected Master Phil Caradoc surreptitiously placing Winny's cigar case very near his bushy moustache--about to kiss it, in fact. He grew very red, and looked a little provoked. "So that is all Sir Madoc's news?" said he. "All--a dear old fellow." "To-morrow is Sunday, when we shall have the chaplain at the drum-head, and be confessing that we have done those things which we ought not to have done, and left undone those things which we ought to have done, while the whistling dicks are bursting and the shot booming, as the Ruskies seek to have a quiet shy at our hollow square, and the Naval Brigade, with their long 'Lancasters,' are making, as usual, the devil's own row against the Redan--so till then, adieu!" he added, adopting a bantering tone, as men will at times, when ashamed of having exhibited any emotion or weakness. Not long after this, with my company, I had to escort to Balaclava, and to guard for some days, till embarked, some Russian prisoners, who had been taken by the Turks in an affair between Kamara and the Tchernaya, and who were afterwards transmitted to Lewes in Sussex; and I had a little opportunity afforded me for studying their character and composition; and brave though these men undoubtedly were, I felt something of pity and contempt for them; nor was I mistaken, though Prince Dolgorouki maintains, in _La Vérité sur la Russie_, that a Muscovite alone can write on a Russian subject. A British soldier never forgets that he is a citizen and a free-born man; but to the Russian these terms are as untranslatable as that of _slave_ into the Celtic. In the empire, when fresh levies are wanted, the chief of each village makes a selection; the wretched serfs have then one side of the head shaved, to prevent desertion, and, farther still, are manacled and marched like felons to the headquarters of their regiment. There they are stripped, bathed--rather a necessary ceremony--and deprived of all they may possess, save the brass crosses and medals which are chained round their neck--the holy amulet of the Russian soldier, and spared to him as the only consolation of his miserable existence. He is docile, submissive, and gallant, but supple, subservient, and cunning, though his gallantry and courage are the result of dull insensibility, tinged with ferocity rather than moral force. The recruit bemoans the loss of his beard, and carefully preserves it that it may be buried with him, as an offering to St. Nicholas, who would not admit him into heaven without it. Once enrolled--we cannot say _enlisted_--he makes a solemn vow never to desert the colours of his regiment, each of which has its own _artel_ or treasury, its own chaplain, sacred banners, and relics. The pay of these warriors averages about a halfpenny English per diem. Their food is of the most wretched description, and it is known that when the troops of Suwarrow served in the memorable campaign of Italy, they devoured with keen relish the soap and candles wherever they went; but many of the Russian battalions, and even the Cossack corps, have vocal companies that sing on the march, or at a halt, where they form themselves into a circle, in the centre of which stands the principal singer or leader. And thus I heard some of these poor fellows sing, when I halted them outside Balaclava, at a place where, as I remember, there lay a solitary grave--that probably of a Frenchman, as it was marked by a cross, had a wreath of immortelles upon it, and was inscribed--alas for the superstitions of the poor human heart!--"the last tribute of love." The snow and the rain had frittered it nearly away. Among my prisoners were four officers--dandies who actually wore glazed boots, and were vain of their little hands and feet. I was more than usually attentive to them for the sake of Valerie, and as they certainly seemed--whatever the rank and file might be--thorough gentlemen. One knew Volhonski, and all seemed to know Valerie, and had probably danced--perhaps flirted--with her, for they had met at balls in St. Petersburg. All knew Tolstoff, and laughed at him; but none could tell me whether or not she and that northern bear were as yet "one flesh," or married in _facie ecclesia_. CHAPTER LIV.--THE ASSAULT. It is the morning of Saturday, the 8th September, 1855. For a year now the allied forces have been before Sebastopol; but the flag of St. Andrew is still flying in defiance upon its forts, and on this memorable morning the columns of attack are forming for the great assault. In the preceding June, amid the din of the ceaseless cannonade, poor Lord Raglan had passed away to a quieter world; and the picturesque Sardinians, with their green uniforms, billycock hats, and Bersaglieri plumes--each private a species of _Fra Diavolo_--had come to aid us in the reduction of this place, the Gibraltar of the Euxine. It was a cheerless morning. From the sea, a biting wind swept over the land; clouds of white dust and dusky-brown smoke, that came from more than one blazing street and burning ship--among the latter was a two-decker, fired by the French rockets--rose high above the green spires and batteries of Sebastopol, and overhung it like a sombre pall, while shorn of its rays the sun resembled a huge red globe hung in mid-air above us. Gradually it seemed to fade out altogether, and then the whole sky became of a dull, leaden, and wintry gray. By this time our epaulettes had entirely disappeared, and our uniforms were hopeless rags; in some instances eked out by plain clothes, or whatever one could pick up; and the government contractors had such vague ideas of the dimensions of the human foot, that some of the boots issued to the soldiers would not have fitted a child of ten years old, and as they dared not throw away her Majesty's property, many men went bare-footed, with their boots dangling from their knapsack or waist-belt. "In our present toggery we may meet the Russians," said Dyneley, our adjutant; "but I should scarcely like to figure in them before the girls at Winchester, in 'the Row,' or at the windows of 'the Rag.'" In great masses, 30,000 Frenchmen were forming to assault the Malakoff, with 5,000 Sardinians as supports. A long line of cavalry--Hussars with their braided dolmans, Lancers with their fluttering banneroles, Dragoons with glittering helmets, and all with loaded carbine on thigh, had been, from an early hour, thrown to the front, to form a cordon of sentinels, to prevent straggling; while a similar line was formed in our rear to keep back idlers from Balaclava; yet to obtain glimpses of the impending attack, groups of red-fezzed Turks, of picturesque-looking Eupatorians, and fur-capped Tartars, began to cluster on every green knoll at a safe distance, where, in their excitement, they jabbered and gesticulated in a manner most unusual for people so generally placid and stolid. At half-past eleven A.M. the pipes of the Highland Brigade were heard, as it marched in from Kamara, and got into position in reserve of the right attack; and the fine appearance of the men of those mountains--"the backbone of Britain," as Pope Sylvester called them of old--elicited a hearty cheer from the Royal Welsh as they defiled past, with all their black plumes and striped tartans waving in the biting wind. During all the preceding day, the batteries had thundered in salvoes against Sebastopol; and hence vast gaps were now visible in the streets and principal edifices, most of which were half hidden in lurid sheets of fire; and by the bridge of boats that lay between the north and south side, thousands of fugitives, laden with their goods and household lares, their children, sick, and aged, had been seen to pour so long as light remained. Until the French began to move, the eyes of all in our division were turned on our famous point of attack--the Redan; and I may inform the non-military reader, that a _redan_ in field fortification means simply an indented work with lines and faces; but this one resembled an unfinished square, with two sides meeting at the salient angle in front of our parallels, _i. e_., the trenches by which we had dug our way under cover towards it. With a strong reinforcement, Nicholaevitch Tolstoff, now, as before stated, a general, had entered the Redan by its rear or open face; and since his advent, it had been greatly strengthened. In the walls of the parapet he had constructed little chambers roofed with sacks of earth, and these secure places rendered the defenders quite safe from falling shells. In the embrasures were excavations wherein the gunners might repose close by their guns, but ever armed and accoutred; and by a series of trenches it communicated with the great clumsy edifice known as the Malakoff Tower. By a road to the right, the Redan also communicated with the extensive quadrangle of buildings forming the Russian barracks, one hundred yards distant; and in its fear there lay the Artillery or Dockyard Creek. The flat caps, and in other instances the round glazed helmets, of the Russians and the points of their bayonets, bristling like a hedge of steel, could be seen above the lines of its defence and at the deeply-cut embrasures, where the black cannon of enormous calibre peered grimly down upon us. Our arrangements were very simple. At noon the French were to attack the Malakoff; and as soon as they fell to work we were to assault the Redan, and I had volunteered for the scaling-ladder party, which consisted of 320 picked men of the Kentish Buffs and 97th or Ulster Regiment. In the trenches of our left attack could be seen the black bearskins of our Brigade of Guards, and massed in dusky column on the hill before their camp, their red now changed to a very neutral tint indeed, were the slender battalions of the Third Division, motionless and still, save when the wind rustled the tattered silk of the colours, or the sword of an officer gleamed as he dressed the ranks. A cross cannonade was maintained, as usual, between our batteries and those of the enemy. The balls were skipping about in all directions, and several "roving Englishmen," adventurous tourists, "own correspondents," and unwary amateurs, who were there, had to scuttle for their lives to some place of shelter. As I joined the ladder party, I could not help thinking of many a past episode in my life: of Estelle, who had been false; of Valerie, who was lost to me; and of the suspicion that Winifred Lloyd loved me. Ere another hour, I might be lying dead before the Redan, and there forget them all! Our covering party consisted of 200 of the Buffs and Rifles under Captain Lewes; but alas for the weakness of our force, as compared with thousands of men to oppose. The strength of the Second Division detailed against the Redan consisted only of 760 men of the 3rd, 41st, and 62nd regiments, with a working party of 100 from the Royal Welsh. The rest of Colonel Windham's brigade was in reserve. Brigadier Shirley, who was to command the whole, had been ill on board-ship; but the moment the gallant fellow heard that an assault was resolved on, he hastened to join us. Prior, however, to his coming, Colonel Windham and Colonel Unett of the 29th were deciding which of them should take precedence in leading the attack. They coolly tossed up a shilling, and the latter won. Thus he had the alternative of saying whether he would go first, or follow Windham; but a glow spread over his face, and he exclaimed, "I have made my choice, and I shall be the _first_ man inside the Redan!" However, it was doomed to be otherwise, as soon afterwards a ball from the abattis severely wounded and disabled him. When we had seen that our men had carefully loaded and capped and cast loose their cartridges, all became very still, and there was certainly more of thought than conversation among us. Many of the men in some regiments were little better than raw recruits, and were scarcely masters of their musketry drill. Disease in camp and death in action had fast thinned our ranks of the carefully-trained and well-disciplined soldiers who landed in Bulgaria; and when these--the pest and bullet--failed, the treachery of contractors, and the general mismanagement of the red-tapists, did the rest. Accustomed as we had been to the daily incidents of this protracted siege, there was a great hush over all our ranks; the hush of anticipation, and perhaps of grave reflection, came to the lightest-hearted and most heedless there. "What is the signal for us to advance?" I inquired. "Four rockets," replied Dyneley, our adjutant, who was on foot, with his sword drawn, and a revolver in his belt. "There go the French to attack the tower!" cried Gwynne; and then a hum of admiration stole along our lines as we saw them, at precisely five minutes to twelve o'clock, "like a swarm of bees," issue from their trenches, the Linesmen in kepis and long blue coats, the Zouaves in turbans and baggy red breeches, under a terrible shower of cannon and musketry, fiery in their valour, quick, ardent, and eager! They swept over the little space of open ground that lay between the head of their sap, and, irresistible in their number, poured on a sea of armed men, a living tide, a human surge, section after section, and regiment after regiment, to the assault. "O'er ditch and stream, o'er crest and wall, They jump and swarm, they rise and fall; With _vives_ and _cris_, with cheers and cries. Like thunderings in autumnal skies; Till every foot of ground is mud, With tears and brains and bones and blood. Yet, faith, it was a grim delight To see the little devils fight!" With wonderful speed and force, their thousands seemed to drift through the gaping embrasures of the tower, which appeared to swallow them up--all save the dead and dying, who covered the slope of the glacis; and in _two_ minutes more the tricolor of France was waving on the summit of the Korniloff bastion! But the work of the brave French did not end there. From twelve till seven at night, they had to meet and repulse innumerable attempts of the Russians to regain what they had lost--the great tower, which was really the key of the city; till, in weariness and despair, the latter withdrew, leaving the slopes covered with corpses that could only be reckoned by thousands. The moment the French standard fluttered out above the blue smoke and grimy dust of the tower, a vibration seemed to pass along all our ranks. Every face lit up; every eye kindled; every man instinctively grasped more tightly the barrel of his musket, or the blade of his sword, or set his cap more firmly on his head, for the final rush. "The tricolor is on the Malakoff! By heavens, the French are in! hurrah!" cried several officers. "Hurrah!" responded the stormers of the Light and Second Divisions. "There go the rockets!" cried Phil Caradoc, pointing with his sword to where the tiny jets of sparkles were seen to curve in the wind against the dull leaden sky, their explosion unheard amid the roar of musketry and of human voices in and beyond the Malakoff. "Ladders, to the front! eight men per ladder!" said Welsford, of the 97th. "It is our turn now, lads; forward, forward!" added some one else--Raymond Mostyn, of the Rifles, I think. "There is a five-pound note offered to the first man inside the Redan!" exclaimed little Owen Tudor, a drummer of ours, as he slung his drum and went scouring to the front: but a bullet killed the poor boy instantly, and Welsford had his head literally blown off by a cannon ball. In their dark green uniforms, which were patched with many a rag, a hundred men of the Rifle Brigade who carried the scaling ladders preceded us; and the moment they and we began to issue, which we did at a furious run, with bayonets fixed and rifles at the short trail, from the head of the trenches, the cannon of the Redan opened a withering fire upon us. The round shot tore up the earth beneath our feet, or swept men away by entire sections, strewing limbs and other fragments of humanity everywhere; the exploding shells also dealt death and mutilation; the grape and cannister swept past in whistling showers; and wicked little shrapnels were flying through the air like black spots against the sky; while, with a hearty and genuine English "hurrah!" that deepened into a species of fierce roar, we swept towards the ditch which so few of us might live to recross. Thick fall our dead on every hand, and the hoarse boom of the cannon is sounding deep amid the roar of the concentrated musketry. Crawling and limping back to the trenches for succour and shelter, the groaning or shrieking wounded are already pouring in hundreds to the rear, reeking with blood; and, within a minute, the whole slope of the Redan is covered with our redcoats--the dead or the helpless--thick as the leaves lie "when forests are rended!" CHAPTER LV.--INSIDE THE REDAN. One enormous cannon-shot that struck the earth and stones threw up a cloud of dust which totally blinded the brave brigadier who led us; he was thus compelled to grope his way to the rear, while his place was taken by Lieutenant-colonel W. H. Bunbury of ours--a tried soldier, who had served in the Kohat-Pass expedition five years before this, and been Napier's aide-de-camp during the wars of India. The Honourable Colonel Handcock, who led three hundred men of the 97th and of the Perthshire Volunteers, fell mortally by a ball in the head. Colonel Lysons of ours (who served in the Canadian affair of St. Denis), though wounded in the thigh and unable to stand, remained on the ground, and with brandished sword cheered on the stormers. The actual portion of the latter followed those who bore the scaling ladders, twenty of which were apportioned to the Buffs; and no time was to be lost now, as the Russians from the Malakoff, inflamed by blood, defeat, and fury, were rushing down in hordes to aid in the defence of the Redan. In crossing the open ground between our trenches and the point of attack, some of the ladders were lost or left behind, in consequence of their bearers being shot down; yet we reached the edge of the ditch and planted several without much difficulty, till the Russians, after flocking to the traverses which enfiladed them, opened a murderous fusillade upon those who were crossing or getting into the embrasures, when we planted them on the other side; and then so many officers and men perished, that Windham and three of the former were the only leaders of parties who got in untouched. The scene in the ditch, where the dead and the dying, the bleeding, the panting, and exhausted lay over each other three or four deep, was beyond description; and at a place called the Picket House was one solitary English lady, watching this terrible assault, breathless and pale, putting up prayers with her white lips; and her emotions at such a time may be imagined when I mention that she was the wife of an officer engaged in the assault, Colonel H----, whose body was soon after borne past her on a stretcher. When my ladder was planted firmly, I went up with the stormers, men of all regiments mixed pell-mell, Buffs and Royal Welsh, 90th and 97th. A gun, depressed and loaded with grape, belched a volume of flame and iron past me as I sprang, sword in hand, into the embrasure, firing my revolver almost at random; and the stormers, their faces flushed with ardour and fierce excitement, cheering, stabbing with the bayonet, smashing with the butt-end, or firing wildly, swarmed in at every aperture, and bore the Russians back; but I, being suddenly wedged among a number of killed and wounded men, between the cannon and the side of the embrasure could neither advance nor retire, till dragged out by the strong hand of poor Charley Gwynne, who fell a minute after, shot dead; and for some seconds, while in that most exposed and terrible position, I saw a dreadful scene of slaughter before me; for there were dense gray masses of the Russian infantry, their usually stolid visages inflamed by hate, ferocity, by fiery _vodka_, and religious rancour, the front ranks kneeling as if to receive cavalry, and all the rear ranks, which were three or four deep, firing over each other's heads, exactly as we are told the Scottish brigades of the "Lion of the North" did at Leipzig, to the annihilation of those of Count Tilly. We were fairly IN this terrible Redan; but the weakness of our force was soon painfully apparent, and in short, when the enemy made a united rush at us, they drove us all into an angle of the work, and ultimately over the parapet to the outer slope, where men of the Light and Second Divisions were packed in a dense mass and firing into it, which they continued to do even till their ammunition became expended, when fresh supplies from the pouches of those in rear were handed to those in front. An hour and a half of this disastrous strife elapsed, "the Russians having cleared the Redan," to quote the trite description of Russell, "but not yet being in possession of its parapets, when they made a second charge with bayonets under a heavy fire of musketry, and throwing great quantities of large stones, grape and small round shot, drove those in front back upon the men in rear, who were thrown into the ditch. The gabions in the parapet now gave way, and rolled down with those who were upon them; and the men in rear, thinking all was lost, retired into the fifth parallel." Many men were buried alive in the ditch by the falling earth; Dora's admirer, poor little Torn Clavell of the 19th, among others, perished thus horribly. Just as we reached our shelter, there to breathe, re-form, and await supports, I saw poor Phil Caradoc reel wildly and fall, somewhat in a heap, at the foot of the gabions. In a moment I was by his side. His sword-arm had been upraised as he was endeavouring to rally the men, and a ball had passed--as it eventually proved--through his lungs; though a surgeon, who was seated close by with all his apparatus and instruments, assured him that it was not so. "I know better--something tells me that it is all over with me--and that I am bleeding internally," said he, with difficulty. "Hardinge, old fellow--lift me up--gently, so--so--thank you." I passed an arm under him, and raised his head, removing at the same time his heavy Fusileer cap. There was a gurgle in his throat, and the foam of agony came on his handsome brown moustache. "I am going fast," said he, grasping my hand; "God bless you, Harry--see me buried alone." "If I escape--but there is yet hope for you, Phil." But he shook his head and said, while his eye kindled, "If I was not exactly the first man _in_, I was not long behind Windham. I risked my life freely," he added, in a voice so low that I heard him with difficulty amid the din of the desultory fire, and the mingled roar of other sounds in and around the Malakoff; "yet I should like to have gone home and seen my dear old mother once again, in green Llangollen--and _her_--she, you know who I mean, Harry. But God has willed it all otherwise, and I suppose it is for the best. . . . Turn me on my side . . . dear fellow--so. . . . I am easier now." As I did what he desired, his warm blood poured upon my hand, through the orifice in his poor, faded, and patched regimentals, never so much as then like "the old red coat that tells of England's glory." "Have the Third or Fourth Division come yet? Where are the Scots Royals?" he asked, eagerly, and then, without waiting for a reply, added, very faintly, "If spared to see her--Winny Lloyd--tell her that my last thoughts were of her--ay, as much as of my poor mother . . . and . . . that though she will get a better fellow than I----" "That is impossible, Phil!" "She can never get one who . . . . who loves her more. The time is near now when I shall be but a memory to her and you . . . . and to all our comrades of the old 23rd." His lips quivered and his eyes closed, as he said, with something of his old pleasant smile, "I am going to heaven, I hope, Harry--if I have not done much good in the world, I have not done much harm; and in heaven I'll meet with more red coats, I believe, than black ones . . . . and tell her . . . tell Winny----" What I was to tell her I never learned; his voice died away, and he never spoke again; for just as the contest became fiercer between the French and the masses of Russians--temporarily released from the Redan or drawn from the city--his head fell over on one side, and he expired. I closed his eyes, for there was yet time to do so. Poor Phil Caradoc! I looked sadly for a minute on the pale and stiffening face of my old friend and jovial chum, and saw how fast the expression of bodily pain passed away from the whitening forehead. I could scarcely assure myself that he was indeed gone, and so suddenly; that his once merry eyes and laughing lips would open never again. Turning away, I prepared once more for the assault, and then, for the first time, I perceived Lieutenants Dyneley and Somerville of ours lying near him; the former mortally wounded and in great pain, the latter quite dead. My soul was full of a keen longing for vengeance, to grapple with the foe once more, foot to foot and face to face. The blood was fairly up in all our hearts; for the Russians had now relined their own breastworks, where a tall officer in a gray capote made himself very conspicuous by his example and exertions. He was at last daring enough to step over the rampart and tear down a wooden gabion, to make a kind of extempore embrasure through which an additional field-piece might be run. "As you are so fond of pot-firing," said Colonel Windham to the soldiers, with some irritation at the temporary repulse, "why the deuce don't you shoot that Russian?" On looking through my field-glass, to my astonishment I discovered that he was Tolstoff. Sergeant Rhuddlan of ours now levelled his rifle over the bank of earth which protected the parallel, took a steady aim, and fired. Tolstoff threw up his arms wildly, and his sword glittered as it fell from his hand. He then wheeled round, and fell heavily backward into the ditch--which was twenty feet broad and ten feet deep--dead; at least, I never saw or heard of him again. Just as a glow of fierce exultation, pardonable enough, perhaps, at such a time (and remembering all the circumstances under which this distinguished Muscovite and I had last met and parted), thrilled through me, I experienced a terrible shock--a shock that made me reel and shudder, with a sensation as if a hot iron had pierced my left arm above the elbow. It hung powerless by my side, and then I felt my own blood trickling heavily over the points of my fingers! "Wounded! My God, hit at last!" was my first thought; and I lost much blood before I could get any one, in that vile burly-burly, to tie my handkerchief as a temporary bandage round the limb to stanch the flow. I was useless now, and worse than useless, as I was suffering greatly, but I could not leave the parallel for the hospital huts, and remained there nearly to dusk fell. Before that, I had seen Caradoc interred between the gabions; and there he lay in his hastily-scooped grave, uncoffined and unknelled, his heart's dearest longings unfulfilled, his brightest hopes and keenest aspirations crushed out like his young life; and the evanescent picture, the poor photo of the girl he had loved in vain, buried with him; and when poor Phil was being covered up, I remembered his anecdote about the dead officer, and the letter that was replaced in his breast. Well, my turn for such uncouth obsequies might come soon enough now. In the affair of the Redan, if I mistake not, 146 officers and men of ours, the Welsh Fusileers, were killed and wounded; and every other regiment suffered in the same proportion. The attack was to be renewed at five in the morning by the Guards and Highlanders, under Lord Clyde of gallant memory, then Sir Colin Campbell; but on their approaching, it was found that the Russians had spiked their guns, and bolted by the bridge of boats, leaving Sebastopol one sheet of living fire. Fort after fort was blown into the air, each with a shock as if the solid earth were being split asunder. The sky was filled with live shells, which burst there like thousands of scarlet rockets, and thus showers of iron fell in every direction. Columns of dark smoke, that seemed to prop heaven itself, rose above the city, while its defenders in thousands, without beat of drum or sound of trumpet, poured away by the bridge of boats. When the last fugitive had passed, the chains were cut, and then the mighty pontoon, a quarter of a mile in length, swung heavily over to the north side, when we were in full possession of Sebastopol! CHAPTER LVI.--A SUNDAY MORNING IN THE CRIMEA. I must have dropped asleep of sheer weariness and loss of blood, when tottering to the rear; for on waking I found the moon shining, and myself lying not far from the fifth parallel, which was now occupied, like the rest of the trenches, by the kilted Highlanders, whose bare legs, and the word _Egypt_ on their appointments, formed a double source of wonder to our Moslem allies, especially to the contingent that came from the Land of Bondage. These sturdy fellows were chatting, laughing, and smoking, or quietly sleeping and waiting for their turn of service against the Redan, in the dark hours of the morning. I had lain long in a kind of dreamy agony. Like many who were in the Redan and in the ditch around it, I had murmured "water, water," often and vainly. The loss of Estelle, or of Valerie, for times there were when my mind wandered to the former _now_, the love of dear friends, the death of comrades, honour, glory, danger from pillaging Russians or Tartars, all emotions, in fact, were merged or swallowed up in the terrible agony I endured in my shattered arm, and the still more consuming craving for something wherewith to moisten my cracked lips and parched throat. Poor Phil Caradoc had perhaps endured this before me, while his heart and soul were full of Winifred Lloyd; but Phil, God rest him! was at peace now, and slept as sound in his uncouth grave as if laid under marble in Westminster Abbey. In my uneasy slumber I had been conscious of this sensation of thirst, and had visions of champagne goblets, foaming and iced; of humble bitter beer and murmuring water; of gurgling brooks that flowed over brown pebbles, and under long-bladed grass and burdocks in leafy dingles; of Llyn Tegid, deep and blue; of the marble fountain, with the lilies and golden fish, at Craigaderyn. Then with this idea the voice of Winifred Lloyd came pleasantly to my ear; her white fingers played with the sparkling water, she raised some to my lips, but the cup fell to pieces, and starting, I awoke to find a tall Highlander, of the Black Watch, bending over me, and on my imploring him to get me some water, he placed his wooden canteen to my lips, and I drank of the contents, weak rum-grog, greedily and thankfully. It seemed strange to me that I should dream of Winifred, there and then; but no doubt the last words of Caradoc had led me to think of her. It is only when waking after long weariness of the body, and over-tension of the nerves, the result of such keen excitement as we had undergone since yesterday morning, that the full extremity of exhaustion and fatigue can be felt, as I felt them then. Add to these, that my shattered arm had bled profusely, and was still undressed. Staggering up, I looked around me. The moon was shining, and flakes of her silver light streamed through the now silent embrasures of the Redan, silent save for the groans of the dying within it. There and in the ditch the dead lay thick as sheaves in a harvest-field--thick as the Greeks, at Troy, lay under the arrows of Apollo. How many a man was lying there, mutilated almost out of the semblance of humanity, whose thoughts, when the death shot struck him down, or the sharp bayonet pierced him, had flashed _home_, quicker than the electric telegraph, yea, quicker than light, to his parents' hearth, to his lonely wife, to the little cots where their children lay abed--little ones, the memory of whose waxen faces and pink hands then filled his heart with tears; how many a resolution for prayer and repentance if spared by God; how many a pious invocation; how many a fierce resolution to meet the worst, and die like a man and a soldier, had gone up from that hell upon earth, the Redan--the fatal Redan, which we should never have attacked, but should have aided the French in the capture of the Malakoff, after which it must inevitably have fallen soon, if not at once. Many of our officers were afterwards found therein, each with a hand clutching a dead Russian's throat, or coat, or belt, their fingers stiffened in death--man grasping man in a fierce and last embrace. Among others, that stately and handsome fellow, Raymond Mostyn, of the Rifles, and an officer of the Vladimir regiment were thus locked together, the same grape-shot having killed them both. Some of our slain soldiers were yet actually clinging to the parapet and slope of the glacis, as if still alive, thus showing the reluctance with which they had retired--the desperation with which they died. In every imaginable position of agony, of distortion, and bloody mutilation they lay, heads crushed and faces battered, eyes starting from their sockets, and swollen tongues protruding; and on that terrible scene the pale moon, "sweet regent of the sky," the innocent queen of night, as another poet calls her, looked softly down in her glory, as the same moon in England, far away, was looking on the stubble-fields whence the golden grain had been gathered, on peaceful homesteads, old church steeples and quiet cottage roofs, on the ruddy furnaces of the Black country, on peace and plenty, and where war was unknown, save by name. She glinted on broken and abandoned weapons; she silvered the upturned faces of the dead--kissing them, as it were, for many a loving one who should see them no more; and gemming as if with diamonds the dewy grass and the autumnal wild-flowers; and there, too, amid that horrible débris, were the little birds--the goldfinch, the tit, and the sparrow--hopping and twittering about, too terrified to seek their nests, scared as they were by the uproar of the day that was past. I felt sick at heart and crushed in spirit now. In the immediate foreground the moonlight glinted on the tossing dark plumes, the picturesque costume, and bright bayonets of the Highlanders in the trenches. In the distance was the town; its ports, arsenals, barracks, theatres, palaces, churches, and streets sheeted with roaring flames, that lighted up all the roadstead, where, one after the other, the Russian ships were disappearing beneath the waves, in that lurid glare which tipped with a fiery gleam the white walls and spiked cannon of the now abandoned forts. I began to creep back towards the camp, in search of surgical aid, and on the way came to a place where, with their uniforms off, their shirt-sleeves rolled up, their boxes of instruments open, lint and bandages ready, three officers of the medical staff were busy upon a group of wounded men, who sat or lay near, waiting their turn, some impatiently, some with passive endurance, but all, more or less, in pain, as their moans and sighs declared. "Don't bother about that Zouave, Gage," I heard one Æsculapius say, as I came near, "I have overhauled him already!" "Is his wound mortal?" "Yes--brain lacerated. By Jove! here is an officer of the 23rd!" "Well, he must wait a little." So I sighed, and seated myself on a stone, and clenched my teeth to control the agony I was enduring. The men who lay about us, with pale, woe-begone visages and lack-lustre eyes, belonged chiefly to the Light Division, but among them I saw, to my surprise, a Russian hussar lying dead, with the blood dry and crusted on his pale blue and yellow-braided dolman. How he came to be _there_, I had not the curiosity to inquire. A mere bundle of gory rags, he seemed; for a cannon-shot had doubled him up, and now his Tartar horse stood over him, eyeing him wildly, and sniffing as if in wonder about his bearded face and fallen jaw. The Zouave referred to was a noisy and loquacious fellow, notwithstanding his perilous predicament. He had strayed hither somehow from the Malakoff, and was mortally wounded, as the surgeon said, and dying. A tiny plaster image of the blessed Virgin lay before him; he was praying intently at times, but being fatuous, he wildly and oddly mingled with his orisons the name of a certain Mademoiselle Auréle, a _fleuriste_, with whom he imagined himself in the second gallery of the Théâtre Français, or supping at the Barrière de l'Etoile; anon he imagined they were on the Boulevardes, or in a café chantant; and then as his mind--or what remained of it--seemed to revert to the events of the day, he drew his "cabbage-cutter," as the French call their sword-bayonet, and brandished it, crying, "Cut and hew, strike, mes camarades--frappez vite et frappez forte! Vive la France! Vive l'Empéreur!" This was the last effort; a gush of fresh blood poured into his eyes, and the poor Zouave was soon cold and stiff. In a kind of stupor I sat there and watched by moon and lantern light the hasty operations: bullets probed for and snipped out by forceps, while the patients writhed and yelled; legs and arms dressed or cut off like branches lopped from a tree, and chucked into a heap for interment. I shuddered with apprehensive foreboding of what might ensue when my own turn came, and heard, as in a dream, the three surgeons talking with the most placid coolness about their little bits of practice. "Jones, please," said one, a very young staff medico, "will you kindly take off this fellow's leg for me? I have ripped up his trousers and applied the tourniquet--he is quite ready." "But must it come off?" asked Jones, who was patching up a bullet-hole with lint. "Yes; gun-shot fracture of the knee-joint--patella totally gone." "Why don't you do it yourself, my good fellow?" asked the third, who, with an ivory-handled saw between his teeth, was preparing to operate on the fore-arm of a 19th man, whose groans were terrible. "Gage, did you never amputate?" "Never on the living subject." "On a dead one then, surely?" "Often--of course.' "By Jove, you can't begin too soon--so why not now?" "I am too nervous--do it for me." "In one minute; but only this once, remember. Now give me your knife for the flap; and look to that officer of the Welsh Fusileers--his left arm is wounded." So while Dr. Jones, whom the haggard eyes of the man, whose limb was doomed, watched with a terrible expression of anxiety, applied himself to the task of amputation, the younger doctor, a hand fresh from London, came to _me_. After ripping up the sleeve of my uniform, and having a brief examination, which caused me such bitter agony that I could no longer stand, but lay on the grass, he said, "Sorry to tell you, that yours is a compound fracture of the most serious kind." "Is it reducible?" I asked, in a low voice. "No; I regret to say that your arm must come off." "My arm--must I lose it?" I asked, feeling keener anguish with the unwelcome announcement. "Yes; and without delay," he replied, stooping towards his instrument case. "I cannot spare it--I must have some other--excuse me, sir--some older advice," I exclaimed, passionately. "As you please, sir," replied the staff-surgeon, coolly; "but we have no time to spare here, either for opposition or indecision." The other two glanced at my arm, poked it, felt it as if it had been that of a lay figure in a studio, and supported the opinion of their brother of the knife. But the prospect of being mutilated, armless, for life, and all the pleasures of which such a fate must deprive me, seemed so terrible, that I resolved to seek for other advice at the hospital tents, and towards them I took my way, enduring such pain of body and misery of mind that on reaching them I should have sunk, had brandy not been instantly given to me by an orderly. It was Sunday morning now, and the gray light of the September dawn was stealing over the waters of the Euxine, and up the valley of Inkermann. The fragrant odour of the wild thyme came pleasantly on the breeze; but now the rain was falling heavily, as it generally does after an action--firing puts down the wind, and so the rain comes; but to me then it was like the tears of heaven--"Nature's tear-drop," as Byron has it, bedewing the unburied dead. A red-faced and irritable-looking little Deputy Inspector of Hospitals, in a blue frogged surtout, received me, and from him I did not augur much. The patients were pouring in by hundreds, and the medical staff had certainly no sinecure there. After I had been stripped and put to bed, I remember this personage examining my wound and muttering, "Bad case--very!" "Am I in danger, doctor?" I inquired. "Yes, of course, if it should gangrene," said he, sharply. "I don't care much for life, but I should not like to lose my arm. Do you think that--that--" "What?" he asked, opening his box of tools with _sangfroid_. "I shall die of this?" "Of a smashed bone?" "Yes." "Well, my dear fellow, not yet, I hope." "Yet?" said I, doubtfully. "Well, immediately, I mean. There is already much sign of inflammation, and consequent chance of fever. The os humerus is, as I say, smashed to pieces, and the internal and external condyles of the elbow are most seriously injured. Corporal Mulligan, a basin and sponge, and desire Dr.----" (I did not catch the name) "to step this way." The corporal, a black-bearded Connaught Ranger, who had lost an eye at Alma, brought what the surgeon required; he then placed a handkerchief to my nostrils; there was a bubbling sensation in the brain, but momentary, as the handkerchief contained chloroform; then something peaceful, soporific, and soothing stole over me, and for a time I became oblivious of all around me. CHAPTER LVII.--IN THE MONASTERY OF ST. GEORGE. To be brief, when the effect of the chloroform passed away, I became sensible of a strange sensation of numbness about my left shoulder. Instinctively and shudderingly I turned my eyes towards it, and found that my left arm was--gone! Gone, and near me stood Corporal Mulligan coolly wiping the fat little surgeon's instruments for the next case. Some wine, Crimskoi, and water were given me, and then I closed my eyes and strove, but in vain, to sleep and to think calmly over my misfortune, which, for a time, induced keen misanthropy indeed. "Armless!" thought I; "I was pretty tired of life before this, and am utterly useless now. Would that the shot had struck me in a more vital place, and finished me--polished me off at once! That old staff sawbones should have left me to my fate; should have let mortification, gangrene, and all the rest of it, do their worst, and I might have gone quietly to sleep where so many lay, under the crocuses and caper-bushes at Sebastopol." "After life's fitful fever" men sleep well; and so, I hoped, should I. Such reflections were, I own, ungrateful and bitter; but suffering, disappointment, and more than all, the great loss of blood I had suffered, had sorely weakened me; and yet, on looking about me, and seeing the calamities of others, I felt that the simple loss of an arm was indeed but a minor affair. Close by me, on the hospital pallets, I saw men expiring fast, and borne forth to the dead-pits only to make room for others; I saw the poor human frame, so delicate, so wondrous, and so divine in its organisation, cut, stabbed, bruised, crushed, and battered, in every imaginable way, and yet with life clinging to it, when life had become worthless. From wounds, and operations upon wounds, there was blood--blood everywhere; on the pallets, the straw, the earthen floor, the canvas of the tents, in buckets and basins, on sponges and towels, and on the hands of the attendants. Incessantly there were moans and cries of anguish, and, ever and anon, that terrible sound in the throat known as the death-rattle. Sergeant Rhuddlan, Dicky Roll the drummer (the little keeper of the regimental goat), and many rank and file of the old 23rd--relics of the Redan--were there, and some lay near me. The sergeant was mortally wounded, and soon passed away; the poor boy was horribly mutilated, a grape shot having torn off his lower jaw, and he survived, to have perhaps a long life of misery and penury before him; and will it be believed that, through red-tapery and wretched Whig parsimony, two hours before the attack on the Redan, the senior surgeon in the Quarries was "run out" of lint, plasters, bandages, and every other appliance for stanching blood? I heard some of our wounded, in their triumph at the general success of the past day, attempting feebly and in quavering tones to sing "Cheer, boys, cheer;" while others, in the bitterness of their hearts, or amid the pain they endured, were occasionally consigning the eyes, limbs, and souls of the Ruskies to a very warm place indeed. Estelle's ring, which I had still worn, was gone with my unfortunate arm, and was now the prize, no doubt, of some hospital orderly. Next day, as the wounded were pouring in as fast as the dripping stretchers and ambulances could bring them, I was sent to the monastery of St. George, which had been turned into a convalescent hospital. The removal occasioned fever, and I lay long there hovering between life and death; and I remember how, as portions of a seeming phantasmagoria, the faces of the one-eyed corporal who attended me, and of the staff doctors Gage and Jones, became drearily familiar. This monastery is situated about five miles from Balaclava and six from Sebastopol, near Cape Fiolente, and consists of two long ranges of buildings, two stories in height, with corridors off which the cells of the religious open. The chapel, full of hospital pallets, there faces the sea, and the view in that direction is both charming and picturesque. A zigzag pathway leads down from the rocks of red marble, past beautiful terraces clothed with vines and flowering shrubs, to a tiny bay, so sheltered that there the ocean barely ripples on the snow-white sand. But then the Greek monks, in their dark-brown gowns, their hair plaited in two tails down their back, their flowing beards, with rosary and crucifix and square black cap, had given place to convalescents of all corps, Guardsmen, Riflemen, Dragoons, and Linesmen, who cooked and smoked, laughed and sang, patched their clothes and pipe-clayed their belts, where whilom mass was said and vespers chanted. Others were hopping about on crutches, or, propped by sticks, dozed dreamily in the sunshine under shelter of the wall that faced the sparkling sea--the blessed high road to old England. My room, a monk's cell, was whitewashed, and on the walls were hung several gaudy prints of Russian saints and Madonnas with oval shining metal halos round their faces; but most of these the soldiers, with an eye to improvement in art, had garnished with short pipes, moustaches, and eyeglasses; and with scissors and paste-pot Corporal Mulligan added other decorations from the pages of _Punch_. Sebastopol had fallen; "Redan Windham," as we named him, then a Brigadier-general, was its governor; and by the Allies the place had been plundered of all the flames had spared (not much certainly), even to the cannon and church bells; and now peace was at hand. But many a day I sighed and tossed wearily on my hard bed, and more wearily still in the long nights of winter, when the bleak wind from the Euxine howled round the monastery and the rain lashed its walls, though Corporal Mulligan would wink his solitary eye, and seek to console me by saying, "Your honour's in luck--there is no trinch-guard to-night, thank God!" "Nor will there ever be again for me," I would reply. The inspector of hospitals had informed me that, so soon as I could travel, sick leave would be granted me, that I might proceed to England; but I heard him with somewhat of indifference. Would Valerie join her brother Volhonski at Lewes in Sussex, was, however, my first thought; she would be free to do as she pleased now that the odious Tolstoff--But _was_ he killed by Rhuddlan's bullet, or merely wounded, with the pleasure of having Valerie, perhaps, for a nurse? He certainly seemed to fall from the parapet as if he were shot dead. Why had I not gone back and inspected the slain in the ditch of the Redan, to see if he lay there? But I had other thoughts then, and so the opportunity--even could I have availed myself of it--was gone for ever. These calculations and surmises may seem very cool now; but to us then human life, and human suffering, too, were but of small account indeed. One evening the fat little staff surgeon came to me with a cheerful expression on his usually cross face, and two packets in his hand. "Well, doctor," said I, with a sickly smile, but unable to lift my head; "so I didn't die, after all." "No; close shave though. Wish you joy, Captain Hardinge." "Joy--armless!" "Tut; I took the two legs off a rifleman the other day close to the tibia--ticklish operation, very, but beautifully done--and he'll toddle about in a bowl or on a board, and be as jolly as a sand-boy. Suppose _your_ case had been his?" "When may I leave this?" "Can't say yet awhile. You don't want to rejoin, I presume?" "Would to God that I could! but the day is past now When I do leave, it will be by ship or steamer." "Unless you prefer a balloon. Well, it was of these I came to wish you joy," said he, placing before me, and opening it (for I was unable to do so, single-handed), the packet, which contained two medals; one for the Crimea, with its somewhat unbecoming ribbon, and two clasps for "Inkermann" and "Sebastopol." "They are deuced like labels for wine-bottles," said the little doctor; "but a fine thing for you to have, and likely to catch the eyes of the girls in England." "And this other medal with the pink ribbon?" "Is the Sardinian one, given by Victor Emanuel; and more welcome than these perhaps, here is a letter from home--from England--for you; which, if you wish, I shall open" (every moment I was some way thus reminded, even kindly, of my own helplessness), "and leave you to peruse. Good evening; I've got some prime cigars at your service, if you'll send Mulligan to me." "Thanks, doctor." And he rolled away out of the cell, to visit some other unfortunate fellow. The medals were, of course, a source of keen satisfaction to me; but as I toyed with them and inspected them again and again, they woke an old train of thought; for there was _one_, who had no longer perhaps an interest in me (if a woman ever ceases to have an interest in the man who has loved her), and who was another's now, in whose white hands I should once with honest pride have laid them. Viewed through that medium, they seemed almost valueless for a time; though there was to come a day when I was alike vain of them--ay, and of my empty sleeve--as became one who had been at the fall of Sebastopol, the queen of the Euxine. "I fear I am a very discontented dog," thought I, while turning to the letter, which proved to be from kind old Sir Madoc Lloyd. For months no letters had reached me, and for the same period I had been unable to write home; so in all that time I had heard nothing from my friends in England--who were dead, who alive; who marrying, or being given in marriage. Sir Madoc's missive was full of kind thoughts and expressions, of warm wishes and offers of service, that came to me as balm, especially at such a time and in such a place. Poor Phil Caradoc, and many others, were sorrowfully and enthusiastically referred to. Sir Watkins Vaughan was still hovering about the girls, "but with remarkable indecision apparently." The tall Plunger with the parted hair had proposed to Dora, and been declined; for no very visible reason, as he was a pleasant fellow with a handsome fortune. On an evening early in September, the very day that a telegram announcing the fall of the Redan reached Craigaderyn, they were dressing for a county ball at Chester--a long-looked-for and most brilliant affair--when their sensibility, and fear that I might have been engaged, made them relinquish all ideas of pleasure, and countermand the carriage, to the intense chagrin of Sir Watkins and also of the Plunger, who had come from town expressly to attend it. Two day afterwards the lists were published, and the account of the slaughter of our troops, and the death of so many dear friends, had made Winifred positively ill, so change of air was recommended for her, at Ventnor or some such place. A postscript to this, in Dora's rapid hand, and written evidently surreptitiously (perhaps while Sir Madoc had left his desk for a moment), added the somewhat significant intelligence, that "Winny had wept very much indeed on reading the account of that horrible Redan" (for Phil's death, thought I; if so, she mourns him too late!) "and now declares that she will die an old maid." (It _is_ so!) "When that interesting period of a lady's life begins," continued Dora, "I know not; if unmarried, before thirty, I suppose; thus I am eleven years off that awful period yet, and have a decidedly vulgar prejudice against ever permitting myself to become one. Papa writes that Sir Watkins is undecided; but I may add that I, for one, know that he is _not_. Our best love to you, dear old Harry; but O, I can't fancy you _without an arm!_" I was in a fair way of recovery now. The state I had been in so long, within the four walls of that quaint little chamber--a state that hovered between sense and insensibility, between sleeping and waking, time and eternity--had passed away; and, after all I had undergone, it had seemed as if "Thrice the double twilight rose and fell, About a land where nothing seemed the same, At morn or eve, as in the days gone by." This had all passed and gone; but I was weak as a child, and worn to a shadow; and by neglect had become invested with hirsute appendages of the most ample proportions. And so, without the then hackneyed excuse of "urgent private affairs," on an evening in summer, when the last rays of the sun shone redly on the marble bluffs and copper-coloured rocks of Cape Khersonese--the last point of that fatal peninsula towards the distant Bosphorus--and when the hills that look down on the lovely Pass of Baidar and the grave-studded valley of Inkermann were growing dim and blue, I found myself again at sea, on board the Kangaroo--a crowded transport (or rather a floating hospital)--speeding homeward, and bidding "a long good-night to the Crimea," to the land of glory and endurance. Sebastopol seemed a dream now, but a memory of the past; and a dream, too, seemed my new life when I lay on my couch at the open port, and saw the crested waves flying past, as we sped through them under sail and steam. Onward, onward, three hundred miles and more across the Euxine, to where the green range of the Balkan looks down upon its waters, and where the lighthouses of Anatolia on one side, and those of Roumelia on the other, guide to the long narrow channel of Stamboul; but ere the latter was reached--and on our starboard bow we saw the white waves curling over the blue Cyanean rocks, where Jason steered the Argonauts--we had to deposit many a poor fellow in the deep; for we had four hundred convalescent and helpless men on board, and only one surgeon, with scarcely any medicines or comforts for them, as John Bull, if he likes glory, likes to obtain it _cheap_. It was another case of Whig parsimony; so every other hour an emaciated corpse, rolled in a mud-stained greatcoat or well-worn blanket, without prayer or ceremony of any kind, was quietly dropped to leeward, the 32-pound shot at its heels making a dull plunge in that huge grave, the world of water, which leaves no mark behind. I gladly left the Kangaroo at Pera, and, establishing myself at the Hôtel d'Angleterre, wrote from thence to Sir Madoc that I should take one of the London liners at Malta for England, and to write me to the United Service Club in London; that all my plans for the future were vague and quite undecided; but I was not without hope of getting some military employment at home. The Frankish hotel was crowded by wounded officers, also _en route_ for England or France, all in sorely faded uniforms, on which the new Crimean medals glittered brightly. As all the world travels nowadays, I am not going to "talk guide-book," or break into ecstasies about the glories of Stamboul as viewed from a distance, and not when floundering mid-leg deep in the mud of its picturesque but rickety old thoroughfares; yet certainly the daily scene before the hotel windows was a singular one; for there were stalwart Turkish porters, veritable sons of Anak; stagey-looking dragomen, with brass pistols and enormous sabres in wooden sheaths; the Turk of the old school in turban, beard, slippers, and flowing garments; the Turk of the new, whom he despised, close shaven, with red fez and glazed boots; water-carriers; Osmanli infantry, solemn, brutal, and sensual, jostled by rollicking British tars and merry little French Zouaves; and for a background, the city of the Sultans, with all its casements, domes, and minarets glittering in the unclouded sunshine. Two light cavalry subs, who had ridden in the death ride at Balaclava, and bore some cuts and slashes won therein, three others of the Light Division, and myself, agreed to travel homeward together; and pleasant days we had of it while skirting the mountainous isles of Greece, Byron's "Isles of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sung," and the tints of which seemed all brown or gray as we saw them through the vapour exhaled in summer from the Ægean Sea, with their little white villages shadowed by trees, their rocks like sea-walls, crowned here and there by the columns, solitary and desolate, of some temple devoted to the gods of other days--"a country rich in historic reminiscence, but poor as Sahara in everything else." And so on by Malta and old Gib; and exactly fourteen days after leaving the former we were cleaving the muddy bosom of Father Thames; and that night saw me in my old room at "the Rag," with the dull roar of mighty London in my ears; and after the rapid travelling I went to sleep, as addled as a fly could be in a drum. CHAPTER LVIII.--HOME. The comfort and splendour of the fashionable club-house, the tall mirrors, the gilded cornices, the soft carpets, the massive furniture, the powdered and liveried waiters gliding noiselessly about, all impressed me with a high sense of the intense snugness of England and of _home_, after my airy tent, with its embankment of earth for shelter, its smoky funnel of mess-tins, and the tiny trench cut round it to carry away the rainwater. Then I was discussing a breakfast which, after my Crimean experience, seemed a feast fit for Lucullus or Apicius, and listening with something of a smile to the rather loud conversation of some members of the club--wiry old Peninsulars, Waterloo and India men, who were certain "the service was going to the devil," and who drew somewhat disparaging comparisons between the way matters had been conducted by our generals and those of the war under Sir John Moore, Lynedoch, Hill, and "the Iron Duke;" and to me it seemed that the old fellows were right, and that after forty years of peace we had learned nothing new in the art of campaigning. "Captain Hardinge, a gentleman for you, sir," said a waiter, presenting me with a card on a silver salver; and I had barely time to look at it ere Sir Madoc Lloyd, in top-boots and corded breeches as usual--his ruddy sunburnt face, his white hair and sparkling dark eyes, in his cheery breezy way the same as ever--entered, hat and whip in hand, and welcomed me home so warmly, that for a moment he drew the eyes of all in the room upon us. He had breakfasted two hours before--country time--and had a canter round the Park. He was in town on Parliamentary business, but was starting that afternoon for Craigaderyn. I should accompany him, of course, he added, in his hearty impetuous way. Then ere I could speak,-- "God bless my soul!" he exclaimed. "Poor Harry! till I have seen you I could not realise the idea of your being mutilated thus! No more hunting, no more shooting, no more fishing----" "And no more dancing, the ladies would add," said I, smiling. "And no more soldiering." "Unless the Queen kindly permits me." "Gad! I think you have had enough of it!" "And--and Miss Lloyd and Dora?" "Are both well and looking beautiful. There are not many girls in Wales like my girls. A seaside trip has brought back the bloom to Winny's cheeks; and as for Dora, she never loses it." "And why did Miss Lloyd refuse an offer so eligible as that of Sir Watkins Vaughan?" I asked, after a pause. "Can't for the life of me say," replied Sir Madoc, rubbing his chin, and turning to the decanter as a waiter set some dry sherry and biscuits before us. "And why would not my little friend Dora have her Guardsman?" "Can't say that, either. Perhaps she hated a 'swell' with an affected 'yaw-haw' impediment in his speech. Girls are so odd; but mine are dear girls for all that. I'll telegraph to Owen Gwyllim to have the carriage awaiting us at Chester; and we shall leave town before luncheon-time, if you have no other plans or engagements." "I have neither; but--but, Sir Madoc, why so soon?" I asked, as certain passages in my later visits to Craigaderyn gave me a twinge of compunction. "Now that I think of it, I had an idea of taking a run down to Lewes in Sussex," said I. "Lewes in Sussex--a dreary place, though in a first-rate coursing country. I've ridden there with the Brighton Hunt. What would take you there--before coming to us, at least?" I coloured a little, and said, "I have a friend there, among the Russian prisoners." "By Jove, I think you've had enough of those fellows! Nonsense, Harry! We shall start without delay. Why waste time and money in London?" said Sir Madoc, who never liked his plans or wishes thwarted. "I have just to give a look at a brace of hunters at Tattersall's for Vaughan, and then I am with you. Down there, with our fine mountain breezes, our six-months' Welsh mutton, and seven-years' cliquot, we'll make a man of you again. I can't get you an arm, Harry; but, by Jove, it will go hard with us if we don't get you _two_ belonging to some one else!" I laughed at this idea; and so that evening saw me again far from London, and being swept as fast as the express could speed along the North-Western line towards Chester. I had quite a load of Russian trophies--such were then in great request--for Sir Madoc: sabres, muskets, and bayonets; glazed helmets of the 26th and Vladimir Regiments, a Zouave trumpet (with a banner attached), trod flat as a pancake under the feet of the stormers as they poured into the Malakoff. There, too, were several rusty fragments of exploded shells, hand-grenades, and the last cannon-shot fired from the Mamelon Vert. For Winifred and Dora I had mother-of-pearl trunks of rare essences and perfumes; slender gilt vials of attar of roses; daintily-embroidered Turkish slippers, with turned-up toes, and bracelets of rose-pearls from Stamboul; Maltese jewelry, lace, veils, and as many pretty things as might have stocked a little shop in the Palais Royal or the Burlington Arcade. The month was June, and my spirits became more and more buoyant, as in the open carriage we bowled along between the green mountains and the waving woodlands. Now the mowers, scythe in hand, were bending over the fragrant and bearded grass; the ploughmen were turning up the fallow soil; the squirrels were feasting in the blossom; the sheep were being driven to fold; and the crow was flying aloft, ere he sought his nest "in the rooky wood." It was a thorough English June evening: the air pure, the sunshine bright, and casting the shadows of the mountains far across the vales and fresh green meadows; the blackbird, thrush, and linnet sang on every tree, and a glow of happiness came over me; for all around the land looked so peaceful and so lovely, the gray smoke curling up from copse and dingle to mark where stood those "free fair homes of England," of which Mrs. Hemans sang so sweetly. Sir Madoc was discoursing on the cultivation of turnips and mangold wurzels, and on the mode of extirpating annual darnel-grass, coltsfoot, wild charlock, and other mysterious plants to me unknown; and I heard him as one in a dream, when we entered the long lime avenue. How pleasant and picturesque looked the old house of the Tudor times at the end of that long leafy vista, with all its tinted oriels, its gilded vanes, and quaint stone finials! The woodbine, clematis, and ivy, hops and honeysuckle, all blended in luxuriant masses, aspiring to peep in at the upper windows. Craigaderyn, so redolent of fruit and flowers, of fresh sweet air, of bright green leaves, of health and every bracing element--a hearty old house, where for generations the yule log had blazed, and the holly-branch and the mistletoe hung from the old oak roof, when the snow lay deep on Carneydd Llewellyn; where the boar's head was served up in state at Christmas, and at Michaelmas the goose; where so many brides had come home happy, and so many old folks, full of years and honour, gone to the vault of the old church among the hills; where lay all the line of Lloyd, save the luckless Sir Jorwerth Du; and where--. But here my somewhat discursive reverie was interrupted by the carriage being pulled sharply up at the perron before the entrance; and Owen Gwyllim, with his wrinkled face beaming, and his white head glistening in the sunshine, hastened down to open the door, arrange the steps, and shake the only hand the Russians had left me. "Where are the young ladies?" asked Sir Madoc, impatiently glancing up at all the windows. "Gone for a ride so far as Llandudno, with Miss Vaughan." "Alone?" "No, Sir Madoc, attended by Spurrit, the groom. They were gone before your telegram arrived, but are to be back before the first bell rings for dinner." And now, after a little attention to my toilet, I was ushered into the drawing-room, every object in which was so familiar to me; and seating myself in the corner of an oriel, I gave way to a long train of deep thought; for I was left quite alone just then, as Sir Madoc found letters of importance awaiting him; and now, induced by the heat of evening, the stillness broken only by the tinkle of a sheep-bell and the hum of the bees at the open window, and by the length and rapidity of my journey, I actually dozed quietly off to sleep. CHAPTER LIX.--"A DREAM WHICH WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." Brief though my nap of "forty winks," I had within it a little dream, induced, no doubt, by my return to Wales, and by my surroundings, as it was of Winifred Lloyd, of past tenderness, and our old kind, flirting, cousinly intercourse, before _others_ came between us; for Winifred had ever been as a sister to me, and dearer, perhaps. Now I thought she was hanging over me with much of sorrowful yearning in her soft face, and saying, "Papa will not be here for an hour, perhaps, and for that hour I may have him all to myself, to watch. Poor Harry, so bruised, so battered, and so ill-used by those odious wretches!" Her lips were parted; her breath came in short gasps. Was it imagination or reality that a kiss or a tress of her hair touched my cheek so lightly? There was certainly a tear, too! I started and awoke fully, to see her I dreamt of standing at the side of my chair, with one hand resting on it, while her soft eyes regarded me sadly, earnestly, and--there is no use evading it--lovingly. She wore her blue riding-habit, her skirt gathered in the hand which held her switch and buff gauntlets; and though her fine hair was beautifully dressed under her riding-hat, one tress _was_ loose. "Dear Winifred, my appearance does not shock you, I hope?" said I, clasping her hand tenderly, and perhaps with some of that energy peculiar to those who have but one. "Thank Heaven, it is no worse!" she replied; "but, poor Harry Hardinge, an arm is a serious loss." "Yet I might have come home, like _Le Diable Boiteux_, on two wooden stumps, as Dora once half predicted; but even as it is, my round-dancing is at an end now. By the way, I have a sorrowful message for you." "Then I don't want to hear it. But from whom?" "One who can return no more, but one who loved you well--Phil Caradoc." A shade of irritation crossed her face for a moment; and then, with something of sorrow, she asked, "And this message?--poor fellow, he fell at the Redan!" "His last thoughts and words were of you, Winny--amid the anguish of a mortal wound," said I; and then I told her the brief story of his death, and of his interment in the fifth parallel. Her eyes were very full of tears; yet none fell, and somehow my little narrative failed to excite her quite so much as I expected. "Did you not love him?" "No," she replied, curtly, and gathering up the skirt of her habit more tightly, as if to leave me. "Did you never do so?" "Why those questions?--never, save as a friend--poor dear Mr. Caradoc! But let us change the subject," she added, her short lip quivering, and her half-drooped eyelids, too. I was silent for a minute. I knew that, with a knowledge of the secret sentiment which Winifred treasured in her heart for myself, I was wrong in pursuing thus the unwelcome theme of Caradoc's rejection; moreover, there are few men, if any, who would not have felt immensely flattered by the preferences of a girl so bright and beautiful, so soft and artless, as Miss Lloyd; and I found myself rapidly yielding to the whole charm of the situation. "How odd that you should have returned on my birthday!" said she, playing with her jewelled switch, and permitting me to retain her ungloved hand in mine. "Your birthday." "Yes; I am just twenty-three." "The number of the old corps, Winifred--the number, see it when he may, a soldier never forgets." "But I hope you have bidden good-bye to it for ever." "Too probably; and you cannot know, dear Winifred, how deep is the pleasure I feel in being here again, after all I have undergone--here in pleasant Craigaderyn; and more than all with you--hearing your familiar voice, and looking into your eyes." "Why?" she asked, looking out on the sunlit chase. "Can you ask me why, when you know that I love you, Winny, and have always loved you?" "As a friend, of course," said she, trembling very much; "yes--but nothing more." "I repeat that I love you tenderly and truly; have I not ever known your worth, your goodness--" "Is this true, Harry Hardinge?" she asked, in a low voice, as my arm encircled her, and she looked coyly but tremblingly down. "True as that God now hears us, my darling, whom I hope yet to call my wife!" "O, say it again and again, dear Harry," said she, in a low voice like a whisper; "I did so doubt it once--did so doubt that you would ever, ever love me, who--who--loved you so," she continued, growing very pale. "It may be unwomanly in me to say this, Harry; but I am not ashamed to own it now." "To a poor cripple, a warlike fragment from the Crimea," said I, with a smile, as caressingly I drew her head down on my shoulder; and while I toyed with her dark-brown hair, and gazed into her tender violet-coloured eyes, I thought, "How can a man love any but a woman with eyes and hair like Winny's?" (At that moment I quite forgot how fatuously I had worshipped the thick golden tresses, the snow-white skin, and deep black eyes of Valerie. And it was for _me_ that Winny had declined poor Phil, Sir Watkins, and some one else! O, I certainly owed her some reparation!) "Bless you, darling, for your love," said I; "and I think our marriage will make good Sir Madoc so happy." "You were ever his favourite, Harry." "And you have actually loved me, Winny--" "Ever since I was quite a little girl," she replied, in a low voice, while blushing deeply now. "Ah, how blind I have been to the best interests of my heart! I always loved you, Winifred; but I never knew how much until now." "I am sure, Harry, that I--that I shall--" "What, love?" "Make you a very, very good little wife, and be so kind to you after all you have undergone." As she said this, with something between coyness and artlessness that proved very bewitching, I pressed her close to me, and there flashed upon my memory the dream of her, as I lay wounded and athirst near the ditch of the Redan, and also the singular coincidence of her pet goat leading to my discovery when lying half buried under the dead horse and cannon-wheel on the field of Inkermann. "Papa and Dora," said she, in a low broken voice, "on that day when my great grief came--" "Which grief?" "The tidings of your being drowned," she continued, weeping at the recollection, "and when I let out the long-hidden secret of my heart, told me not to weep for you, Harry; that you were far happier elsewhere than on earth; that you were in Heaven; and poor papa said over and over again the Welsh prayer which ends Gogoniant ir Tad, ac ir Mab, ac ir Yspryd Glan." "What on earth is all that!" I asked, smiling. "Glory to the Father, the Son, and so on. Well, Harry, it was all in vain. I felt that in losing you I had lost the desire of my eyes, the love of my girl's heart--for I always did love you, and I care not to tell you so openly again," she added, as the tender arms went round me, and the loving lips sought mine. "My crave for news from the seat of war, and the terror with which I read those horrible lists, Harry, are known to myself only; yet why should I say so? many others, whose dearest were there, must have felt and endured as I did." "All that is over now, pet Winny." "And you are here with us again, Harry." "And am yours--yours only!" "But there is the bell to dress for dinner, Harry--and here come Dora and Gwenny Vaughan," she added, giving a hasty smooth to her hair, which somehow had been a little rumpled during the preceding conversation. The two girls came in for a minute or so, in their hats and riding habits; the last-named was a very beautiful and distinguished-looking blonde, who could talk about hunting like an old whipper-in, and who received me with kind interest, while Dora did so with her usual gushing _empressement_. The dinner, which came subsequently in due course, was rather a tame affair to Winny and me, when contrasted with our recent interview in the drawing-room; but the tender secret we now shared, and the perfect consciousness that no obstacle existed to our marriage, made us both so radiantly happy, that Sir Madoc's rubicund face wore a comical and somewhat perplexed expression, till we had our postprandial cigar together in the conservatory. So the whole affair came about in the fashion I have narrated; yet but a day or two before, I had been affecting a desire to visit the Russian prisoners at Lewes! At table, of course, I required much assistance, and though I urged that Owen Gwyllim or one of the footmen should attend me, there was often a friendly contention among the three girls to cut my food for me, as if I were a great baby; and like something of that kind, I was flattered, petted, and made much of; and there was something so pleasant in being thus made a fuss with, and viewed as a "Crimean hero," that I scarcely regretted the bones I had left at the Redan. "And so, poor Harry," said Dora, after hearing the story of that affair, "you had no brave beautiful Sister of Mercy to nurse you?" "No; I had only Corporal Mulligan, a true and brave-hearted Irishman, who lost an eye at Alma; and a kind-hearted fellow he was!" Winifred did not talk much; but in her place as hostess seemed brilliantly happy, and quite her old self. We had all a thousand things to talk of, to tell, and to ask each other; and the fate of that strange creature Guilfoyle, or rather the mystery which then attended it, excited almost the commiseration of Sir Madoc, who, once upon a time, was on the point of horse-whipping him. On certain points connected with my residence at Yalta, I was, of course, as mute as a fish. Of Caradoc he spoke with genuine sorrow--the more so, as he was the last of an old, old Welsh line. "Poor fellow!" said he; "Phil was a man of whom we may say that which was averred of Colonel Mountain, of the Cameronians, 'that though he were cut into twenty pieces, yet every piece would be a gentleman!'" Over our cigars, I told Sir Madoc all that had passed between Winifred and me, and begged his approbation; and I have no words to express how enthusiastic the large-hearted and jolly old man became; how rejoiced, and how often he shook my hand, assuring me that he had ever loved me quite as much as if I had been a son of his own; that his Winny was one of the best girls in all Wales--true as steel, and one who, when she loved, did so for ever. "I thank Heaven," he added, "you didn't get that slippery eel, my Lady Aberconway!" "So do I, now, Sir Madoc," was my earnest response. But I had not yet seen quite the last of Estelle Cressingham. Of her Winifred must, at times, have been keenly and bitterly jealous, yet she was too gentle, too ladylike and enduring, to permit such an emotion to be visible to others. CHAPTER LX.--A HONEYMOON. And so it came to pass, as perhaps Sir Madoc had foreseen, by the doctrine of chances, and without any romance or sensationalism, that in the bright season of summer, Winifred and I--after a short engagement, and many a delicious ramble by the Elwey and Llyn Aled, in the Martens' dingle and by the old rocking-stone--were married in Craigaderyn Church, by her secret admirer, the tall pale curate in the long, long coat, "assisted" by another (as if aid in such cases were necessary); and amid the summer sounds that came floating through the open porch and pointed windows, with the yellow flakes of hazy sunshine, when I heard the voice of the pastor uniting us, I remembered the Sunday we were all last in the same place, and the daydreams in which I had indulged during the prosy sermon, when I fancied the same solemn service being said, and when, by some magic, the image of Winifred _would_ ever come in the place of another. Sir Watkins Vaughan, a purpose-like and gentlemanly young fellow, a prime bat and bowler, a good shot and good horseman, a thorough Englishman and lover of all field sports, and who acted as my groomsman, was so intent on looking at Dora--radiant in white crape and tulle as one of her sister's bridesmaids--that he made, as he said, "a regular mull" of drawing off my glove, an office which I could not have done for myself. At last the whole was over; the golden hoop had been slid on the slender figure of a tremulous little hand; we were made one "till death do us part;" and after the usual kisses and congratulations, came forth into the glorious sunshine, while overhead the marriage chimes rang merrily in the old square tower which Jorwerth ap Davydd Lloyd had founded in honour of St. David five hundred years ago. Then came the cheers in the churchyard--cheers that might wake the dead below the green turf; the guttural Celtic voices of the tenants and peasantry, the general jollity, with much twangle-dangling of harps borne by certain itinerant and tipsy bards, attracted thither by the coin and the well-known Cymric proclivities of Sir Madoc; and loud on all hands were praises of the beauty of the _Briodasferch_ (Welsh euphony for bride), with prayers for her future happiness, as we drove away to luncheon. All the household held high festival. Owen Gwyllim wept in his glee, and drank our healths in mulled port with Mrs. Davis (for whom he had a tenderness) in her room; and Bob Spurrit and Morgan Roots, and all the valets and gamekeepers, did ditto with mulled ale in the "servants' 'all," while we, leaving all to feast and speechify at Craigaderyn, were speeding, as fast as four horses could take us, to hide our blushes at Brighton. . . . After the stormy life I had led how sweet and blessed were home-rest with Winifred! No tempests of thought, of pique or jealousy, of disappointment or bitterness, agitated me now. It was all like first love, and calmly as the summer gloaming among the mountains, the joyous time glided away with us. I felt how truly she had clung to me, and loved me as only those who have long been loved in secret, and whose value, to the heart at least, has been ascertained, by having been to all appearance lost in life, and lost in death, too--for had I not been so to her?--and been mourned for as only the dead, who can return no more, are mourned. Yet I had survived all the perils of war, and her arms were round me now. How strange it seemed, that I should once have been so indifferent to all the graces of her mind and person; that I had been wont to quiz poor Caradoc about her, and had more than once actually suggested that he should "propose;" and so, when I looked into her tender and loving eyes, I recalled her words on that day when, on a time that seemed so long ago, we had a ramble by the rocking-stone, and when she said, "the eye may be pleased, the vanity flattered, and ambition excited by a woman of beauty, especially if she is one of rank; yet the heart may be won by one her inferior." But I considered my little wife inferior to none and second to none. After all my wild work in the field and trenches, there was something wonderfully refreshing, bewitching, and attractive in having her hovering and gliding about me, and all her sweet companionship; and it was _so_ delightful and novel to have those quick and white and fairy-like fingers to adjust one's necktie, to settle one's collar, and give, perhaps, just a finishing touch with a carved ivory brush to the back-parting of one's hair. It _had_ seemed odd to me, at first, those bracelets, tiny rings, and hair-pins at times on my toilet table; and equally odd to her my collars, ties, studs, and razors sometimes left on hers; and we were laughing and chatting merrily of this community in matters one lovely morning at Brighton, when the sun was shining on the sea, that was dotted by a thousand pleasure-boats, and was all rippling in golden light from the snow-white cliffs of Beachy Head to Selsea Bill, and while the merry voices of children came pleasantly on the warm air from the Marine Parade, as we were seated at breakfast with the hotel windows open. Winifred was looking as only a young bride in her first bloom can look. She was more radiant than she had ever seemed even at Craigaderyn; and through the frills of her morning dress, a marvel of white lace and millinery, her slender throat and delicate arms, without necklet or bracelet, were seen to perfection, and I thought she never seemed so charming, as she sat smiling at me over the silver urn. Thus one quite forgot the fragrant coffee, the French rolls that lay cosily hidden in the damask napkin, the dainty fresh eggs, the game-pie, the ham done up in Madeira, and as for the well-aired morning papers, they were never thought of at all. On the morning in question my valet, Lance-corporal Mulligan, entered the room with our letters on a salver. I had picked up the poor fellow by the merest chance one night at the Brighton Theatre, where he had been receiving, as a super and sham soldier in a suit of tin armour, one shilling per night, exactly what he got from her Majesty's most liberal government for risking his life night and day as a real one; and so, minus an eye, he had betaken himself, after fighting at Alma and storming the Redan, to figuring at the Battle of Bosworth and marching to Dunsinane. So he came to me gladly, while his Biddy and a chubby Pat, born under canvas among the tents of the Connaught Rangers, were snugly located in one of the gate-lodges at Craigaderyn. Erect as a pike he marched up to the table and laid the letters before Winny, all save one, which he handed to me. It was oblong, official, and inscribed "On her Majesty's Service," words at the sight of which his solitary eye brightened, while he regarded them with respect, as an Osmanli might the cipher of the Sultan; and then he stood at "attention," lingering by, napkin in hand, to hear what the contents were. They were, as usual in such communications from the Horse Guards, very brief, but not the less gratifying. The Military Secretary had the honour to inform me that her Majesty had been graciously pleased to signify her intention of conferring the new order of merit, entitled the Victoria Cross, on certain officers, seamen, and soldiers, for acts of bravery during the late war; that my name was on the list for it, on the recommendation of Brigadier-general Windham, as a reward for volunteering with the ladder party at the storming and capture of the Redan on the 8th September; and that my presence was required at a parade before her Majesty, on a certain day named. "That is all, Mulligan--you may go," said I, and he wheeled about sharply, as if on a pivot, and stalked out; while Winny kissed me, ran her white fingers caressingly through my hair, her face beaming with delight. "But, Winny, by Jove, I've done nothing to deserve this. I only tumbled into an embrasure of the Redan, to be tumbled out again," said I; "and I got jambed among the dead." "Nothing, darling--do you call that nothing?" she exclaimed. "O, this is indeed delightful--a real decoration! How proud I am of you! and yet--and yet--I am loth to leave Brighton for town. We are so happy here; we have been so jolly, Harry." "But, Winny, we shall return; we have 'done' the pier, the parade, and the pavilion, again and again." "Have you wearied?" "When with _you!_" "And I with you, Harry! But I am so happy that I fear at times such happiness cannot last." "Town will be a pleasant change for a time; and then the spectacle in the Park will be most brilliant, and--all the world of fashion will be there." "And one, perhaps, whom--I don't wish to see," said she, pouting. "One--who?" "Lady Aberconway will be there, no doubt," she replied, with a little nervous laugh. "What of that, in the world of London? And what now is Es--the Marchioness of Aberconway, or Aber-anything-else, to me, Winny, darling?" "Nothing now, of course--but--but--" "But what?" "I cannot forget that she _has been_ something to you." "Never what you are now," said I, clasping her to my breast with one arm, and kissing her on the eyes and hair. "You pet me too much, Harry, and I fear will quite spoil me," said she, laughing merrily again. "Who could live with you and not pet you? Would you have me to wrap myself up in a toga, a mantle of marital dignity, and remain solemnly on a pedestal like an armless statue, for my little wife to worship? But there was something in one of your letters that made you laugh?" "It is from Dora." "And her news?" "Is that she has accepted Vaughan." "I am so glad to hear it! Then we shall have another marriage, and more feasting and harping at Craigaderyn?" "Yes; about the middle of August, or after the grouse-shooting begins, as dear papa would date it." CHAPTER LXI.--"FOR VALOUR." It was in the height of the gay London season that this interesting ceremony, which formed the last scene connected with the Crimean War--the last chapter in its glorious yet melancholy history--was to be closed under the auspices of Royalty on a day in June, when the air was clear, bright, and sunny, the sky without a cloud. The place selected for the celebration, though perhaps not the most suitable in London, was appropriate enough, by its local and historical associations; and Hyde Park seemed beautiful and stirring when viewed through the mellow haze of the midsummer morning, with its long rows of trees and far expanse of green grass, on which the masses of cavalry and infantry, chiefly of the Household Brigade, were ranged, their arms and gay appointments flashing and glittering in the sun, and the mighty assemblage of fashionables, in splendid carriages, on horseback, or on foot--such an assemblage as London alone can produce--with the bronze Achilles, the trophy of another and far more glorious war, towering over all. There were present not less than a hundred thousand of the sight-loving Londoners, full of generous enthusiasm. A grand review formed a portion of the programme; but as such displays are all alike, I shall skip that part of the day's proceedings; though there were present the 79th Highlanders, whom I had last seen in the trenches before the Redan, preparing for the final assault at daybreak; the 19th, that with the 23rd went side by side in the uphill charge at Alma; the showy 11th Hussars in blue with scarlet pelisses, who had ridden in the terrible death ride at Balaclava; and with glittering brass helmets the gallant Enniskillens, who, with the Greys, had followed Scarlett in the task of avenging them. And there, too, commanding the whole, in his plumed bonnet and tartan trews, was old Colin Campbell, riding as quietly and as grimly, amid the youth, rank, and beauty of London, as when he brought his Highland Brigade in stately échelon of regiments along the green slopes of the Kourgané Hill, and heard the gray Kazan columns, ere they fled, send up their terrible wail to heaven, that "the angel of Death had come!" This veteran soldier, who had carried the colours of the 9th Regiment under Moore at Corunna, looked old now, worn, and service-stricken, yet he had the wars of the Indian Mutiny before him still. By his side rode the hero of Kars in artillery uniform, and that brilliant Hussar officer, the Earl of Cardigan, mounted on the same horse he had ridden at Balaclava. The royal stand, as yet empty, was elaborately decorated; gilded chairs of state were placed within it; and in front, covered with scarlet cloth, was a table whereon lay sixty-two of those black crosses, cast from Russian cannon, rude in design, but named after her Majesty, and inscribed "For Valour"--sixty-two being the number who, on that day, were to receive them. We, "the observed of all observers," had not as yet fallen in, so I lingered near the stand, where Winifred, Dora, and Gwenny Vaughan, and many other ladies were seated, and seeking, by the aid of parasol and fan, to shield themselves from the heat of the sun, and using their lorgnettes freely in looking for friends among the crowd, and in watching the proceedings, chatting and laughing gaily the while, with all the freedom of happy and heedless girls; for the troops were "standing at ease," and her Majesty had not yet come. Winifred was looking charming in her bridal bonnet, charming amid the loveliest women in the world--and they were there by thousands; for she had the beauty of perfect goodness, and of the purest and gentlest attributes of woman-kind; for she was an artless and generous creature, too simpleminded at times, even in this cold-blooded and well-bred age, to have the power of concealing her emotions. I wore my old and faded red coat of the Welsh Fusileers for the _last_ time; and though there was something sad in the conviction that it was so, I never felt so proud of it, or of my looped-up sleeve, as on that day in Hyde Park. I felt that my occupation was gone, and that any other was unsuited to me, for "it is the speciality of a soldier's career, that it unfits most men for any other life. They cannot throw off the old habitudes. They cannot turn from the noisy stir of war to the tame quiet of every-day life; and even when they fancy themselves wearied and worn out, and willing to retire from the service, their souls are stirred by every sound of the distant contest, as the war-steed is roused by the blast of a trumpet." Often in fancy before this, for I was ever addicted to daydreams, I had pictured some such fête, some such ceremony, some such reward, for all our army had endured in Bulgaria, and done by the shores of the Black Sea; but the reality far exceeded all I had ever imagined. In my school-days, how I had longed, with all a boy's ardour, to fight for my country and Queen! Well, I _had_ fought--not for either, certainly, but for the lazy, wretched, and contemptible Turks--and her royal hand was about to reward me, by placing an order on my breast. The longing, the wild desire to achieve, to do something great, or grand, or dashing, had ever since those school-boy days been mine; now that mysterious "something" was achieved, and I was about to be made a V.C. before that vast multitude, and more than all, beneath the soft kind eyes of one who loved me more than all the world. "Who the dooce is that handsome woman, on whom----" (I failed to catch the name) "of ours is so devilish spooney?" I heard one tall Plunger, in a marvellously new panoply, lisp to another, as he checked his beautiful black horse for a moment in passing. "What! can it be possible you don't know? It is the talk of all town," replied the other, laughing, and in a low tone; "she is Lady Aberconway, old Pottersleigh's wife--a more ill-mated pair don't exist in Europe, by Jove!" "So she has found consolation?" "Rather." And the two glittering warriors with black boots, shining breastplates, and fly-away whiskers, winked to each other knowingly, and separated. I looked in the direction they had indicated. Close by me an officer of the Oxford Blues, with his horse reined in close to the stand, was engaged in a conversation, by turns gay and animated, or low and confidential, with--Estelle! She was seated near her mother, Lady Naseby, who looked as impassible and passionless as ever, with her cold and imperious dignity of face and manner, and her odious white shock, now somewhat aged and wheezy, in her lap. "Love," it is said, "is hard as any snake to kill." Perhaps so; but I could regard her daughter now without any special throb of my pulse, or thrill in my heart. Still I could not but confess that her high class of beauty, in style, polish, and finish, was wonderful, and when in repose, cold and aristocratic to a degree. She had achieved already that which has been justly described as "that queenly standard women so often attain after marriage, while losing none of their early charms," unless I except a little heartless flippancy of manner in the conversation, which, as I was pressed near her by the crowd, I was compelled to overhear. Her toilette was as perfect as lace, tulle, and flowers could make it. How often had I gazed tenderly and passionately on that face, so false and yet so fair, and kissed it on lips, and eyes, and cheek! and now it was turned, smilingly, laughingly, and, I am sorry to add, lovingly, to the boyish and insipid face of that long-legged, curled, and pomatumed Guardsman, who had "never set a squadron in the field," nor smelt powder elsewhere than at Wormwood Scrubs or Bushey Park. I turned from her with something of sublime contempt, and yet, odd to say, I felt a nervous twinge, as if in the arm that was now no longer in my sleeve, when her voice reached me; but after all that had come and gone, that voice could find no echo now in my heart. Sweetly modulated it was still, but seemed to me only "low and clear as the song of a snake-charmer." "It will be the ball of the season--you will be there, of course?" she asked. "Only if _you_ go, Lady Aberconway--not unless," replied the trooper, in a low tone; "what or who else should take me there?" "So they have made your uncle a K.C.B." "Yes--and somebody is going to marry him on Tuesday at eleven in Hanover-square." "And your brother is coming up for his little exam. I have heard also." "Yes--at Woolwich. The idea of any fellow fancying the Artillery!" "Is he handsome--is he anything like _you?_" Then, without waiting for a reply to these important queries, she suddenly said, "Gracious, mamma, there is another poor creature without an arm!" "Poor deyvil--so there is," drawled her male friend, and then I knew by these flattering remarks that their august regards were turned on me; but my bushy Crimean beard, my empty sleeve, and, as yet, rather pale cheek, and moreover my face being half averted, prevented Estelle from recognising me; or it might be, that I dwelt but little in her memory. "What is that officer's regiment?" she asked, adding doubtfully, "he is an officer, isn't he--but his uniform is deplorable!" "Twenty-third--Welsh Fusileers." "Ah, indeed!" I now turned fully round; for a moment our eyes met, and then I moved back to where Winifred sat. Estelle eyed me keenly enough now, and fanned herself, as I thought, with a little air of vexation, from time to time. Yet that was not flattering; for I knew that though a woman may forget, she does not like the idea of being forgotten, or that even when flirting with another, her empire over an old lover's heart is at an end. She had deteriorated in style, and her tone of flippancy was not that of the Estelle I had once loved; and as for the boy Guardsman, with whom gossip was already linking her name, poor fool! his love for her and her extravagance soon ruined him. Bills were dishonoured thick and threefold; cent. per cent., London, and Judea between them cleaned him out. A meeting of the Guards' Club passed such resolutions that he was compelled to begin the sliding scale--from "the Guards to Line, and from thence to the devil," as the phrase is--and to recruiting for H.M. 2nd West India Regiment in Sierra Leone, where drink and fever finished him; and he lies now by the bank of the Bunce river, as completely forgotten by Estelle as if he never had been. "Do you see who is there, Harry?" asked Winifred, with a rather agitated voice. "Yes; what of it, little one?" "Only that I--hate her!" "Why?" "For her treatment of you." "How odd!" said I, laughing; "had it been otherwise, Winny, we should not have had our delightful little trip to Brighton. Think of that, my British matron!" "I am not a matron yet, but only your bride; the honeymoon is not yet over, sir." "Thank God you are so, darling! What an escape I have had from being in old Pottersleigh's place! But there sound the trumpets, and I must fall in--fall in for the last time." And as drum and bugle sounded on all sides, and the arms flashed in the sunshine when the order was given to "shoulder," a brightness seemed to pass over all the eyes and expectant faces in the grand stand. The Queen had come, and all that passed subsequently was like a dream to me then, and is more so now. The sixty-two officers and men who were to receive the cross (and twelve of whom belonged to the navy) were all, irrespective of rank, marshalled according to the number of their regiment under Lieutenant John Knox, of the Rifles, who, like myself, had an empty sleeve. The braided breast of his dark-green uniform seemed ablaze with medals, for he had been with the ladder party in the attack on the Redan, where he lost an arm by a grape-shot. There were but two officers of the 23rd to win the decoration, and we were posted between two privates of the 19th, and two of the 34th; but all passed the royal stand in single file. I had never seen the Queen hitherto, and suddenly I found myself before her--a smiling-faced, graceful, though stout little lady, in a low hat, adorned with a beautiful plume, and wearing a scarlet tunic and blue skirt; and I certainly felt my heart vibrate, as with her own hands she pinned the decoration on my breast--vibrate with a flush of pride and joy only to be felt at such a time and at such a ceremony; and yet amid it all I thought of the dear little wife who, with her eyes dim with tears of happiness, was watching me. I then passed on, giving place to a lame private of the 34th Foot, the Prince Consort saluting each recipient as they passed him--many slowly, painfully, and with difficulty; for some poor maimed and haggard-faced fellows were hobbling on sticks and crutches, and some, like the gallant Sir Thomas Trowbridge, who had lost both legs, were wheeled to the very feet of the Queen in Bath-chairs. At last all was over--this closing episode of our war in the Crimea; and as we drove from the crowded park to get the train for Brighton--the honeymoon was not yet finished--I had forgotten all about Estelle and her Plunger; and I thanked God in my heart that I was not lying where so many lay in the land we had left, and for the tender and true-hearted wife He had given me, as I laughingly hung round her pretty neck the black-iron order of valour--the Victoria Cross. Fifteen years have passed since that auspicious day. And now, as I write these closing lines, I can see, through the lozenged and mullioned windows of the library, the old woods of Craigaderyn tossing their leafy branches on the evening wind, and the sunset lingering redly on the lofty peaks of Snowdon and Carneydd Llewellyn. Old Sir Madoc--too old now to back even his most favourite hunter--is sitting yonder in the sunshine, looking dreamily down the far-stretched vista of the chase to where the bright sea is rippling in the distance. The flowers are blooming as gaily on the terrace as they did on the day of Dora's fête, and she has long been _Aunt_ Vaughan; for at Craigaderyn there are little ones now--a violet-eyed Winifred, who scampers through the park on a Welsh pony; a dark-haired Madoc, who can almost handle a gun; and a golden-curled Harry to run after the tossing leaves, to shout to the deer and hare as they lurk among the fern; to seek for birds' nests among the shrubbery; to grab at the gold fish in the fountain with his fat little fists; to clamber about Sir Madoc's chair and knees; to ride on the backs of Owen Gwyllim and old Corporal Mulligan, and in whom we see mamma's eyes, papa's expression--nods, winks, and blinks, and so forth, all so exactly reproduced and blended, that our best friends don't know which of us he most resembles; so "Time, the avenger" of all things, has brought nothing but joy and happiness to us at Craigaderyn. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Without God, without everything.] [Footnote 2: The artillery of the Prussian Guard have also had constantly a goat, its neck encircled by a beautiful collar, and one, named by the soldiers "Herr Schneider," accompanied them in every battle, from the war which broke out in 1866 till the peace in 1870. He always marched with the men of the first gun. At Köninghof, Herr Schneider was left in the rear, tied to a powder caisson; but he broke loose, came to the front at full gallop, and was recaptured under fire; the soldiers afterwards attached to his collar a copper medal, made from a pan found among the captured cooking utensils of General Coronini. His death was formally announced by the artillery of the Guard in the Berlin _Vossische Zeitung_.] [Footnote 3: Fusileer regiments did not then wear epaulettes.] [Footnote 4: May God preserve us!] [Footnote 5: Good Lord deliver us.] THE END. ******************** BILLING, PRINTER. GUILDFORD, SURREY 
46242	----	[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the spelling of non-English words. Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text. (note of etext transcriber)] THE BRITISH EXPEDITION TO THE CRIMEA BY WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. _NEW AND REVISED EDITION_ WITH MAPS AND PLANS LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET 1877 +---------------------------------------+ | THE INDIAN MUTINY. | | | | In crown 8vo, cloth, price 7_s._ 6_d._| | | | MY DIARY IN INDIA, | | | | _In the Year 1858-9_. | | | | BY | | | | WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL.D. | | | | SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT OF "THE TIMES."| +---------------------------------------+ NOTICE TO THE READER. EDITION OF 1858. The interest excited by the events of the Campaign in the Crimea has not died away. Many years, indeed, must elapse ere the recital of the details of that great struggle, its glories, and its disasters, cease to revive the emotions of joy or grief with which a contemporary generation regarded the sublime efforts of their countrymen. As records on which the future history of the war must be founded, none can be more valuable than letters written from the scene, read by the light documents, such as those which will shortly be made public, can throw upon them.[1] There may be misconception respecting the nature of the motives by which statesmen and leaders of armies are governed, but there can be no mistake as to what they _do_; and, although one cannot always ascertain the reasons which determine their outward conduct, their acts are recorded in historical memoranda not to be disputed or denied. For the first time in modern days the commanders of armies have been compelled to give to the world an exposition of the considerations by which they were actuated during a war, in which much of the sufferings of our troops was imputed to their ignorance, mismanagement, and apathy. They were not obliged to adopt that course by the orders of their superiors, but by the pressure of public opinion; and that pressure became so great that each, as he felt himself subjected to its influence, endeavoured to escape from it by throwing the blame on the shoulders of his colleagues, or on a military scapegoat, known as "the system." As each in self-defence flourished his pen or his tongue against his brother, he made sad rents in the mantle of official responsibility and secrecy. Even in Russia the press, to its own astonishment, was called on to expound the merits of captains and explain grand strategical operations; and the public there, read in the official organs of their Government very much the same kind of matter as our British public in the evidence given before the Chelsea Commissioners. Much of what was hidden has been revealed. We know more than we did; but we never shall know all. I avail myself of a brief leisure to revise, for the first time, letters written under very difficult circumstances, and to re-write those portions of them which relate to the most critical actions of the war. From the day the Guards landed in Malta down to the fall of Sebastopol, and the virtual conclusion of the war, I had but one short interval of repose. I was with the first detachment of the British army which set foot on Turkish soil, and it was my good fortune to land with the first at Scutari, at Varna, and at Old Fort, to be present at Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman, to accompany the Kertch and the Kinburn expeditions, and to witness every great event of the siege--the assaults on Sebastopol, and the battle of the Tchernaya. It was my still greater good fortune to be able to leave the Crimea with the last detachment of our army. My sincere desire is, to tell the truth, as far as I knew it, respecting all I have witnessed. I had no alternative but to write fully, freely, fearlessly, for that was my _duty_, and to the best of my knowledge and ability it was fulfilled. There have been many emendations, and many versions of incidents in the war, sent to me from various hands--many now cold forever--of which I have made use, but the work is chiefly based on the letters which, by permission of the proprietors of the _Times_, I was allowed to place in a new form before the public. W. H. RUSSELL. _July, 1858._ PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1876. For several years the "History of the British Expedition to the Crimea," founded on the "Letters from the Crimea of the _Times_ Correspondent," has been out of print, and the publishers have been unable to execute orders continually arriving for copies of the work. At the present moment the interest of the public in what is called the Eastern Question has been revived very forcibly, and the policy of this country in entering upon the war of 1854, has been much discussed in the Press and in Parliament. "Bulgaria,"[2] in which the allied armies failed to discover the misery or discontent which might, at the time, have been found in Ireland or Italy, is now the scene of "atrocities," the accounts of which are exercising a powerful influence on the passions and the judgment of the country, and the balance of public opinion is fast inclining against the Turk, for whom we made so many sacrifices, and who proved that he was a valiant soldier and a faithful and patient ally. The Treaty of Paris has been torn up, the pieces have been thrown in our faces, and a powerful party in England is taking, in 1876, energetic action to promote the objects which we so strenuously resisted in 1854. "Qui facit per alium facit per se." Prince Gortschakoff must be very grateful for effective help where Count Nesselrode encountered the most intense hostility. He finds "sympathy" as strong as gunpowder, and sees a chance of securing the spoils of war without the cost of fighting for them. Since 1854-6 the map of Europe has undergone changes almost as great as those temporary alterations which endured with the success of the First French Empire, and these apparently are but the signs and tokens of changes to come, of which no man can forecast the extent and importance. The British fleet is once more in Besika Bay, but there is now no allied squadron by its side. No British minister ventures to say that our fleet is stationed there to protect the integrity of Turkey. If the record of what Great Britain did in her haste twenty-two years ago be of any use in causing her to reflect on the consequences of a violent reaction now, the publication of this revised edition of the "History of the Expedition to the Crimea," may not be quite inopportune. W. H. RUSSELL. TEMPLE, _August, 1876_. _Note._--_In addition to the despatches relating to the landing in the Crimea, the battles of the Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman, and the Tchernaya, the assaults on the place, &c., there will be found in the present edition the text of the most important clauses of the Treaty of Paris in 1856, the correspondence between Prince Gortschakoff and Lord Granville on the denunciation of the Treaty in 1870, &c._ CONTENTS. BOOK I. THE CONCENTRATION OF THE BRITISH TROOPS IN TURKEY--THEIR CAMPS AND CAMP-LIFE AT GALLIPOLI, SCUTARI, AND IN BULGARIA.....1 BOOK II. DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION FOR THE CRIMEA--THE LANDING--THE MARCH--THE AFFAIR OF BARLJANAK--THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA--THE FLANK MARCH.....69 BOOK III. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SIEGE--THE FIRST BOMBARDMENT--ITS FAILURE--THE BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA--CAVALRY CHARGE--THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN--ITS CONSEQUENCES.....140 BOOK IV. PREPARATIONS FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN--THE HURRICANE--THE CONDITION OF THE ARMY--THE TRENCHES IN WINTER--BALAKLAVA--THE COMMISSARIAT AND MEDICAL STAFF.....177 BOOK V. THE COMMENCEMENT OF ACTIVE OPERATIONS--THE SPRING--REINFORCEMENTS--THE SECOND BOMBARDMENT--ITS FAILURE--THIRD BOMBARDMENT, AND FAILURE--PERIOD OF PREPARATION.....231 BOOK VI. COMBINED ATTACKS ON THE ENEMY'S COUNTER APPROACHES--CAPTURE OF THE QUARRIES AND MAMELON--THE ASSAULT OF THE 18TH OF JUNE--LORD RAGLAN'S DEATH.....282 BOOK VII. EFFORTS TO RAISE THE SIEGE--BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA--THE SECOND ASSAULT--CAPTURE OF THE MALAKOFF--RETREAT OF THE RUSSIANS TO THE NORTH SIDE.....303 BOOK VIII. THE ATTITUDE OF THE TWO ARMIES--THE DEMONSTRATIONS FROM BAIDAR--THE RECONNAISSANCE--THE MARCH FROM EUPATORIA--ITS FAILURE--THE EXPEDITION TO KINBURN AND ODESSA.....376 BOOK IX. THE WINTER--POSITION OF THE FRENCH--THE TURKISH CONTINGENT--PREPARATIONS FOR THE NEXT CAMPAIGN--THE ARMISTICE--THE PEACE AND THE EVACUATION.....429 APPENDIX.....501 THE BRITISH EXPEDITION TO THE CRIMEA. BOOK I. CHAPTER I. Causes of the quarrel--Influence of the press--Preparations--Departure from England--Malta--Warnings. The causes of the last war with Russia, overwhelmed by verbiage, and wrapped up in coatings of protocols and dispatches, at the time are now patent to the world. The independence of Turkey was menaced by the Czar, but France and England would have cared little if Turkey had been a power whose fate could affect in no degree the commerce or the reputation of the allies. France, ever jealous of her prestige, was anxious to uphold the power of a nation and a name which, to the oriental, represents the force, intelligence, and civilization of Europe. England, with a growing commerce in the Levant, and with a prodigious empire nearer to the rising sun, could not permit the one to be absorbed and the other to be threatened by a most aggressive and ambitious state. With Russia, and France by her side, she had not hesitated to inflict a wound on the independence of Turkey which had been growing deeper every day. But when insatiable Russia, impatient of the slowness of the process, sought to rend the wounds of the dying man, England felt bound to stay her hands, and to prop the falling throne of the Sultan. Although England had nothing to do with the quarrels of the Greek and Latin Churches, she could not be indifferent to the results of the struggle. If Russia had been permitted to exercise a protectorate over the Greek subjects of the Porte, and to hold as material guarantee the provinces of the Danube, she would be the mistress of the Bosphorus, the Dardanelles, and even the Mediterranean. France would have seen her moral weight in the East destroyed. England would have been severed from her Indian Empire, and menaced in the outposts of her naval power. All Christian States have now a right to protect the Christian subjects of the Porte; and in proportion as the latter increase in intelligence, wealth, and numbers, the hold of the Osmanli on Europe will relax. The sick man is not yet dead, but his heirs and administrators are counting their share of his worldly goods, and are preparing for the suit which must follow his demise. Whatever might have been the considerations and pretences which actuated our statesmen, the people of England entered, with honesty of purpose and singleness of heart, upon the conflict with the sole object of averting a blow aimed at an old friend. To that end they devoted their treasure, and in that cause they freely shed their blood. Conscious of their integrity, the nation began the war with as much spirit and energy as they continued it with calm resolution and manly self-reliance. Their rulers were lifted up by the popular wave, and carried further than they listed. The vessel of the State was nearly dashed to pieces by the great surge, and our dislocated battalions, swept together and called an army, were suddenly plunged into the realities of war. But the British soldier is ready to meet mortal foes. What he cannot resist are the cruel strokes of neglect and mal-administration. In the excitement caused by the news of victory the heart's pulse of the nation was almost frozen by a bitter cry of distress from the heights of Sebastopol. Then followed accounts of horrors which revived the memories of the most disgraceful episodes in our military history. Men who remembered Walcheren sought in vain for a parallel to the wretchedness and mortality in our army. The press, faithful to its mission, threw a full light on scenes three thousand miles from our shores, and sustained the nation by its counsels. "Had it not been for the English press," said an Austrian officer of high rank, "I know not what would have become of the English army. Ministers in Parliament denied that it suffered, and therefore Parliament would not have helped it. The French papers represented it as suffering, but neither hoping nor enduring. Europe heard that Marshal St. Arnaud won the Alma, and that the English, aided by French guns, late in the day, swarmed up the heights when their allies had won the battle. We should have known only of Inkerman as a victory gained by the French coming to the aid of surprised and discomfited Englishmen, and of the assaults on Sebastopol as disgraceful and abortive, but your press, in a thousand translations, told us the truth all over Europe, and enabled us to appreciate your valour, your discipline, your _élan_, your courage and patience, and taught us to feel that even in misfortune the English army was noble and magnificent." [Sidenote: DEPARTURE OF THE GUARDS.] The press upheld the Ministry in its efforts to remedy the effects of an unwise and unreasoning parsimony, prepared the public mind for the subversion of an effete system, encouraged the nation in the moment of depression by recitals of the deeds of our countrymen, elevated the condition and self-respect of the soldiery, and whilst celebrating with myriad tongues the feats of the combatants in the ranks, with all the fire of Tyrtæus, but with greater power and happier results, denounced the men responsible for huge disasters--"told the truth and feared not"--carried the people to the battlefield--placed them beside their bleeding comrades--spoke of fame to the dying and of hope to those who lived--and by its magic power spanned great seas and continents, and bade England and her army in the Crimea endure, fight, and conquer together. The army saved, resuscitated, and raised to a place which it never occupied till recently in the estimation of the country, has much for which to thank the press. Had its deeds and sufferings never been known except through the medium of frigid dispatches, it would have stood in a very different position this day, not only abroad but at home. But gratitude is not a virtue of corporations. It is rare enough to find it in individuals; and, although the press has permission to exhaust laudation and flattery, its censure is resented as impertinence. From the departure of our first battalions till the close of the war, there were occasions on which the shortcomings of great departments and the inefficiency of extemporary arrangements were exposed beyond denial or explanation; and if the optimist is satisfied they were the inevitable consequences of all human organization, the mass of mankind will seek to provide against their recurrence and to obviate their results. With all their hopes, the people at the outset were little prepared for the costs and disasters of war. They fondly believed they were a military power, because they possessed invincible battalions of brave men, officered by gallant, high-spirited gentlemen, who, for the most part, regarded with dislike the calling, and disdained the knowledge, of the mere "professional" soldier. There were no reserves to take the place of those dauntless legions which melted in the crucible of battle, and left a void which time alone could fill. When the Guards[3] left London, on 22nd February, 1854, those who saw them march off to the railway station, unaccustomed to the sight of large bodies of men, and impressed by the bearing of those stalwart soldiers, might be pardoned if they supposed the household troops could encounter a world in arms. As they were the first British regiments which left England for the East, as they bore a grand part worthy of their name in the earlier, most trying, and most glorious period of our struggles, their voyage possesses a certain interest which entitles it to be retained in this revised history; and with some few alterations, it is presented to the reader. Their cheers--re-echoed from Alma and Inkerman--bear now a glorious significance, the "_morituri te salutant_" of devoted soldiers addressed to their sorrowing country. "They will never go farther than Malta!"--Such was the general feeling and expression at the time. It was supposed that the very news of their arrival in Malta would check the hordes of Russia, and shake the iron will which broke ere it would bend. To that march, in less than one year, there was a terrible antithesis. A handful of weary men--wasted and worn and ragged--crept slowly down from the plateau of Inkerman where their comrades lay thick in frequent graves, and sought the cheerless shelter of the hills of Balaklava. They had fought and had sickened and died till that proud brigade had nearly ceased to exist. The swarm of red-coats which after a day of marching, of excitement, of leave-taking, and cheering, buzzed over the _Orinoco_, _Ripon_, _Manilla_, in Southampton Docks, was hived at last in hammock or blanket, while the vessels rode quietly in the waters of the Solent. Fourteen inches is man-of-war allowance, but eighteen inches were allowed for the Guards. On the following morning, February 23rd, the steamers weighed and sailed. The _Ripon_ was off by 7 o'clock A.M., followed by the _Manilla_ and the _Orinoco_. They were soon bowling along with a fresh N.W. breeze in the channel. Good domestic beef, sea-pudding, and excellent bread, with pea-soup every second day, formed substantial pieces of resistance to the best appetites. Half a gill of rum to two of water was served out once a day to each man. On the first day Tom Firelock was rather too liberal to his brother Jack Tar. On the next occasion, the ponderous Sergeant-Major of the Grenadiers presided over the grog-tub, and delivered the order, "Men served--two steps to the front, and swallow!" The men were not insubordinate. The second day the long swell of Biscay began to tell on the Guards. The figure-heads of the ships plunged deep, and the heads of the soldiers hung despondingly over gunwale, portsill, stay, and mess-tin, as their bodies bobbed to and fro. At night they brightened up, and when the bugle sounded at nine o'clock, nearly all were able to crawl into their hammocks for sleep. On Saturday the speed of the vessels was increased from nine-and-a-half to ten knots per hour; and the little _Manilla_ was left by the large paddle-wheel steamers far away. On Sunday all the men had recovered; and when, at half-past ten, the ship's company and troops were mustered for prayers, they looked as fresh as could be expected under the circumstances;--in fact, as the day advanced, they became lively, and the sense of joyfulness for release from the clutches of their enemy was so strong that in reply to a stentorian demand for "three cheers for the jolly old whale!" they cheered a grampus which blew alongside. [Sidenote: ARRIVAL AT MALTA.] On Tuesday the _Ripon_ passed Tarifa, at fifty minutes past five A.M., and anchored in the quarantine ground of Gibraltar to coal half-an-hour afterwards. In consequence of the quarantine regulations there was no communication with the shore, but the soldiers lined the walls, H.M.S. _Cruiser_ manned yards, and as the _Ripon_ steamed off at half-past three P.M., after taking on board coals, tents and tent-poles, they gave three hearty cheers, which were replied to with goodwill. On Thursday a target painted like a Russian soldier was run up for practice. The _Orinoco_ reached Malta on Sunday morning at ten A.M., and the _Ripon_ on Saturday night soon after twelve o'clock. The Coldstreams were disembarked in the course of the day, and the Grenadiers were all ashore ere Monday evening, to the delight of the Maltese, who made a harvest from the excursions of the "plenty big men" to and from the town. The _Manilla_ arrived at Malta on the morning of March 7th, after a run of eighteen days from Southampton. The men left their floating prisons only to relinquish comfort and to "rough it." One regiment was left without coals, another had no lights or candles, another suffered from cold under canvas, in some cases short commons tried the patience of the men, and forage was not to be had for the officers' horses. Acting on the old formula when transports took eight weeks to Malta, the Admiralty supplied steamers which make the passage in as many days with eight weeks' "medical comforts." By a rigid order, the officers were debarred from bringing more than 90lb. weight of baggage. Many of them omitted beds, canteen and mess traps, and were horror-stricken when they were politely invited to pitch their tents and "make themselves comfortable" on the ravelins, outside Valetta. The arrival of the _Himalaya_ before midnight on the same day, after a run of seven days and three hours from Plymouth, with upwards of 1,500 men on board, afforded good proof of our transport resources. Ordinary troop-ships would have taken at least six weeks, and of course it would have cost the Government a proportionate sum for their maintenance, while they were wasting precious moments, fighting against head winds. The only inconvenience attendant on this great celerity is, that many human creatures, with the usual appetites of the species, are rapidly collected upon one spot, and supplies can scarcely be procured to meet the demand. The increase of meat-consuming animals at Malta nearly produced the effects of a famine; there were only four hundred head of cattle left in the island and its dependencies, and with a population of 120,000--with the Brigade of Guards and 11 Regiments in garrison, and three frigates to feed, it may easily be imagined that the Commissariat were severely taxed to provide for this influx. The _Simoom_, with the Scots Fusileer Guards, sixteen days from Portsmouth, reached Malta on the 18th of March. The troops were disembarked the following day, in excellent order. A pile of low buildings running along the edge of the Quarantine Harbour, with abundance of casements, sheltered terraces, piazzas, and large arched rooms, was soon completely filled. The men in spite of the local derangements caused on their arrival by "liberty" carousing in acid wine and fiery brandy, enjoyed good health, though the average of disease was rather augmented by the results of an imprudent use of the time allowed to them in London, to bid good-bye to their friends. For the three last weeks in March, Valetta was like a fair. Money circulated briskly. Every tradesman was busy, and the pressure of demand raised the cost of supply. Saddlers, tinmen, outfitters, tailors, shoemakers, cutlers, increased their charges till they attained the West-End scale. Boatmen and the amphibious harpies who prey upon the traveller reaped a copper and silver harvest of great weight. It must, however, be said of Malta boatmen, that they are a hardworking, patient, and honest race; the latter adjective is applied comparatively, and not absolutely. They would set our Portsmouth or Southampton boatmen an example rather to be wondered at than followed. The vendors of oranges, dates, olives, apples, and street luxuries of all kinds, enjoyed a full share of public favour; and (a proof of the fine digestive apparatus of our soldiery) their lavish enjoyment of these delicacies was unattended by physical suffering. A thirsty private, after munching the ends of Minié cartridges for an hour on the hot rocks at the seaside, would send to the rear and buy four or five oranges for a penny. He ate them all, trifled with an apple or two afterwards, and, duty over, rushed across the harbour or strutted off to Valetta. A cool _café_, shining out on the street with its tarnished gilding and mirrors more radiant than all the taps of all our country inns put together, invited him to enter, and a quantity of alcoholic stimulus was supplied, at the small charge of one penny, quite sufficient to encourage him to spend two-pence more on the same stuff, till he was rendered insensible to all sublunary cares, and brought to a state which was certain to induce him to the attention of the guard and to a raging headache. "I can live like a duke here--I can smoke my cigar, and drink my glass of wine, and what could a duke do more?" But the cigar made by very dirty manufacturers, who might be seen sitting out in the streets compounding them of the leaves of plants and saliva was villanous; and the wine endured much after it had left Sicily. As to the brandy and spirits, they were simply abominable, but the men were soon "choked off" when they found that indulgence in them was followed by punishment worse than that of the black hole or barrack confinement. The biscuit mills were baking 30,000lb. of biscuit per day. Bills posted in every street for "parties desirous of joining the commissariat department, under the orders of Commissary-General Filder, about to proceed with the force to the East, as temporary clerks, assistant store-keepers, interpreters," to "freely apply to Assistant Commissary-General Strickland;" had this significant addition,--"those conversant with English, Italian, modern Greek, and Turkish languages, or the Lingua-Franca of the East will be preferred." Warlike mechanics, armourers, farriers, wheelwrights, waggon-equipment and harness-makers, were in request. [Sidenote: WARNINGS.] As might naturally be expected where so great a demand, horses were scarcely to be obtained. To Tunis the contagion of high prices spread from Malta, and the Moors asked £25 and £30 for the veriest bundles of skin and bone that were ever fastened together by muscle and pluck. Our allies began to show themselves. The _Christophe Colomb_, steam-sloop, towing the _Mistral_, a small sailing transport, laden with 27 soldiers' and 40 officers' horses arrived in Malta Harbour on the night of the 7th, and ran into the Grand Harbour at six A.M. the following morning. On board were Lieutenant-General Canrobert, and his Chef d'État; Major Lieutenant-General Martimprey, 45 officers, 800 soldiers, 150 horses. Their reception was most enthusiastic. The French Generals were lodged at the Palace, and their soldiers were fêted in every tavern. Reviews were held in their honour, and the air rang with the friendly shouts and answering cheers of "natural enemies". In a few days after the arrival of the Guards, it became plain that the Allies were to proceed to Turkey, and that hostilities were inevitable. On the 28th March war was declared, but the preparations for it showed that the Government had looked upon war as certain some time previously. Every exertion was made by the authorities to enable the expedition to take the field. General Ferguson and Admiral Houston Stewart received the expression of the Duke of Newcastle's satisfaction at the manner in which they co-operated in making "the extensive preparations for the reception of the expeditionary force, which could only have been successfully carried on by the absence of needless departmental etiquette,"--a virtue which has been expected to become more common after this official laudation. This expression of satisfaction was well deserved by both these gallant officers, and Sir W. Reid emulated them in his exertions to secure the comfort of the troops. The Admiral early and late worked with his usual energy. He had a _modus operandi_ of making the conditional mood mean the imperative. Soldiers were stowed away in sailors' barracks and penned up in hammocks under its potent influence; and ships were cleared of their freight, or laden with a fresh one, with extraordinary facility. It was at this time that in a letter to the _Times_ I wrote as follows:--"With our men well clothed, well fed, well housed (whether in camp or town does not much matter), and well attended to, there is little to fear. They were all in the best possible spirits, and fit to go anywhere, and perhaps to do anything. But inaction might bring listlessness and despondency, and in their train follows disease. What is most to be feared in an encampment is an enemy that musket and bayonet cannot meet or repel. Of this the records of the Russo-Turkish campaign of 1828-9, in which 80,000 men perished by 'plague, pestilence, and famine,' afford a fearful lesson, and let those who have the interests of the army at heart just turn to Moltke's history of that miserable invasion, and they will grudge no expense, and spare no precaution, to avoid, as far as human skill can do it, a repetition of such horrors. Let us have plenty of doctors. Let us have an overwhelming army of medical men to combat disease. Let us have a staff--full and strong--of young and active and experienced men. Do not suffer our soldiers to be killed by antiquated imbecility. Do not hand them over to the mercies of ignorant etiquette and effete seniority, but give the sick every chance which skill, energy, and abundance of the best specifics can afford them. The heads of departments may rest assured that the country will grudge no expense on this point, nor on any other connected with the interest and efficiency of the _corps d'élite_ which England has sent from her shores.[4] There were three first-class staff-surgeons at Constantinople--Messrs. Dumbreck Linton, and Mitchell. At Malta there were--Dr. Burrell, at the head of the department; Dr. Alexander, Dr. Tice, Mr. Smith, and a great accession was expected every day." The commissariat department appeared to be daily more efficient, and every possible effort was made to secure proper supplies for the troops. This, however, was a matter that could be best tested in the field. On Tuesday, the 28th of March, the _Montezuma_, and the _Albatross_ with Chasseurs, Zouaves, and horses, arrived in the Great Harbour. The Zouave was then an object of curiosity. The quarters of the men were not by any means so good as our own. A considerable number had to sleep on deck, and in rain or sea-way they must have been wet. Their kit seemed very light. The officers did not carry many necessaries, and the average weight of their luggage was not more than 50lb. They were all in the highest spirits, and looked forward eagerly to their first brush in company with the English. Sir George Brown and staff arrived on the 29th in the _Valetta_. The 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, the advance of the Light Division, which Sir George Brown was to command, embarked on board the _Golden Fleece_. On the 30th, Sir John Burgoyne arrived from Constantinople in the _Caradoc_. The _Pluton_ and another vessel arrived with Zouaves and the usual freight of horses the same day, and the streets were full of scarlet and blue uniforms walking arm and arm together in uncommunicative friendliness, their conversation being carried on by signs, such as pointing to their throats and stomachs, to express the primitive sensations of hunger and thirst. The French sailed the following day for Gallipoli. When the declaration of war reached Malta, the excitement was indescribable. Crowds assembled on the shores of the harbours and lined the quays and landing-places, the crash of music drowned in the enthusiastic cheers of the soldiers cheering their comrades as the vessels glided along, the cheers from one fort being taken up by the troops in the others, and as joyously responded to from those on board. CHAPTER II. Departure of the first portion of the British Expedition from Malta--Sea passage--Classical Antiquities--Caught in a Levanter--The Dardanelles--Gallipoli--Gallipoli described--Turkish Architecture--Superiority of the French arrangements--Close shaving, tight stocking, and light marching. [Sidenote: DEPARTURE FROM MALTA.] Whilst the French were rapidly moving to Gallipoli, the English were losing the prestige which might have been earned by a first appearance on the stage, as well as the substantial advantages of an occupation of the town. But on 30th March Sir George Brown and Staff, the 2nd Battalion of the Rifle Brigade, under Lt. Colonel Lawrence, Colonel Victor, R.E., Captain Gibb, R.E., and two companies of Sappers, embarked in the _Golden Fleece_, and a cabin having been placed at my disposal, I embarked and sailed with them for Gallipoli, at five A.M. on 31st. An early fisherman, a boatman in the Great Harbour, solitary sentinels perched here and there on the long lines of white bastions, were the only persons who saw the departure of the advanced guard of the only British expedition that has ever sailed to the land of the Moslem since the days of the great Plantagenet. The morning was dark and overcast. The Mediterranean assumed an indigo colour, stippled with patches of white foam, as heavy squalls of wind and drenching rain flew over its surface. The showers were tropical in their vehemence and suddenness. Nothing was visible except some wretched-looking gulls flapping in our wake hour after hour in the hope of unintentional contributions from the ship, and two or three dilapidated coasters running as hard as they could for the dangerous shelter of the land. Jason himself and his crew could scarcely have looked more uncomfortable than the men, though there was small resemblance indeed between the cruiser in which he took his passage and the _Golden Fleece_. "It all comes of sailing on a Friday," said a grumbling forecastle Jack. The anticipations of the tarry prophet were not fully justified. Towards evening the sky cleared, the fine sharp edge of the great circle of waters of which we were the black murky centre, revealed itself, and the sun rushed out of his coat of _cumuli_, all bright and fervent, and sank to rest in a sea of fire. Even the gulls brightened up and began to look comfortable, and the sails of the flying craft, far away on the verge of the landscape, shone white. The soldiers dried their coats, and tried to forget sloppy decks and limited exercise ground, and night closed round the ship with peace and hilarity on her wings. As the moon rose a wonder appeared in the heavens--"a blazing comet with a fiery tail," which covered five or six degrees of the horizon, and shone through the deep blue above. Here was the old world-known omen of war and troubles! Many as they gazed felt the influence of ancient tales and associated the lurid apparition with the convulsion impending over Europe, though Mr. Hind and Professor Airy and Sir J. South might have proved to demonstration that the comet aforesaid was born or baptized in space hundreds of centuries before Prince Menschikoff was thought of. At last the comet was lost in the moon's light, and the gazers put out their cigars, forgot their philosophy and their fears, and went to bed. The next day, Saturday (1st April), passed as most days do at sea in smooth weather. The men ate and drank, and walked on deck till they were able to eat and drink again, and so on till bed time. Curious little brown owls, as if determined to keep up the traditions of the neighbourhood, flew on board, and were caught in the rigging. They seemed to come right from the land of Minerva. In the course of the day small birds fluttered on the yards, masts, and bulwarks, plumed their jaded wings, and after a short rest launched themselves once more across the bosom of the deep. Some were common titlarks, others greyish buntings, others yellow and black fellows. Three of the owls and a titlark were at once introduced to each other in a cage, and the ship's cat was thrown in by way of making an _impromptu_ "happy family." The result rather increased one's admiration for the itinerant zoologist of Trafalgar-square and Waterloo Bridge, inasmuch as pussy obstinately refused to hold any communication with the owls--they seemed in turn to hate each other--and all evinced determined animosity towards the unfortunate titlark, which speedily languished and died. This and the following day there was a head wind. No land appeared, and the only object to be seen was a French paddle-wheel steamer with troops on board and a transport in tow, which was conjectured to be one of those that had left Malta some days previously. After dinner, when the band had ceased playing, the Sappers assembled on the quarter-deck, and sang glees excellently well, while the Rifles had a select band of vocal performers of their own of comic and sentimental songs. Some of these, _à propos_ of the expedition, were rather hard on the Guards and their bearskins. At daylight the coast was visible N. by E.--a heavy cloudlike line resting on the grey water. It was the Morea--the old land of the Messenians. If not greatly changed, it is wonderful what attractions it could have had for the Spartans. A more barren-looking coast one need not wish to see. It is like a section of the west coast of Sutherland in winter. The mountains--cold, rocky, barren ridges of land--culminate in snow-covered peaks, and the numerous villages of white cabins or houses dotting the declivity towards the sea did not relieve the place of an air of savage primitiveness, which little consorted with its ancient fame. About 9.40 A.M. we passed Cape Matapan, which concentrated in itself all the rude characteristics of the surrounding coast. We passed between the Morea and Cerigo. One could not help wondering what on earth could have possessed Venus to select such a wretched rock for her island home. Verily the poets have much to answer for. Not the boldest would have dared to fly into ecstasies about the terrestrial landing-place of Venus had he once beheld the same. The fact is, the place is like Ireland's Eye, pulled out and expanded. Although the whole reputation of the Cape was not sustained by our annihilation, the sea showed every inclination to be troublesome, and the wind began to rise. After breakfast the men were mustered, and the captain read prayers. When prayers were over, we had a proof that the Greeks were tolerably right about the weather. Even bolder boatmen than the ancients might fear the heavy squalls off these snowy headlands, which gave a bad idea of sunny Greece in early spring. Their writers represented the performance of a voyage round Capes Matapan and Malea as attended with danger; and, if the best of triremes was caught in the breeze encountered by the _Golden Fleece_ hereabouts, the crew would never have been troubled to hang up a votive tablet to their preserving deity. [Sidenote: CAUGHT IN A LEVANTER.] From 10 o'clock till 3.30 P.M. the ship ran along the diameter of the semicircle between the two Capes which mark the southern extremities of Greece. Cape Malea, or St. Angelo, is just such another bluff, mountainous, and desolate headland as Cape Matapan, and is not so civilized-looking, for there are no villages visible near it. However, in a hole on its south-east face resides a Greek hermit, who must have enormous opportunities for improving his mind, if Zimmerman be at all trustworthy. He is not quite lost to the calls of nature, and has a great tenderness for ships' biscuit. He generally hoists a little flag when a vessel passes near, and is often gratified by a supply of hard-bake. Had we wished to administer to his luxuries we could not have done so, for the wind off this angle rushed at us with fury, and the instant we rounded it we saw the sea broken into crests of foam making right at our bows. The old mariners were not without warranty when they advised "him who doubled Cape Malea to forget his home." We had got right into the Etesian wind--one of those violent Levanters which the learned among us said ought to be the Euroclydon which drove St. Paul to Malta. Sheltered as we were to eastward by clusters of little islands, the sea got up and rolled in confused wedges towards the ship. She behaved nobly, but with her small auxiliary steam power she could scarcely hold her own. We were driven away to leeward, and did not make much headway. The gusts came down furiously between all kinds of classical islands, which we could not make out, for our Maltese pilot got frightened, and revealed the important secret that he did not know one of them from the other. The men bore up well against their Euroclydon, and emulated the conduct of the ship. Night came upon us, labouring in black jolting seas, dashing them into white spray, and running away into dangerous unknown parts. It passed songless, dark, and uncomfortable: much was the suffering in the hermetically sealed cells in which our officers "reposed" and grumbled at fortune. At daylight next morning, Falconero was north, and Milo south. The clouds were black and low, the sea white and high, and the junction between them on the far horizon of a broken and promiscuous character. The good steamer had run thirty miles to leeward of her course, making not the smallest progress. Grey islets with foam flying over them lay around indistinctly seen through the driving vapour from the Ægean. To mistrust of the pilot fear of accident was added, so the helm was put up, and we wore ship at 6.30 A.M. in a heavy sea-way. A screw-steamer was seen on our port quarter plunging through the heavy sea, and we made her out to be the _Cape of Good Hope_. She followed our example. The gale increased till 8 A.M.; the sailors considered it deserved to be called "stormy, with heavy squalls." The heavy sea on our starboard quarter, as we approached Malea, caused the ship to roll heavily; the men could only hold on by tight grip, and they and their officers were well drenched by great lumbering water louts, who tossed themselves in over the bulwarks. At 3.30 P.M., the ship cast anchor in Vatika Bay, in twenty fathoms. A French steamer and brig lay close in the shore. We cheered them vigorously, but the men could not hear us. Some time afterwards the _Cape of Good Hope_ and a French screw-steamer also ran in and anchored near us. This little flotilla alarmed the inhabitants, for the few who were fishing in boats fled to shore, and we saw a great effervescence at a distant village. No doubt the apparition in the bay of a force flying the tricolor and the union-jack frightened the people. They could be seen running to and fro along the shore like ants when their nest is stirred. At dusk our bands played, and the mountains of the Morea, for the first time since they rose from the sea, echoed the strains of "God save the Queen." Our vocalists assembled, and sang glees or vigorous choruses, and the night passed pleasantly in smooth water on an even keel. The people lighted bonfires upon the hills, but the lights soon died out. At six o'clock on Tuesday morning the _Golden Fleece_ left Vatika Bay, and passed Poulo Bello at 10.45 A.M. The Greek coast trending away to the left, showed in rugged masses of mountains capped by snowy peaks, and occasionally the towns--clusters of white specks on the dark purple of the hills--were visible; and before evening, the ship having run safely through all the terrors of the Ægean and its islands, bore away for the entrance to the Dardanelles. At 2 A.M. on Wednesday morning, however, it began to blow furiously again, the wind springing up as if "Æolus had just opened and put on fresh hands at the bellows," to use the nautical simile. The breeze, however, went down in a few hours, with the same rapidity with which it rose. Smooth seas greeted the ship as she steamed by Mitylene. On the left lay the entrance to the Gulf of Athens--Euboea was on our left hand--Tenedos was before us--on our right rose the snowy heights of Mount Ida--and the Troad (atrociously and unforgivably like the "Bog of Allen!") lay stretching its brown folds, dotted with rare tumuli, from the sea to the mountain side for leagues away. Athos (said to be ninety miles distant) stood between us and the setting sun--a pyramid of purple cloud bathed in golden light; and the _Leander_ frigate showed her number and went right away in the very waters that lay between Sestos and Abydos, past the shadow of the giant mountain, stretching away on our port beam. As the vessel entered the portals of the Dardanelles, and rushed swiftly up between its dark banks, the sentinels on the forts and along the ridges challenged loudly--shouting to each other to be on the alert--the band of the Rifles all the while playing the latest fashionable polkas, or making the rocks acquainted with "Rule Britannia," and "God save the Queen." At 9.30 P.M., our ship passed the Castles of the Dardanelles. She was not stopped nor fired at, but the sentinels screeched horribly and showed lights, and seemed to execute a convulsive _pas_ of fright or valour on the rocks. The only reply was the calm sounding of second post on the bugles--the first time that the blast of English light infantry trumpets broke the silence of those antique shores.[5] [Sidenote: GALLIPOLI.] After midnight we arrived at Gallipoli, and anchored. No one took the slightest notice of us, nor was any communication made with shore. When the _Golden Fleece_ arrived there was no pilot to show her where to anchor, and it was nearly an hour ere she ran out her cable in nineteen fathoms water. No one came off, for it was after midnight, and there was something depressing in this silent reception of the first British army that ever landed on the shores of these straits. When morning came we only felt sorry that nature had made Gallipoli, a desirable place for us to land at. The tricolor was floating right and left, and the blue coats of the French were well marked on shore, the long lines of bullock-carts stealing along the strand towards their camp making it evident that they were taking care of themselves. Take some hundreds of dilapidated farms, outhouses, a lot of rickety tenements of Holywell-street, Wych-street, and the Borough--catch up, wherever you can, any of the seedy, cracked, shutterless structures of planks and tiles to be seen in our cathedral towns--carry off odd sheds and stalls from Billingsgate, add to them a selection of the huts along the Thames between London-bridge and Greenwich--bring them, then, all together to the European side of the Straits of the Dardanelles, and having pitched on a bare round hill sloping away to the water's edge, on the most exposed portion of the coast, with scarcely tree or shrub, tumble them "higgledy piggledy" on its declivity, in such wise that the lines of the streets may follow on a large scale the lines of a bookworm through some old tome--let the roadways be very narrow, of irregular breadth, varying according to the bulgings and projections of the houses, and paved with large round slippery stones, painful and hazardous to walk upon--here and there borrow a dirty gutter from a back street in Boulogne--let the houses lean across to each other so that the tiles meet, or a plank thrown across forms a sort of "passage" or arcade--steal some of the popular monuments of London, the shafts of national testimonials, a half dozen of Irish Round Towers--surround these with a light gallery about twelve feet from the top, put on a large extinguisher-shaped roof, paint them white, and having thus made them into minarets, clap them down into the maze of buildings--then let fall big stones all over the place--plant little windmills with odd-looking sails on the crests of the hill over the town--transport the ruins of a feudal fortress from Northern Italy, and put it into the centre of the town, with a flanking tower at the water's edge--erect a few wooden cribs by the waterside to serve as _café_, custom-house, and government stores--and, when you have done this, you have to all appearance imitated the process by which Gallipoli was created. The receipt, if tried, will be found to answer beyond belief. To fill up the scene, however, you must catch a number of the biggest breeched, longest bearded, dirtiest, and stateliest old Turks to be had at any price in the Ottoman empire; provide them with pipes, keep them smoking all day on wooden stages or platforms about two feet from the ground, everywhere by the water's edge or up the main streets, in the shops of the bazaar which is one of the "passages" or arcades already described; see that they have no slippers on, nothing but stout woollen hose, their foot gear being left on the ground, shawl turbans (one or two being green, for the real descendant of the Prophet), flowing fur-lined coats, and bright-hued sashes, in which are to be stuck silver-sheathed yataghans and ornamented Damascus pistols; don't let them move more than their eyes, or express any emotion at the sight of anything except an English lady; then gather a noisy crowd of fez-capped Greeks in baggy blue breeches, smart jackets, sashes, and rich vests--of soberly-dressed Armenians--of keen-looking Jews, with flashing eyes--of Chasseurs de Vincennes, Zouaves, British riflemen, _vivandières_, Sappers and Miners, Nubian slaves, Camel-drivers, Commissaries and Sailors, and direct them in streams round the little islets on which the smoking Turks are harboured, and you will populate the place. It will be observed that women are not mentioned in this description, but children were not by any means wanting--on the contrary, there was a glut of them, in the Greek quarter particularly, and now and then a bundle of clothes, in yellow leather boots, covered at the top with a piece of white linen, might be seen moving about, which you will do well to believe contained a woman neither young nor pretty. Dogs, so large, savage, tailless, hairy, and curiously-shaped, that Wombwell could make a fortune out of them if aided by any clever zoological nomenclator, prowled along the shore and walked through the shallow water, in which stood bullocks and buffaloes, French steamers and transports, with the tricolor flying, and the paddlebox boats full of troops on their way to land--a solitary English steamer, with the red ensign, at anchor in the bay--and Greek polaccas, with their beautiful white sails and trim rig, flying down the straits, which are here about three and a half miles broad, so that the villages on the rich swelling hills of the Asia Minor side are plainly visible,--must be added, and then the picture will be tolerably complete. In truth, Gallipoli is a wretched place--picturesque to a degree, but, like all picturesque things or places, horribly uncomfortable. The breadth of the Dardanelles is about five miles opposite the town, but the Asiatic and the European coasts run towards each other just ere the Straits expand into the Sea of Marmora. The country behind the town is hilly, and at the time of our arrival had not recovered from the effects of the late very severe weather, being covered with patches of snow. Gallipoli is situated on the narrowest portion of the tongue of land or peninsula which, running between the Gulf of Saros on the west and the Dardanelles on the east, forms the western side of the strait. An army encamped here commands the Ægean and the Sea of Marmora, and can be marched northwards to the Balkan, or sent across to Asia or up to Constantinople with equal facility. [Sidenote: SUPERIORITY OF FRENCH ARRANGEMENTS.] As the crow flies, it is about 120 miles from Constantinople across the Sea of Marmora. If the capital were in danger, troops could be sent there in a few days, and our army and fleet effectually commanded the Dardanelles and the entrance to the Sea of Marmora, and made it a _mare clausum_. Enos, a small town, on a spit of land opposite the mouth of the Maritza, on the coast of Turkey to the north-east of Samothrace, was surveyed and examined for an encampment by French and English engineers. It is obvious that if some daring Muscovite general forcing the passage across the Danube were to beat the Turks and cross the western ridges of the Balkans, he might advance southwards with very little hindrance to the Ægean; and a dashing march to the south-east would bring his troops to the western shore of the Dardanelles. An army at Gallipoli could check such a movement, if it ever entered into the head of any one to attempt to put it in practice. Early on the morning after the arrival of the _Golden Fleece_ a boat came off with two commissariat officers, Turner and Bartlett, and an interpreter. The consul had gone up the Dardanelles to look for us. The General desired to send for the Consul, but the only vessel available was a small Turkish Imperial steamer. The Consul's dragoman, a grand-looking Israelite, was ready to go, but the engineer had just managed to break his leg. He requested the loan of our engineer, as no one could be found to undertake the care of the steamer's engines. After breakfast, Lieutenant-General Brown, Colonel Sullivan, Captain Hallewell, and Captain Whitmore, started to visit the Pasha of Adrianople (Rustum Pasha), who was sent here to facilitate the arrangements and debarkation of the troops. On their return, about half-past two o'clock, Lieutenant-General Canrobert came on board the vessel, and was received by the Lieutenant-General. The visit lasted an hour, and was marked at its close with greater cordiality, if possible, than at the commencement. In the evening the Consul, Mr. Calvert, came on board, when it turned out that no instructions whatever had been sent to prepare for the reception of the force, except that two commissariat officers, without interpreters or staff, had been dispatched to the town a few days before the troops landed. These officers could not speak the language. However, the English Consul was a man of energy. Mr. Calvert went to the Turkish Governor, and succeeded in having half of the quarters in the town reserved. Next day he visited and marked off the houses; but the French authorities said they had made a mistake as to the portion of the town they had handed over to him. They had the Turkish part of the town close to the water, with an honest and favourable population; the English had the Greek quarter, further up the hill, and perhaps the healthier, and a population which hated them bitterly. Sir George Brown arrived on Wednesday, the 5th of April, but it was midday on Saturday the 8th, ere the troops were landed and sent to their quarters. The force consisted of only some thousand and odd men, and it had to lie idle for two days and a half watching the seagulls, or with half averted eye regarding the ceaseless activity of the French, the daily arrival of their steamers, the rapid transmission of their men to shore. On our side not a British pendant was afloat in the harbour! Well might a Turkish boatman ask, "Oh, why is this? Oh, why is this, Chelebee? By the beard of the Prophet, for the sake of your father's father, tell me, O English Lord, how is it? The French infidels have got one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ships, with fierce little soldiers; the English infidels, who say they can defile the graves of these French (may Heaven avert it!), and who are big as the giants of Asli, have only one big ship. Do they tell lies?" (Such was the translation given to me of my interesting waterman's address.) The troops were disembarked in the course of the day, and marched out to encamp, eight miles and a half north of Gallipoli, at a place called Bulair. The camp was occupied by the Rifles and Sappers and Miners, within three miles of the village. It was seated on a gentle slope of the ridge which runs along the isthmus, and commanded a view of the Gulf of Saros, but the Sea of Marmora was not visible. Sanitary and certain other considerations may have rendered it advisable not to select this village itself, or some point closer to it, as the position for the camp; but the isthmus was narrower at Bulair, could be more easily defended, would not have required so much time or labour to put it into a good state of defence, and appeared to be better adapted for an army as regards shelter and water than the position chosen. Bulair is ten and a half miles from Gallipoli, so the camp was about seven and a half from the port at which its supplies were landed, and where its reinforcements arrived. [Sidenote: SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS.] On Thursday there was a general hunt for quarters through the town. The General got a very fine place in a _beau quartier_, with a view of an old Turk on a counter looking at his toes in perpetual perspective. The consul, attended by the dragoman and a train of lodging seekers, went from house to house; but it was not till the eye had got accustomed to the general style of the buildings and fittings that any of them seemed willing to accept the places offered them. The hall door, which is an antiquated concern--not affording any particular resistance to the air to speak of--opens on an apartment with clay walls about ten feet high, and of the length and breadth of the whole house. It is garnished with the odds and ends of the domestic deity--empty barrels, casks of home-made wine, buckets, baskets, &c. At one side a rough staircase, creaking at every step, conducts one to a saloon on the first floor. This is of the plainest possible appearance. On the sides are stuck prints of the "Nicolaus ho basileus," of the Virgin and Child, and engravings from Jerusalem. The Greeks are iconoclasts, and hate images, but they adore pictures. A yellow Jonah in a crimson whale with fiery entrails is a favourite subject, and doubtless bears some allegorical meaning to their own position in Turkey. From this saloon open the two or three rooms of the house--the kitchen, the divan, and the principal bedroom. There is no furniture. The floors are covered with matting, but with the exception of the cushions on the raised platform round the wall of the room (about eighteen inches from the floor), there is nothing else in the rooms offered for general competition to the public. Above are dark attics. In such a lodging as this, in the house of the widow Papadoulos, was I at last established to do the best I could without servant or equipment. Water was some way off, and I might have been seen stalking up the street with as much dignity as was compatible with carrying a sheep's liver on a stick in one hand, some lard in the other, and a loaf of black bread under my arm back from market. There was not a pound of butter in the whole country, meat was very scarce, fowls impossible; but the country wine was fair enough, and eggs were not so rare as might be imagined from the want of poultry. While our sick men had not a mattress to lie down upon, and were without blankets, the French were well provided for. No medical comforts were forwarded from Malta,--and so when a poor fellow was sinking the doctor had to go to the General's and get a bottle of wine for him. The hospital sergeant was sent out with a sovereign to buy coffee, sugar, and other things of the kind for the sick, but he could not get them, as no change was to be had in the place. In the French hospital everything requisite was nicely made up in small packages and marked with labels, so that what was wanted might be procured in a minute. The French _Commandant de Place_ posted a tariff of all articles which the men were likely to want on the walls of the town, and regulated the exchanges like a local Rothschild. A Zouave wanted a fowl; he saw one in the hand of an itinerant poultry merchant, and he at once seized the bird, and giving the proprietor a franc--the tariff price--walked off with the prize. The Englishman, on the contrary, more considerate and less protected, was left to make hard bargains, and generally paid twenty or twenty-five per cent. more than his ally. These Zouaves were first-rate foragers. They might be seen in all directions, laden with eggs, meat, fish, vegetables (onions), and other good things, while our fellows could get nothing. Sometimes a servant was sent out to cater for breakfast or dinner: he returned with the usual "Me and the Colonel's servant has been all over the town, and can get nothing but eggs and onions, Sir;" and lo! round the corner appeared a red-breeched Zouave or Chasseur, a bottle of wine under his left arm, half a lamb under the other, and poultry, fish, and other luxuries dangling round him. "I'm sure I don't know how these French manages it, Sir," said the crestfallen Mercury, retiring to cook the eggs. The French established a _restaurant_ for their officers, and at the "Auberge de l'Armée Expeditionnaire," close to General Bosquet's quarters, one could get a dinner which, after the black bread and eggs of the domestic hearth, appeared worthy of Philippe. There seemed to be a general impression among the French soldiers that it would be some time ere they left Gallipoli or the Chersonese. They were in military occupation of the place. The tricolor floated from the old tower of Gallipoli. The _café_ had been turned into an office--_Direction du Port et Commissariat de la Marine_. French soldiers patrolled the town at night, and kept the soldiery of both armies in order; of course, we sent out a patrol also, but the regulations of the place were directly organized at the French head-quarters, and even the miserable house which served as our _Trois Frères_, or London Tavern, and where one could get a morsel of meat and a draught of country wine for dinner, was under their control. A notice on the walls of this _Restaurant de l'Armée Auxiliaire_ informed the public that, _par ordre de la police Française_, no person would be admitted after seven o'clock in the evening. In spite of their strict regulations there was a good deal of drunkenness among the French soldiery, though perhaps it was not in excess of our proportion, considering the numbers of both armies. They had _fourgons_ for the commissariat, and all through their quarter of the town one might see the best houses occupied by their officers. On one door was inscribed _Magasin des Liquides_, on another _Magasin des Distributions_. M. l'Aumonier de l'Armée Française resides on one side of the street; l'Intendant Général, &c., on the other. Opposite the commissariat stores a score or two of sturdy Turks worked away at neat little hand-mills marked _Moulin de Café--Subsistence Militaire_. _No. A._, _Compagnie B._, &c., and roasting the beans in large rotatory ovens; the place selected for the operation being a burial-ground, the turbaned tombstones of which seemed to frown severely on the degenerate posterity of the Osmanli. In fact, the French appear to have acted uniformly on the sentiment conveyed in the phrase of one of their officers, in reply to a remark about the veneration in which the Turks hold the remains of the dead--"_Mais il faut rectifier tous ces préjuges et barbarismes!_" The greatest cordiality existed between the chiefs of the armies. Sir George Brown and some of his staff dined one day with General Canrobert; another day with General Martimprey; another day the drowsy shores of the Dardanelles were awakened by the thunders of the French cannon saluting him as he went on board Admiral Bruat's flagship to accept the hospitalities of the naval commander; and then on alternate days the dull old alleys of Gallipoli were brightened up by an apparition of these officers and their staffs in full uniform, clanking their spurs and jingling their sabres over the excruciating rocks which form the pavement as they proceeded on their way to the humble quarters of "Sir Brown," to sit at return banquets. The natives preferred the French uniform to ours. In their sight there can be no more effeminate object than a warrior in a shell jacket, with closely-shaven chin and lip and cropped whiskers. He looks, in fact, like one of their dancing troops, and cuts a sorry figure beside a great Gaul in his blazing red pantaloons and padded frock, epaulettes, beard _d'Afrique_, and well-twisted moustache. The pashas think much of our men, but they are not struck with our officers. The French made an impression quite the reverse. The Turks could see nothing in the men, except that they thought the Zouaves and Chasseurs Indigènes dashing-looking fellows; but they considered their officers superior to ours in all but exact discipline. One day, as a man of the 4th was standing quietly before the door of the English Consulate, with a horse belonging to an officer of his regiment, some drunken French soldiers came reeling up the street; one of them kicked the horse, and caused it to rear violently; and, not content with doing so, struck it on the head as he passed. Several French officers witnessed this scene, and one of them exclaimed, "Why did not you cut the brigand over the head with your whip when he struck the horse?" The Englishman was not a master of languages, and did not understand the question. When it was explained to him, he said with the most sovereign contempt, "Lord forbid I'd touch sich a poor drunken little baste of a crayture as that!" [Sidenote: TROUBLES OF THE TURKISH COMMISSION.] The Turkish Commission had a troublesome time of it. All kinds of impossible requisitions were made to them every moment. Osman Bey, Eman Bey, and Kabouli Effendi, formed the martyred triumvirate, who were kept in a state of unnatural activity and excitement by the constant demands of the officers of the allied armies for all conceivable stores, luxuries, and necessaries for the troops, as well as for other things over which they had no control. One man had a complaint against an unknown Frenchman for beating his servant--another wanted them to get lodgings for him--a third wished them to send a cavass with self and friends on a shooting excursion--in fact, very unreasonable and absurd requests were made to these poor gentlemen, who could scarcely get through their legitimate work, in spite of the aid of numberless pipes and cups of coffee. One of the medical officers went to make a requisition for hospital accommodation, and got through the business very well. When it was over, the President descended from the divan. In the height of his delusions respecting Oriental magnificence and splendour, led away by reminiscences of "Tales of the Genii" and the "Arabian Nights," the reader must not imagine that this divan was covered with cloth of gold, or glittering with precious stones. It was clad in a garb of honest Manchester print, with those remarkable birds of prey or pleasure, in green and yellow plumage, depicted thereupon, familiar to us from our earliest days. The council chamber was a room of lath and plaster, with whitewashed walls; its sole furniture a carpet in the centre, the raised platform or divan round its sides, and a few chairs for the Franks. The President advanced gravely to the great Hakim, and through the interpreter made him acquainted with particulars of a toothache, for which he desired a remedy. The doctor insinuated that His Highness must have had a cold in the head, from which the symptoms had arisen, and the diagnosis was thought so wonderful it was communicated to the other members of the Council, and produced a marked sensation. When he had ordered a simple prescription he was consulted by the other members in turn: one had a sore chin, the other had weak eyes; and the knowledge evinced by the doctor of these complaints excited great admiration and confidence, so that he departed, after giving some simple prescriptions, amid marks of much esteem and respect. Djemel Pasha, who commanded the pashalic of the Dardanelles, was a very enlightened Turk, and possessed a fund of information and a grasp of intellect not at all common among his countrymen, even in the most exalted stations. He was busily engaged on a work on the constitution of Turkey, in which he proposed to remodel the existing state of things completely. He had been much struck by the notion of an hereditary aristocracy, which he considered very suitable for Turkey, and was fascinated by our armorial bearings and mottoes, as he thought them calculated to make members of a family act in such a way as to sustain the reputation of their ancestors. Talking of the intended visit of the Sultan to Adrianople, he said, one day, that it was mere folly. If the Sultan went as his martial ancestors--surrounded by his generals--to take the command of his armies and share the privations of his soldiers, he granted it would be productive of good, and inflame the ardour of his soldiery; but it would produce no beneficial result to visit Adrianople with a crowded Court, and would only lead to a vast outlay of money in repairing the old palace for his reception, and in conveying his officers of State, his harem, and his horses and carriages to a city which had ceased to be fit for an imperial residence. He was very much of the opinion of General Canrobert, who, at the close of a splendid reception by the pashas, at Constantinople, in which pipes mounted with diamonds and begemmed coffee-cups were handed about by a numerous retinue, said, "I am much obliged by your attention, but you will forgive me for saying I should be much better pleased if all these diamonds and gold were turned into money to pay your troops, and if you sent away all these servants of yours, except two or three, to fight against your enemy!" Djemel Pasha declared there could be no good in tanzimats or in new laws, unless steps were taken to carry them out and administer them. The pashas in distant provinces would never give them effect until they were forced to do so, and therefore it will be necessary, in his opinion, to have the ambassadors of the great Powers admitted as members of the Turkish Council of State for some years, in order that these reforms may be productive of good. The Koran he considered as little suitable to be the basis and textbook of civil law now in Turkey, as the Old Testament would be in England. It will be long indeed ere the doctrines of this enlightened Turk prevail among his countrymen, and when they do the Osmanlis will have ceased to be a nation. The prejudices of the true believers were but little shaken by these events. The genuine old green-turbaned Turk viewed our intervention with suspicion, and attributed our polluting presence on his soil to interested motives, which aim at the overthrow of the Faith. This was seen in their leaden eyes as they fell on one through the clouds of tobacco-smoke from the _khans_ or _cafés_. You are still a giaour, whom Mahomet has forced into his service, but care must be taken that you do not gain any advantage at the hands of the faithful. In the English general orders the greatest stress was laid on treating the Turks with proper respect, and both officers and men were strictly enjoined to pay every deference to "the most ancient and faithful of our allies." The soldiers appeared to act in strict conformity with the spirit of these instructions. They bought everything they wanted, but on going for a walk into the country one might see the fields dotted by stragglers from the French camp, tearing up hedgestakes, vines, and sticks for fuel, and looking out generally with eyes wide open for the _pot à feu_. [Sidenote: CHASSEURS INDIGÈNES.] With the exception of the _vivandières_, the French brought no women whatever with them. The Malta authorities had the egregious folly to send out ninety-seven women in the "Georgiana" to this desolate and miserable place, where men were hard set to live. This indiscretion was not repeated. The camps in the neighbourhood of Gallipoli extended every day, and with the augmentation of the allied forces, the privations to which the men were exposed became greater, the inefficiency of our arrangements more evident, and the comparative excellence of the French commissariat administration more striking. Amid the multitude of complaints which met the ear from every side, the most prominent were charges against the British commissariat; but the officers at Gallipoli were not to blame. The persons really culpable were those who sent them out without a proper staff, and without the smallest foresight. Early and late these officers might be seen toiling amid a set of apathetic Turks and stupid araba drivers, trying in vain to make bargains and give orders in the language of signs, or aided by interpreters who understood neither the language of the contractor nor contractee. And then the officers of a newly-arrived regiment rushed on shore, demanded bullock-carts for the luggage, guides, interpreters, rations, &c., till the unfortunate commissary became quite bewildered. There were only four commissary officers, Turner, Bartlett, Thompson, and Smith, and they were obliged to get on as well as they could with the natives. The worst thing was the want of comforts for the sick. Many of the men labouring under diseases contracted at Malta were obliged to camp in the cold, with only one blanket, as there was no provision for them at the temporary hospital. Mr. Alexander succeeded in getting hold of some hundreds of blankets by taking on himself the responsibility of giving a receipt for them, and taking them off the hands of the commanding officer of one of the regiments from Malta. This responsibility is a horrid bugbear, but no man is worth his salt who does not boldly incur it whenever he thinks the service is to be benefited thereby. It would be lucky if more people had a supply of desirable recklessness, and things would have gone on much better. Regiments arrived daily, and encamped near the town. The 4th, 28th, 50th, 93rd, and 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade were stationed between Bulair and Gallipoli. The 33rd, 41st, 49th, 77th, and 88th, lay in Scutari or in the adjoining barracks. The French poured in their troops. Towards the end of April they had 22,000 men in the neighbourhood of Gallipoli, and the narrow streets were almost impassable. The Zouaves, from their picturesque costume, quite threw our men in the shade--all but their heads and shoulders, which rose in unmistakable broadness above the fez caps of their Gallic allies. Even the Zouaves yielded the prize of effectiveness to the Chasseurs Indigènes, or French Sepoys. These troops wore a white turban, loose powder-blue jackets, faced and slashed with yellow, embroidered vests with red sashes, and blue breeches extremely wide and loose, so that they looked like kilts, falling to the knees, where they were confined by a band; the calf of the leg encased in greaves of yellow leather with black stripes; and white gaiters, falling from the ankle over the shoe. Long strings of camels laden with skins of wine, raki, and corn, might be seen stalking along the dusty roads and filing through the dingy bazaar, and wild-looking countrymen with droves of little shaggy ponies trooped in hour after hour to sell the produce they carried and the beasts that bore it. Instead of piastres, they began to demand lire, shillings, pounds, and Napoleons, and displayed ingenuity in the art of selling horses and doctoring them that would have done honour to Yorkshiremen. The coarse brown bread of the country was to be had at the bakers' shops early in the morning by those who were not so fortunate as to have rations, and after a little preparatory disgust was not quite uneatable. Wine, formerly two or three piastres (4_d._ or 5_d._) a bottle, soon sold for 1_s._ 6_d._ or 2_s._ Meat was bad and dear, the beef being very like coarse mahogany; the mutton was rather better, but very lean. Eggs were becoming scarce and dear, in consequence of the razzias of the army on the producing powers. Milk was an article of the highest luxury, and only to be seen on the tables of the great; and the sole attempt at butter was rancid lard packed in strong-smelling camel's-hair bags. It was really wonderful that no Englishman had sufficient enterprise to go out to Gallipoli with a stock of creature comforts and camp necessaries. One man set up a shop, at which bad foreign beer was sold as English ale at 1_s._ 6_d._ a bottle; a hard little old Yankee ham fetched about 20_s._; brandy was very dear, scarce, and bad; bacon was not to be had, except by great good fortune and large outlay; and Dutch cheeses were selling at 8_s._ each. A stock of saddlery would have been at once bought up at very remunerating rates to the importer; and there was scarcely an article of common use in England which could not have been disposed of at a very considerable profit. [Sidenote: CLOSE SHAVING.] As change was very scarce, there was great difficulty in obtaining articles of small value, and a sum of 19_s._ was occasionally made up in piastres, half-piastres, gold pieces of 5, 10, 20, and 50 piastres each, francs, soldi, lire, halfpence, sixpences, and zwanzigers, collected at several shops up and down the street. Let the reader imagine Mr. John Robinson, Patrick Casey, or Saunders Macpherson of Her Majesty's 50th Regiment, suddenly plunged into such a mass of cheats and sharpers, who combine the avidity of the Jew with the subtlety of the Greek, and trying to purchase some little article of necessity or luxury with his well-saved sovereign, and he can guess how he would suffer. "I expect at last they'll give me a handful of wafers for a sovereign," said a disconsolate sapper one day, as he gazed on the dirty equivalent for a piece of English gold which he had received from an Israelite. Towards evening, when raki and wine had done their work, the crowds became more social and turbulent, and English and French might be seen engaged in assisting each other to preserve the perpendicular, or toiling off to their camps laden with bags of coffee, sugar, and rice, and large bottles of wine. At sunset patrols cleared the streets, taking up any intoxicated stragglers they might find there or in the _cafés_, and when the brief twilight had passed away the whole town was left in silence and in darkness, except when the barking and yelping of the innumerable dogs which infested it woke up the echoes, and now and then the challenge of a distant sentry or the trumpet-calls of the camp fell on the ear. The Lieutenant-General was determined to secure efficiency according to the light that was in him. If Sir George Brown had his way, Rowland, Oldridge, and the whole race of bears'-grease manufacturers and pomade merchants would have scant grace and no profit. His hatred of hair amounted to almost a mania. "Where there is hair there is dirt, and where there is dirt there will be disease." That was an axiom on which was founded a vigorous war against all capillary adornments. Stocks were ordered to be kept up, stiff as ever. The General would not allow the little black pouches hitherto worn on the belt by officers. They are supposed to carry no pockets, and are not to open their shell jackets; and the question they ask is, "Does the General think we are to have no money?" But the order which gave the greatest dissatisfaction was that each officer must carry his own tent. They were warned to provide mules for that purpose, and to carry their baggage, but mules were not to be had at any price. For close shaving, tight stocking, and light marching, Lieut.-General Sir George Brown was not to be excelled. A kinder man to the soldiers, or one who looked more to their rights, never lived, and no "but" need be added to this praise. CHAPTER III. Works at Bulair--Scutari--Return to Gallipoli--French Troops--Intricate Monetary Arrangements--The Turkish Commissions--Army Chaplains--Fire in a Turkish Town--Prevalence of High Winds at Gallipoli--Arrival of Lord Raglan at Gallipoli--Review of French Troops--Greek Apathy and Turkish Indifference. Whilst part of the army was engaged on the works at Bulair, arrangements were made for the reception of English regiments in the Bosphorus. On the 13th of April the _Himalaya_ arrived with the 33rd Regiment (Colonel Blake) and the 41st Regiment (Colonel Adams) on board, and anchored off Gallipoli; Sir George Brown ordered her off to Scutari after a short delay, and as I was miserably lodged at Gallipoli, I took a passage on board. On the 15th (Good Friday) she arrived in the midst of a snow-storm, and moored at the Asiatic side of the Bosphorus. These regiments were the first that landed at Scutari--a place about to acquire a sad notoriety as the head-quarters of death and sickness, and a happier interest as the scene of the labours of Florence Nightingale and her sisters. The day was bitterly cold; Constantinople and Pera, black-looking and desolate, contrasted with the white hills behind them, covered with deep snow; and the Asiatic mountains in the distance had an Alpine wintry aspect, which gave a shock to our notions of an Oriental spring. The barracks were given up to the men just as they had been left by the Turkish troops, and were inhabited by legions of fleas, and less active but more nauseous insects. It was late in the day when the regiment arrived at quarters, and several officers lay for the night in the guard-room, which had an open brasier of charcoal to keep warmth in it. All night we could scarcely sleep, and at dawn we began to receive visits from Turks, who were kind enough to see if they could relieve us of anything they thought we did not want. A fire broke out at Gallipoli on the morning of Saturday, the 22nd of April. The previous Friday was the Good Friday of the Greeks, and they kept it as is their wont on a great festival, staying up late and feasting and revelling. It was late, therefore--about 9 o'clock in the morning--when, in the middle of a comfortable sleep, we were awakened by Assistant-Surgeon Irwin, of the 28th, who slept in a den in the next room with Captain Mansell, of the same regiment, rushing in and exclaiming--"Get up! get up! Alexander's house is on fire!" The house in which the principal medical officer lived was on the other side of the street, about three houses lower down. Flames were issuing through the windows of Papa Zonani's residence, and the Greek population were gazing idly on while those who lived on either side were removing their effects as rapidly as possible. The Turks stroked their beards, and considered that the will of God was directly concerned in the destruction of the premises, while the Greeks wrung their hands, and did nothing further. The Major in his excitement dashed his hand through a pane of glass, and shouted out, "Get up and bundle out your things, or we're done for." A jump out of bed and a rush at the few spare articles of clothing lying about followed, and then commenced a rapid flight down stairs into a garden of onions and garlic at the rear of the house, which seemed especially formed as a refuge for us. There were in the house Mr. Irwin, of the 28th, Captain Mansell, of the 28th, Major Collingwood Dickson, R.A., two soldiers of the 28th, servants of the officers, an old woman, several children, cocks, hens, &c., immediately a secession of _lares_ and _penates_ to this land of refuge began; beds, coats, trunks, portmanteaus, boxes, were hurled down the stairs, and fierce struggles took place for precedence in the narrow passage, while the old lady and the children howled dismally as they flew about with pipkins and spinning-reels and inexplicable chattels. [Sidenote: A FIRE AT GALLIPOLI.] In the midst of all our confusion a heavy tramp was heard in the street--the door of our house was burst open, and in rushed a body of French infantry, shouting out, "Cassez tous, cassez tous; il faut abattre la maison!" However, it was explained to them that this necessity was not absolute, and that it would be much better for them to devote themselves to saving our property. They at once assented, and rushing on the various things in the room, transported them with incredible rapidity into the garden. Their comrades outside were as energetic as demons. They mounted on the roofs of the houses next to the burning mansion, smashed in the tiles, destroyed the walls, and left them a mass of ruins in as little time as it takes me to write these lines. They saved the quarter of the town, for there was but little water, and the few small hand-engines were of no service. The marines and sailors of the _Jean Bart_ and _Montebello_ were landed very speedily. The Doctor's house and two others, as well as the greater part of the hospital, were destroyed. Several of the French soldiers were hurt severely, but no lives were lost. There was no pillage, owing to the vigilance of the French guards. The only mischief, beyond the destruction of property in the houses, the loss of twenty pounds' worth of Dr. Alexander's effects, and the fright, was that we were compelled to take refuge in a tent pitched in the onion-garden at the back of the cabin, which would have formed a very agreeable residence for an enthusiastic entomologist, but was by no means agreeable, on those cold and windy nights, to unscientific individuals. On the same day Sir De Lacy Evans and staff, in the _City of London_, passed, after a short delay, on their way to Scutari, to form the Second Division. On the 23rd the _Emperor Nicholas_ passed Gallipoli early in the morning, with Sir Richard England on board, on his way to Constantinople, to take the command of the Third Division. Later in the day the _Trent_, with the 23rd Regiment; the _Tonning_, with Brigadiers Sir C. Campbell and Pennefather; and the _Medway_, with the 95th Regiment, arrived, and after a short delay proceeded northwards to Scutari. Eyre, who arrived in the _Tonning_, was at once secured by Sir George Brown, who had been anxiously waiting to catch a brigadier. He set to work to drill his men with energy a day or two after his arrival. The 44th (to whom the General paid a compliment on their efficient condition), the 28th, and 4th, were under arms daily at 5-1/2 A.M., and they thought themselves lucky if they got released after three hours' drill and marching. The Brigadier was always at the camp soon after dawn. Æolus must have taken his abode somewhere in the neighbourhood of Gallipoli since he removed his Court from Lipari. The unseasonable rapidity with which he opens his bags, and the violence with which he sends forth the sharpest and most truculent of all the winds to sweep over the hills around this miserable spot, would satisfy Juno in her most indignant mood if the place were a Trojan colony. The extraordinary suddenness of these changes and the excessive variations of temperature were very trying to the men in camp, but the average of illness and disease was rather below that of most camps in ordinary circumstances. The sun rises, perchance, from behind the hills of Asia Minor without a cloud to mar his splendour; the Sea of Marmora, bounded by the faint blue lines of the highlands of Asia and the distinctive sweep of the European coast, spreads out towards the north-west like a sheet of burnished silver; the Dardanelles flows swiftly between the contracted channel as smoothly as the Thames in summer time by the pleasant meads of Chertsey. There is a rich sylvan look about the scenery, for at a distance the hills around Lampsaki, across the straits, appear to be dotted with verdant lawns and plantations; and the outline of the high grounds, rising tier after tier till they are capped by the lofty range which stretches along the background from Ida in the Troad, is subdued and regular. The villages built in the recesses of the hills and in the little bays and creeks of the straits, surrounded by all the enchantment of distance, look clean and picturesque, the dark groves of cypress casting into bright relief the whitewash of the houses and the tall shafts of minarets standing out gracefully from the confused mass of roofs, gables, masts, yards, and sails by the seaside. Further south the coasts close in abruptly, and the straits are like a long Highland loch. The land around Gallipoli on the European side of the straits is more bleak and more level. Indeed, for miles around the town (except towards the south, where there is a very small table-land with patches of trees), and all the way across to the Gulf of Saros, the country very much resembles the downs about Brighton. It is nearly as destitute of wood or plantations. The soil, which is light, but deep and rather sandy, produces excellent crops, but bears no trees, except a few figs and olives. The vines, which are planted in rows, not trailed as in Italy, are abundant, and the grape yields a rich, full, and generous wine, which is highly esteemed. Into the soil, which is just scratched up by ploughs rather inferior to those described by Virgil 1800 years ago, the dejected rayahs are busied throwing the corn and barley seed; and as the slow steers or huge lumbering buffaloes pace along the furrows, they are followed by a stately army of storks, which march gravely at the very heels of beast and ploughman, and engage themselves busily in destroying the grubs and larvæ. On all the heights around glisten the white tents of French or English, and here and there the eye rests upon their serrated lines on the slope of some pleasant valley, or lights on the encampment of some detached party posted in a recess of the hills. Faint clouds of dust, through which may be seen the glistening of steel and dark masses of uniform, blur the landscape here and there, and betray the march of troops along the sandy roads, which are exactly like those worn by the tramp of men and horses through Chobham-common, and had neither fence, boundary-metal, nor drainage. [Sidenote: WORKS AT BULAIR.] In a moment the whole scene changes. A violent storm of wind rushes over the face of the sea and straits, lashing them into fury, and sending the Turkish boats flying with drooping peaks to the shelter of the shore--the coast is obscured by masses of black clouds, which burst into torrents of rain resembling tropical water-spouts. The French men-of-war in the bay send down top masts, the merchantmen run out cable and let go another anchor; the rayahs plod across the fields, and crouch in holes and corners till the storm abates; and the luckless troops on their march are covered with mud by the action of the rain. In such times as these canvas is a sorry shelter--the pegs draw from the loose soil, and let in wind and rain. On Saturday, the 29th of April, tents were blown down by such a storm in all directions. In the two English camps about twenty were down at the same time, and exposed the men to all the drenching rain. Lady Errol, who was living with her husband in the Rifle Camp, had to crawl from under the dripping canvas in most sorry plight. Prince Jerome Napoleon arrived on the 30th. The town was shaken by the Imperial salute of 101 guns from each of the five French line-of-battle ships. He left the ship for the shore in a storm of wind, under a similar salute, which frightened the Greeks out of their lives. Next Sunday, Prince Napoleon, General Canrobert, and the _état major_ reviewed the French troops, and the English General and staff attended upon the occasion. Lord Raglan, accompanied by Lord de Ros, Quartermaster-General, and staff, Mr. Burrell, Dr. Tice, &c., arrived May 2nd, at noon, on board the _Emeu_. He proceeded to General Brown's quarters, and they had a long interview. Lord Raglan visited Admiral Bruat on board his flag-ship, and sailed the same night for the Bosphorus and for Scutari. The works at the intrenched camp at Bulair progressed with such speed that our portion of them was at this time expected to be finished by the middle of May. The emulation between the French and English troops at the diggings was immense, and at the same time most good-humoured. The lines were about seven miles long, and about two and three-quarters or three miles were executed by our men. They were simple field works, running along the crest of a natural ridge, from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. They consisted of a trench seven feet deep; the bottom, from scarp to counterscarp, six feet broad; the top thirteen feet broad. There was then a berm of three feet wide, above which was the parapet of earthwork (to be revetted in due course) of five feet thick, a banquette three feet six inches broad, and a slope inside of one in two. The spectator who selects a high point of land on the undulating country round Brighton, and looks across the valley below, might form a tolerable idea of the terrain around Gallipoli. Crossing the hills in all directions, and piercing the ravines between them, the dark masses of French infantry advancing from their numerous encampments might at the period referred to be seen formed for miles around on every sloping plateau. The shrill trumpets of the Zouaves were frequently heard sounding a wild and eccentric march, and these fierce-looking soldiers of Africa, burnt brown by constant exposure to the sun, with beards which easily distinguish them from the native Arabs, came rushing past, for their pace is so quick that it fully justifies the term. The open collars of their coats allow free play to the lungs; the easy jacket, the loose trouser, and the well-supported ankle, constitute the _beau ideal_ of a soldier's dress; their firelocks and the brasses of their swords and bayonets are polished to a nicety. Each man was then fully equipped for the field, with great-coat strapped over his knapsack, canteen by his side, a billhook, hatchet, or cooking-tin fastened over all. In the rear, mounted on a packhorse, followed a vivandière, in the uniform of the regiment, with natty little panniers and neatly-polished barrels of diminutive size dangling over the saddle; and then came a sumpter-mule, with two wooden boxes fastened to the pack, containing small creature comforts for the officers. The word was given to halt--stand at ease--pile arms. In a moment the whole regiment seemed disorganized. The men scattered far and wide over the fields collecting sticks and brushwood, and it appeared incredible that they could have gathered all the piles of brambles and dried wood and leaves which they deposited in the rear of the lines from the country that looked so bare. The officers gathered in groups, lighted cigars, chatted and laughed, or sat on the ground while their coffee was being boiled. The moment the halt took place, off came the boxes from the mule--a little portable table was set up--knives, forks, glasses and cups were laid out--a capacious coffee-tin was put upon three stones over a heap of bramble, and in three minutes each officer could take a cup of this refreshing drink after his hot march, with a biscuit and morsel of cheese, and a chasse of brandy afterwards. The men were equally alert in providing themselves with their favourite beverage. In a very short space of time two or three hundred little camp-fires were lighted, sending up tiny columns of smoke, and coffee-tins were boiling, and the busy brisk vivandière, with a smile for every one, and a joke or box on the ear for a favourite vieux moustache, passed along through the blaze, and filled out tiny cups of Cognac to the thirsty soldiers. Pipes of every conceivable variety of shape were lighted, and a hum and bustle rose up from the animated scene, so rich in ever-shifting combinations of form and colour that Maclise might have looked on it with wonder and despair. Regiment after regiment came up on the flanks of the Zouaves, halted, and repeated the process, the only remarkable corps being the Indigènes, or native Zouaves, dressed exactly the same as the French, except that jackets, trousers, and vest are of a bright powder blue, trimmed with yellow, and their turbans, or the folds of linen round the fez, are of pure white. [Sidenote: REVIEW OF FRENCH TROOPS.] In an hour or so the crest of the hill, which extended in undulating folds for two or three miles, was covered by battalions of infantry, and they might be seen toiling up the opposite ridge, till nothing was visible from one extremity to the other but the broken lines of these stalwart battalions. There was a ready, dashing, serviceable look about the men that justified the remark of one of the captains--"We are ready as we stand to go on to St. Petersburg this instant." There was a vivacity, so to speak, about the appearance of the troops which caught the eye at once. The air of reality about this review distinguished it from sham fights and field-days, and all holiday demonstrations of the kind. Before twelve o'clock there were about 20,000 troops on the opposite ridges of hills--an excellently-appointed train of artillery of nine-pounder guns, with appointments complete, being stationed in the valley below. The columns, taken lineally, extended upwards of eight miles. Strange as such a spectacle must have been to Turks and Greeks, there was scarcely a native on the ground. Whether fear or apathy kept them away, it is impossible to say; but Gallipoli, with its 15,000 inhabitants, sent not a soul to gaze upon the splendid spectacle. If Horace be right, the Gallipolitans have indeed discovered the secret of the only true happiness. They absolutely revel in the most voluptuous indulgence of the _nil admirari_. While six or seven French men-of-war were anchored in their waters, while frigates and steamers and line-of-battle ships kept passing up and down in continuous streams, waking the echoes of the Dardanelles with endless salutes, not a being ever came down to glance at the scene. The old crones sat knitting in their dingy hovels; the men, i.e., the Greeks, slouched about the corners in their baggy breeches, and the pretty and dirty little children continued their games without showing the smallest sign of curiosity, though a whole fleet was blazing away its thunder in an Imperial welcome within a few yards of them. As for the Turks, they sat so obstinately on their shelves and smoked their apathetic pipes so pertinaciously--they were so determined in resenting the impulses of curiosity--that one's fingers were perpetually itching to indulge in the luxury of giving them a slap in the face, and it was all but impossible to resist the impulse of trying what effect a kick would have had in disturbing such irritating equanimity. There were no Chobham crowds to break the uniformity of the lines of military, but great numbers of the English soldiery, in their Sunday costume, turned out and "assisted" at the ceremony. Shortly before twelve o'clock, a brilliant staff--it did indeed literally blaze in gold and silver, brass and polished steel, as the hot sun played on rich uniforms and accoutrements--was visible coming up the valley from the direction of the town. They were preceded by four vedettes, French dragoons with brazen helmets and leopard-skin mountings; the various staff officers in advance; then Prince Napoleon, in the uniform of a Lieutenant-General, and General Canrobert, in full dress and covered with orders, on one side, and Sir George Brown on the other, both somewhat in the rear. The effect of the _cortége_ as it swept past, the vision of prancing horses and gorgeous caparisons, of dancing plumes, of gold and silver lace, of hussar, dragoon, artillery, rifle, Zouave, spahi, lancer, of officers of all arms, dressed with that eye to effect which in France is very just as long as men are on horseback, was wonderful. It flashed by like some grand procession of the stage, if one can so degrade its power and reality by the comparison. It was not gratifying to an Englishman to observe the red coatee and cocked hat; the gold epaulettes and twist of the British officers looked very ill amid all the variety of costume in which the French indulged, nor was it without reason that the latter complained they could not tell which was the general or which the captain by their uniforms. As the vedettes came in view the drums of each regiment rolled, the trumpets and bugles sounded, and all the men who had been scattered over the ground in disorderly multitudes came running in from all sides, and dressed up, unpiled arms, and with great celerity fell into lines three deep, with bands, _vivandières_, mules, and smoking fires hastily extinguished in the rear. When General Canrobert reached the first regiment he raised his cocked hat, and shouted lustily, "_Vive l'Empereur_." The officers repeated the cry, and three times it ran along the line of the regiment. The band struck up, the men presented arms, and the Prince rode past bowing and raising his hat in acknowledgment, and again the band, out of compliment to the English General, played "God save the Queen." Soon after daybreak on the 6th of May, the Rifle Brigade, the 50th Regiment, and the 93rd Regiment, forming the working brigade of Bulair, struck tents. At the same time the 4th, 28th, and 44th Regiments, at the Soulari encampment, about two miles from the town of Gallipoli, proceeded towards Bulair, to take up the quarters vacated by the other brigade. The mass of baggage was enormous. The trains of buffalo and bullock carts, of pack-horses, and mules, and of led horses, which filed along the road to Gallipoli, seemed sufficient for the army of Xerxes. For seven or eight miles the teams of country carts, piled up with beds and trunks, and soldiers' wives and tents, were almost unbroken; now and then an overladen mule tumbled down, or a wheel came off, and the whole line of march became a confused struggle of angry men and goaded cattle. It so happened that two French battalions were moving out to fresh quarters (they change their camps once a fortnight), and it became perceptible at a glance that, _pro rata_, they carried much less _impedimenta_ than our regiments. There is considerable difficulty in accounting for this; because without a complete knowledge of the internal economy of both armies comparison would be difficult; but the absence of women--the small kit of the officers, as well as the size of the tents, went far to account for it. Frenchmen live in uniform, while no British soldier is quite happy without mufti. He must have his wide-awake and shooting jacket, and dressing gown, and evening dress, and a tub of some sort or other, a variety of gay shirting, pictorial and figurative, while the Gaul does very well without them. CHAPTER IV. Mishaps--Omar Pasha's Plans--Preparations for a Move--Lord Raglan--Jew and Armenian Money-changers--Review of the English Forces--Off to Varna. [Sidenote: THE GUARDS' CAMP.] The Duke of Cambridge arrived in the _Caradoc_ at 3 P.M. on Tuesday, the 6th. Marshal St. Arnaud arrived at Gallipoli on Sunday, the 7th of May. On May 9th, the Rifle Brigade and 93rd Regiment left Gallipoli for Scutari. Sir George Brown and staff also departed, leaving the force encamped under the command of Sir Richard England, with Brigadiers Sir J. Campbell and Eyre; Major Colborne and Captain Hallewell, Deputy Assistant Quarter-Master-Generals; Colonel Doyle, Assistant Adjutant-General; Brigade-Major Hope; Brigade-Major Wood, &c. In a few days I bade good-bye to Gallipoli, and proceeded to Scutari, where I remained in quarters for some days, but finally took up my abode at Messurir Hotel, in Pera, and awaited the course of events. In a book called "Letters from Head-Quarters," newspaper correspondents are censured because they had the audacity to ask the commissariat for tents and rations. Concerning the application to head-quarters, it may be as well to state that it was made in consequence of directions from home, for the Government ordered that the accommodation which is seldom refused to gentlemen who may accompany in any recognized capacity the course of armies in the field should be afforded to the correspondents of the London journals. I called on Lord Raglan before he left Scutari, because I was requested to do so. Whilst waiting till his lordship could see me, the correspondent of a London morning journal came into the ante-room, and told me he was on the same errand as myself. "Lord Raglan being very much engaged," I was asked by one of the officers in waiting to see Colonel Steele, and on stating the object of my visit to the military secretary, he assured me that it could not be acceded to, whereupon I made my bow and withdrew without any further observation. A few days afterwards I received permission to draw rations from the commissariat, by order of the Secretary of State. On a slope rising up from the water's edge, close to Lord Raglan's quarters, the camp of the brigade of Guards was pitched; a kind of ravine, about a quarter of a mile wide, divided it from the plateau and valley at the back of the barracks, in which were pitched the camps of the other regiments, and of the Light Division. Clumps of tall shady trees were scattered here and there down towards the water's edge, under which a horde of sutlers had erected sheds of canvas and plank for the sale of provisions, spirits, and wines, combined with a more wholesome traffic in cakes, Turkish sweetmeats, lemonade, and sherbet. The proprietors were nearly all Smyrniotes or Greeks from Pera, not bearing the highest character in the world. The regular canteens established within the lines were kept by a better class of people, under the _surveillance_ of the military authorities. Syces, with horses for sale, rode about at full speed through the lanes and pathways leading to the camp; the steeds they bestrode were bony animals with mouths like a vice, stuffed out with grass and green food, and not worth a tithe of the prices asked for them. All this scene, so full of picturesque animation--these files of snowy tents sweeping away tier after tier over hillock and meadow, till they were bounded by the solemn black outlines of the forest of cypress--these patches of men at drill here and there all over the plain--these steadier and larger columns at parade--this constant play and glitter of bayonet and accoutrement as the numerous sentries wheeled on their beaten tracks--this confused crowd of araba drivers, match-sellers, fruit and cigar and tobacco vendors, of hamals or porters, of horse-dealers and gaily-dressed rogues, and rapparees of all nations, disappeared in a few hours, and left no trace behind, except the barren circle which marked where the tent once stood, and the plain all seared and scorched by the camp-fires. What became of the mushroom tribe which had started as it were from the ground to supply the wants of the soldiery it would be difficult to say, and not very interesting to inquire. Among the most amusing specimens of the race must be reckoned the Jew and Armenian money-changers--squalid, lean, and hungry-looking fellows--whose turbans and ragged gabardines were ostentatiously dirty and poverty-stricken,--who prowled about the camp with an eternal raven-croak of "I say, John, change de monnish--change de monnish," relieved occasionally by a sly tinkle of a leathern purse well filled with dollars and small Turkish coin. They evaded the vigilance of the sentries, and startled officers half asleep in the heat of the sun, by the apparition of their skinny hands and yellow visages within the tent, and the cuckoo-cry, "I say, John, change de monnish." Their appearance was the greatest compliment that could be paid to the national character. The oldest Turk had never seen one of them near a native camp, and the tradition of ages affirmed that where soldiers come the race disappeared. Indeed, they only showed at the English camp in the sun-time. They were a sort of day-ghost which vanished at the approach of darkness, and the croak and the jingle were silent, and they spirited themselves gently away ere twilight, and where they lived no man could tell. Any one who has seen Vernet's picture, at Versailles, of the taking of Abd-el-Kader's Smala, will at once recognize the type of these people in the wonderful figure of the Jew who is flying with his treasure from the grasp of the French swordsman. A fleet of thirty transports was anchored off the barracks. The Sappers were engaged fitting up horse-boxes on board the transports. The Sea of Marmora was covered with the white sails of transports and store-ships, making way against the current, and the little wharf and landing-place at Scutari were alive with men loading boats with provisions or munitions of war. [Sidenote: DISPOSITION OF THE BRITISH ARMY.] In strange contrast to all this life and activity, the natives idled on the shore, scarcely raising their heads to look at what was passing around them; or taking a very unobtrusive and contemplative interest in the labours of the soldiery, as they watched them from their smoking-perches in front of the _cafés_ of the town, or of the sutlers' booths pitched along the shore. Lord Raglan's quarters seemed to be an especial resort for them. The house, a low wooden building two stories high, very clean, and neatly painted and matted within, was situated on the beach, about three-quarters of a mile from the barrack. In front was a tolerably spacious courtyard, with high walls, well provided with little stone boxes for the sparrows and swallows to build in, and inside this court led horses and chargers, belonging to the aides and officers on duty, might be seen pacing about. Directly opposite to the entrance of the court was a wooded knoll, with a few gravestones peering above the rich grass; and a Turkish fountain, in front of a group of pine-trees, usually surrounded by water-carriers, was in the foreground. Groups of Turks, Greeks, and Armenians, each distinct, were to be seen reclining at the foot of these trees, gazing listlessly into the courtyard, while they carried on monosyllabic conversations at long intervals between puffs of smoke. The beach, which somewhat resembled that at Folkestone at high water, was bounded by a tolerable road, a favourite walk of the women and children of Chalcedon and the suburbs beyond it; but these animated bundles of bright-coloured clothing scarcely deigned to look at the men in uniforms, or to turn their heads at the jingle of sword and spur. In the stagnant water which ripples almost imperceptibly on the shore there floated all forms of nastiness and corruption, which the prowling dogs, standing leg-deep as they wade about in search of offal, cannot destroy. The smell from the shore was noisome, but a few yards out from the fringe of buoyant cats, dogs, birds, straw, sticks--in fact, of all sorts of abominable flotsam and jetsam, which bob about on the pebbles unceasingly--the water is exquisitely clear. The slaughter-houses for the troops, erected by the seaside, did not contribute, as may readily be imagined, to the cleanliness of this filthy beach, or the wholesomeness of the atmosphere. The disposition of the British army was as follows:--At Scutari, the Guards, three battalions, the 7th, 19th, 23rd, 30th, 33rd, 41st, 47th, 49th, 77th, 88th, 93rd, 95th, and Rifle Brigade; at Gallipoli the 1st Royals, 4th, 29th, 38th, 44th and 50th; in all about 22,000 men. Our cavalry consisted of Lord Lucan, his aides-de-camp, and a few staff officers, who were awaiting the arrival of the force to which they were attached. The artillery which had arrived was not in a very efficient condition, owing to the loss of horses on the passage out. It was while our army was in this state that we heard of the march of the Russians upon Silistria, and their advance from the Dobrudscha along the banks of the Danube. Lord de Ros was dispatched to Varna, and had an interview with Omar Pasha, who impressed upon him the necessity of an advance on the part of the allies into Bulgaria. The Russian army on the right bank of the Danube, with their left resting on Kostendje, and their right on Rassova, covering their front with clouds of Cossack plunderers, were within twelve miles of Silistria, and their light cavalry swept all the northern portions of Bulgaria, and threatened to cut off the communications. On the 17th of May, a state dinner was given to the Duke of Cambridge by the Sultan, at which it was said that Marshal St. Arnaud made an allusion to a third Power which would join France and England in the struggle. The Austrian Ambassador, who was present, did not utter any expression of opinion upon the subject. A tremendous storm broke over the camp on the night of the 18th of May. Two officers of the 93rd, Lieutenant W. L. Macnish and Ensign R. Crowe, set out from the barracks, about nine o'clock, to go to the encampment of their regiments. The distance was about a third of a mile. Just outside the barrack-wall was a small gully, at the bottom of which there is usually a few inches of water, so narrow that a child might step across. As they were groping along they suddenly plunged into the current, now far beyond their depth. Mr. Crowe managed to scramble up the bank, but his calls to his companion were unanswered. Mr. Macnish's body was discovered in the ditch a few days later, and was interred by the regiment. On the same night Lord Raglan, in the _Caradoc_, Marshal St. Arnaud and staff, in the _Berthollet_, and Riza Pasha, Minister of War, and Mehemet Kiprisli Pasha, Minister of the Interior, in the steam-frigate _Cheh-Per_, sailed for Varna to hold a council of war with Omar Pasha, Admirals Hamelin and Dundas. Omar Pasha was anxious for the arrival of an Anglo-French army to occupy the country between Varna and Shumla, and to feel their way in advance of that line, so as to menace the Russians from Chernavoda to Kostendje, while he endangered their right flank by pushing a large force on Bucharest. He placed great reliance on the position of Varna. A general at the head of a large army, who kept his own counsel, could, according to the ideas he then expressed, paralyse the whole Russian invasion, when once he had got his men into the neighbourhood of this place, aided, as he must be, by the fleets. Omar Pasha declared that his plans were known to the Russians in twenty-four hours after he mentioned them. Presuming that the officer in command had a close mouth, according to Omar Pasha, a moral and physical strength might be found in the position almost irresistible. He might from that point move on Shumla, and on the passes of the Balkan, with equal ease; he could attack the right flank or the left flank of the Russians, or, by landing in their rear, covered by the fleet, he might break up their position in front of the Danube, and frustrate all their plans of campaign. With similar facility he could have sent an army across to the Asiatic shores of the Black Sea, to aid the Turkish army, or to attack the forces of the Caucasus, or could direct his attention to the Crimea, so as to make an attempt on Sebastopol. The allied Generals visited Pravadi and Shumla, and inspected the Turkish army, which numbered about 40,000 men, many of whom were sick. On the evening of their visit, Omar Pasha received dispatches announcing that 70,000 Russians, under Paskiewitch, had commenced the bombardment of Silistria. On the 23rd Lord Raglan returned from Varna to Scutari. It would appear that Omar Pasha had succeeded in convincing the allied generals that it would be desirable to effect a concentration of their forces between Varna and Shumla. It was decided that Omar Pasha should concentrate in front of Shumla, and that the English and French should move their disposable forces to his assistance. On the return of the Generals arrangements for moving from Scutari were pushed forward with great vigour. [Sidenote: REVIEW OF ENGLISH FORCES.] On the 23rd of May, the generals of brigade received instructions to prepare for active operations; and transports were detached from the fleet to proceed up the Black Sea with stores on the evening of the same day. At a quarter to eleven o'clock on the 24th of May, all the regiments in barrack and camp were paraded separately, and afterwards marched to the ridge which bounded one side of the shallow but broad ravine that separated the Brigade of Guards from the other brigades. The total force on the ground consisted of about 15,000 men. The Guards were ordered to appear on parade without--Muskets?--No. Coatees?--No. Epaulettes?--No. Cartouch-boxes?--No. Boots?--No. In fact, Her Majesty's Guards were actually commanded to parade "WITHOUT STOCKS!" to celebrate Her Majesty's birthday. At twelve o'clock, Lord Raglan and staff, to the number of thirty or forty, appeared on the ground. Lord Raglan having ridden slowly along the line, wheeled round and took his post in front of the centre regiment. After a short pause, just as the guns of the _Niger_ were heard thundering out a royal salute from the Bosphorus, the bands struck up the national air again, and down at once fell the colours of every regiment drooping to the ground. The thing was well done, and the effect of these thirty-two masses of richly dyed silk encrusted with the names of great victories, falling so suddenly to the earth as if struck down by one blow, was very fine. In another minute a shout of "God save the Queen" ran from the Rifles on the left to the Guards on the right, and three tremendous cheers, gathering force as they rolled on with accumulated strength from regiment after regiment, made the very air ring, the ears tingle, and the heart throb. After the cheering died away the march past began. The Guards marched magnificently. The Highlanders were scarcely a whit inferior, and their pipes and dress created a sensation among the Greeks, who are fond of calling them Scotch Albanians, and comparing them to the Klephtic tribes, among whom pipes and kilts still flourish. Games--racing in sacks, leaping, running, &c., and cricket, and other manly sports--occupied the men in the afternoon, in spite of the heat of the day. In the evening, a handsome obelisk, erected in the centre of the Guards' camp, and crowned with laurel, was surrounded by fireworks. The apathy of the Turks was astonishing. Though Scutari, with its population of 100,000 souls, was within a mile and a half, it did not appear that half a dozen people had been added to the usual crowd of camp followers who attend on such occasions. The Greeks were more numerous; Pera sent over a fair share of foreigners, all dressed in the newest Paris fashions. Vessels were sent up to Varna daily with stores; but we were not prepared to take the field. There was great want of saddlery, pack-saddles, saddle-bags, and matters of that kind, and the officers found that their portmanteaus were utterly useless. If John Bull could only have seen the evil effects of strangling the services in times of peace by ill-judged parsimony, he would not for the future listen so readily to the counsellors who tell him that it is economy to tighten his purse-strings round the neck of army and navy. Who was the wise man who warned us in time of peace that we should pay dearly for shutting our eyes to the possibility of war, and who preached in vain to us about our want of baggage, and pontoon trains, and our locomotive deficiencies? No outlay, however prodigal, can atone for the effects of a griping penuriousness, and all the gold in the Treasury cannot produce at command those great qualities in administrative and executive departments which are the fruits of experience alone. A soldier, an artilleryman, a commissariat officer, cannot be created suddenly, not even with profuse expenditure in the attempt. It would be a great national blessing if all our political economists could, at this time, have been caught and enlisted in the army at Scutari for a month or so, or even if they could have been provided with temporary commissions, till they had obtained some practical knowledge of the results of their system. CHAPTER V. Departure of the Light Division--Scenery of the Bosphorus--The Black Sea--Varna--Encampment at Aladyn--Bulgarian Cart-drivers--The Commissariat. [Sidenote: DEPARTURE OF THE LIGHT DIVISION.] On Sunday, the 28th of May, Sir George Brown left the barracks at Scutari, and proceeded to Varna in the _Banshee_. Before his departure orders were issued that the men belonging to the Light Division under his command should embark early the following morning--the baggage to be on board at six o'clock, the men at nine o'clock. At daylight on the 29th of May the _réveillé_ woke up the camp of the Light Division, and the regiments were ready for inspection at five o'clock. The Light Division, which was destined to play an important part in this campaign, and whose highest glory was to emulate the successes of the famous legion of the Peninsula whose name they bore, consisted of the following regiments:--The 7th Fusileers, the 23rd Fusileers, the 19th Foot, the 33rd or Wellington's Regiment, the 77th Foot, the 88th Connaught Rangers, and the Rifle Brigade, 2nd Battalion. They formed in front of their tents, and after a rapid inspection were ordered to strike tents. In a moment or two file after file of canvas cones collapsed and fell to the earth, the poles were unspliced and packed up, the canvas rolled up and placed in layers on bullock carts, the various articles of regimental baggage collected into the same vehicles,--ants in a swarm could not have been more active and bustling than the men; they formed into masses, broke up again, moved in single files in little companies, in broken groups all over the ground, while the araba drivers looked stupidly on, exhibiting the most perfect indifference to the appropriation of their carts, and evidently regarding the Giaours as unpleasant demons, by whose preternatural energies they were to be agitated and perturbed as punishment for their sins. It would seem, indeed, very difficult to re-form this shifting, diffusive crowd of red-coats into the steady columns which were drawn up so rigidly a short time previously along the canvas walls, now fluttering in the dust or packed helplessly in bales. Their labours were, however, decisive, and in some half-hour or so they had transformed the scene completely, and had left nothing behind them but the bare circles of baked earth, marking where tents had stood, the blackened spot where once the camp-fires blazed, tethering sticks, and a curious _débris_ of jam-pots, preserved meat cases, bottles, sweetmeat boxes, sardine tins, broken delf, bones of fowl and ham, pomatum pots, and tobacco pipes. A few words of command running through the toiling crowd--some blasts on the bugle--and the regiments got together, steady and solid, with long lines of bullock carts and buffalo arabas drawn up between them, and commenced their march over the sandy slopes which led to the sea. There lay the fleet of transports, anchored with their attendant steamers in long lines, as close inshore as they could approach with safety. The _Vesuvius_, steam sloop, Commander Powell, the _Simoom_ and the _Megæra_ troop ships (screw-steamers), sent in their boats to aid those of the merchantmen and steamers in embarking the men and baggage, and Admiral Boxer, aided by Captain Christie, Commander Powell, and Lieutenant Rundle, R.N., superintended the arrangements for stowing away and getting on board the little army, which consisted of about 6,500 men. The morning was fine, but hot. The men were in excellent spirits, and as they marched over the dusty plain to the landing-places, they were greeted with repeated peals of cheering from the regiments of the other division. The order and regularity with which they were got on board the boats, and the safety and celerity with which they were embarked--baggage, horses, women, and stores--were creditable to the authorities, and to the discipline and good order of the men themselves, both officers and privates. No voyager or artist can do justice to the scenery of the Bosphorus. It has much the character of a Norwegian fiord. Perhaps the rounded outline of the hills, the light rich green of the vegetation, the luxuriance of tree and flower and herbage, make it resemble more closely the banks of Killarney or Windermere. The waters escaping from the Black Sea, in one part compressed by swelling hillocks to a breadth of little more than a mile, at another expanding into a sheet of four times that breadth, run for thirteen miles in a blue flood, like the Rhone as it issues from the Lake of Geneva, till they mingle with the Sea of Marmora, passing in their course beautiful groupings of wood and dale, ravine and hill-side, covered with the profusest carpeting of leaf and blade. Kiosk and pleasure-ground, embrasured bastion and loopholed curtain, gay garden, villa, mosque, and mansion, decorate the banks in unbroken lines from the foot of the forts which command the entrance up to the crowning glory of the scene, where the imperial city of Constantine, rising in many-coloured terraces from the verge of the Golden Horn, confuses the eye with masses of foliage, red roofs, divers-hued walls, and gables, surmounted by a frieze of snow-white minarets with golden summits, and by the symmetrical sweep of St. Sophia. The hills strike abruptly upwards to heights varying from 200 feet to 600 feet, and are bounded at the foot by quays, which run along the European side, almost without interruption, from Pera to Bujukderé, about five miles from the Black Sea. These quays are also very numerous on the Asiatic side. The villages by the water-side are so close together, that Pera may be said to extend from Tophané to the forts beyond Bujukderé. The residences of the pashas, the imperial palaces of the Sultan, and the retreats of opulence, lined these favoured shores; and as the stranger passes on, in steamer or caique, he may catch a view of some hoary pasha or ex-governor sitting cross-legged in his garden or verandah, smoking away, and each looking so like the other that they might all pass for brothers. The windows of one portion of these houses are mostly closely latticed and fastened, but here and there a bright flash of a yellow or red robe shows the harem is not untenanted. These dwellings succeed each other the whole length of the Bosphorus, quite as numerously as the houses on the road from Hyde Park Corner to Hammersmith; and at places such as Therapia and Bujukderé they are dense enough to form large villages, provided with hotels, shops, _cafés_, and lodging-houses. The Turks delight in going up in their caiques to some of these places, and sitting out on the platforms over the water, while the chibouque or narghile confers on them a zoophytic happiness; and the greatest object of Turkish ambition is to enjoy the pleasures of a kiosk on the Bosphorus. The waters abound in fish, and droves of porpoises and dolphins disport in myriads on its surface, plashing and playing about, as with easy roll they cleave their way against its rapid flood, or gambolling about in the plenitude of their strength and security, till a sword-fish takes a dig at them, and sets them off curvetting and snorting like sea-horses. Hawks, kites, buzzards, and sea eagles are numerous, and large flocks of a kind of gregarious petrel of a dusky hue, with whitish breasts, called by the French _âmes damneés_, which are believed never to rest, keep flying up and down close to the water. Amidst such scenery the expeditionary flotilla began its voyage at eleven o'clock. It consisted of two steamers for staff officers and horses, seven steamers for troops and chargers, one for 300 pack horses, four sailing transports for horse artillery, and two transports for commissariat animals. Off Tophané, frigates, some of them double-banked, displayed the red flag with the silver crescent moon and star of the Ottoman Porte. They were lying idly at rest there, and might have been much better employed, if not at Kavarna Bay, certainly in cruising about the Greek Archipelago. [Sidenote: VARNA.] It was five o'clock ere the last steamer which had to wait for the transports got under weigh again, and night had set in before they reached the entrance of the Black Sea. As they passed the forts (which are pretty frequent towards the Euxine), the sentries yelled out strange challenges and burned blue lights, and blue lights answered from our vessels in return; so that at times the whole of the scene put one in mind of a grand fairy spectacle; and it did not require any great stretch of the imagination to believe that the trees were the work of Grieve--that Stanfield had dashed in the waters and ships--that the forts were of pasteboard, and the clouds of gauze lighted up by a property man--while those moustachioed soldiers, with red fez caps or tarbouches, eccentric blue coats and breeches, and white belts, might fairly pass for Surrey supernumeraries. Out went the blue lights!--we were all left as blind as owls at noontide; but our eyes recovered, the stars at last began to twinkle, two lights shone, or rather bleared hazily on either bow--they marked the opening of the Bosphorus into the Euxine. We shot past them, and a farewell challenge and another blue halo showed the sentries were wide-awake. We were in the Black Sea, and, lo! sea and sky and land were at once shut out from us! A fog, a drifting, clammy, nasty mist, bluish-white, and cold and raw, fell down upon us like a shroud, obscured the stars and all the lights of heaven, and stole with a slug-like pace down yard and mast and stays, stuck to the face and beard, rendered the deck dark as a graveyard, and forced us all down to a rubber and coffee. This was genuine Black Sea weather. Later in the night we passed through a fleet which we took to be Turkish men-of-war, but it was impossible to make them out, and but for the blockade of their ports these vessels might have been Russians.[6] In the morning the same haze continued drifting about and hugging the land; but once it rose and disclosed a steamer in shore, with a transport cast off hovering about it, just as a hen watches a chicken. The _Vesuvius_ fired a gun, and after some time the steamer managed to take the transport in tow again, and proceeded to rejoin the squadron. We subsequently found it was the _Megæra_. The line of land was marked by a bank of white clouds, and the edge of the sea horizon was equally obscured. The bulk of the convoy arrived and cast anchor in Varna Bay before the evening, and the disembarkation of the troops was conducted with such admirable celerity, that they were landed as fast as the vessels came in. Large boats had been provided for the purpose, and the French and English men-of-war lent their launches and cutters to tow and carry, in addition to those furnished by the merchantmen. The Rifles marched off to their temporary camp under canvas, about a mile away. The 88th Connaught Rangers followed, and on our arrival, the bay was alive with boats full of red-coats. The various regiments cheered tremendously as vessel after vessel arrived, but they met with no response from the Turkish troops. With difficulty I succeeded in getting a very poor lodging in the house of an Armenian dragoman, who forces himself on the staff of the English consulate, and, in company with several officers, remained there for several days, living and eating after the Armenian fashion by day, and "pigging" in some very lively "divans" at night, till my horses and servants arrived, when I proceeded to Aladyn. In consequence of instructions from home, Mr. Filder gave orders for the issue of rations for self, servants, and horses. [Sidenote: BULGARIAN CART-DRIVERS.] Varna is such a town as only could have been devised by a nomadic race aping the habits of civilized nations. If the lanes are not so ill-paved, so rugged, and so painful to the pedestrian as those of Gallipoli; if they are not so crooked and jagged and tortuous; if they are not so complicated and fantastically devious, it is only because nature has set the efforts of man at defiance, and has forbidden the Turk to render a town built upon a surface nearly level as unpleasant to perambulate as one founded on a hill-side. After a course of 100 miles,--by shores which remind you, when they can be seen through fogs and vapours, of the coast of Devonshire, and which stretch away on the western side of the Black Sea in undulating folds of greensward rising one above the other, or swell into hilly peaks, all covered with fine verdure, and natural plantations of the densest foliage, so that the scenery has a park-like and cultivated air, which is only belied by the search of the telescope,--the vessel bound to Varna rounds a promontory of moderate height on the left, and passing by an earthen fort perched on the summit, anchors in a semicircular bay about a mile and a half in length and two miles across, on the northern side of which is situated the town, so well known by its important relations with the history of the struggles between Russia and the Porte, and by its siege in 1829. The bay shoals up to the beach, at the apex of the semicircle formed by its shores, and the land is so low at that point that the fresh waters from the neighbouring hills form a large lake, which extends for many miles through the marsh lands and plains which run westward towards Shumla. Varna is built on a slightly elevated bank of sand on the verge of the sea, of such varying height that in some places the base of the wall around it is on a level with the water, and at others stand twenty or thirty feet above it. Below this bank are a series of plains inland, which spread all round the town till they are lost in the hills, which, dipping into the sea in an abrupt promontory on the north-east side, rise in terraces to the height of 700 or 800 feet at the distance of three miles from the town, and stretch away to the westward to meet the corresponding chain of hills on the southern extremities of the bay, thus enclosing the lake and plains between in a sort of natural wall, which is like all the rest of the country, covered with brushwood and small trees. A stone wall of ten feet high, painted white, and loopholed, is built all round the place; and some detached batteries, well provided with heavy guns, but not of much pretension as works of defence, have been erected in advance of the walls on the land side. On the sea-face four batteries are erected provided with heavy guns also--two of them of earthwork and gabions, the other two built with stone parapets and embrasures. Peering above these walls, in an irregular jungle of red-tiled roofs, are the houses of the place, with a few minarets towering from the mosques above them. The angles of the work are irregular, but in most instances the walls are so constructed as to admit of a fair amount of flanking fire on an assaulting force. Nevertheless, a portion of the inner side of the bay, and other parts are equally accessible to the fire of batteries on the trifling hillocks around the town. The houses of the town are built of wood; it contains about 12,000 or 14,000 inhabitants, but there is more bustle, and animation, and life in the smallest hamlet in Dorsetshire, than here, unless one goes down to the landing place, or visits the bazaar, where the inhabitants flock for pleasure or business. General Canrobert and staff reached Varna on the morning of the 2nd of June. He landed about mid-day, and after an extempore levee of the French officers on the beach, proceeded to call on Sir George Brown. The first thing they did when their Sappers arrived at Varna, before the English came up, was to break a gateway through the town wall, on its sea-face, to allow troops and provisions to be landed and sent off without a long detour. This proceeding drove the Pasha of the place almost deranged, and he died soon afterwards. The cavalry sent by Omar Pasha was of infinite service in transporting provisions, horses, and cattle. The latter were wretchedly small and lean. A strong man could lift one of the beasts, and there was not so much meat on one of them as on a good English sheep. Food was good enough, and plentiful; a fowl could be had for seven piastres--1_s._ 2_d._; bread and meat were about the same price as in London; a turkey could be procured for half-a-crown; wine was dear, and not good; spirits as cheap as they were bad. Omar Pasha prohibited the export of grain from all the ports of Roumelia. Owing to the exertions of Omar Pasha, and the activity of the commissariat, the quantity of open and covered arabas, or bullock and buffalo carts, which had been collected, was nearly sufficient for the wants of the First Division. There was a small army of hairy, wild-looking drivers stalking about the place, admiring the beauties of Varna, spear or buffalo goad in hand. The British camp was at first pitched on a plain, covered with scrub and clumps of sweet-brier, about a mile from the town, and half a mile from the fresh-water lake. The water of the lake, however, was not good for drinking--it abounded in animalculæ, not to mention enormous leeches--and the men had to go to the fountains and wells near the town to fill their canteens and cooking-tins. Admirals Dundas and Hamelin came into the bay in order that they might assist at the conferences. A new pasha also arrived, who was supposed to be better fitted to the exigencies of the times than his predecessor. At three o'clock on Monday, June 5th, the Light Division of the army, consisting of the 7th, 19th, 23rd, 33rd, 77th and 88th Regiments, and the Second Battalion of Rifle Brigade, with part of the 8th Hussars, the 17th Lancers, and four guns attached, commenced its march from the encampment at Varna, on their way to their new encampment at Aladyn between Kojuk and Devna (called in some of the maps Dewnos). The infantry halted on a plain about nine miles and a half from the town of Varna, close to a fresh-water lake, but the cavalry and artillery continued their march, and pitched tents about eighteen miles from Varna, the route being through a rich and fertile country, perfectly deserted and lifeless--not a house, not a human creature to be seen along the whole line of march. When once the traveller left the sandy plain and flat meadow lands which sweep westward for two or three miles from Varna, he passed through a succession of fine landscapes, with a waving outline of hills, which he could see on all sides above the thick mass of scrub or cover, pierced by the road, or rather the track, made by horsemen and araba drivers. Never were tents pitched in a more lovely spot. When the morning sun had risen it was scarcely possible for one to imagine himself far from England. At the other side of the lake which waters the meadows beneath the hill on which the camp was placed, was a range of high ground, so finely wooded, with such verdant sheets of short crisp grass between the clumps of forest timber, that every one who saw it at once exclaimed, "Surely there must be a fine mansion somewhere among those trees!" The camp was pitched on a dry, sandy table-land. On the right-hand side the artillery (Captain Levinge's troop), the small-arm and ammunition train (Captain Anderson), and the rocket carriages, caissons, artillery horses, &c., had their quarters. The valley between them and the table-land on which the camp was situated was unoccupied. On the left-hand side, on a beautiful spot overlooking the lake, at a considerable elevation, was the little camp of the commissariat, surrounded by carts and araba drivers, flocks of sheep and goats, and cattle, and vast piles of bread and corn. The Rifle camp was placed at the distance of 300 yards from the commissariat camp, on the slope of the table-land, and commanded a beautiful view of the lakes and of the surrounding country; and the 7th, 19th, 23rd, 33rd, 77th, and 88th Regiments were encamped close together, so that the lines of canvas were almost unbroken, from one extremity to the other. Brigadier-General Airey and staff, and Drs. Alexander, Tice, and Jameson, had pitched their tents in a meadow close by some trees at the upper end of the encampment. Brigadier Buller's marquee was close to the lines of his brigade. Captain Gordon, R.E., the Rev. Mr. Egan, and Captain Halliwell, had formed a little encampment of their own in a valley a little further on, which is formed by two spurs of land, covered with the thickest foliage and brushwood--hazels, clematis, wild vines, birch, and creeper,--and near at hand were the tents of the Sappers and Miners. The cavalry were stationed about nine miles further on, close to the village of Devna. [Sidenote: ALADYN.] In front of the Rifle camp was a rural burial-ground, long abandoned, probably because there were not many people left to die in the district. It was of the rudest kind. No sculptured stone, not even a scratch of a chisel, distinguished one resting-place from another, but a block of unhewn granite was placed at each grave, and the Sappers and Miners, who were a most utilitarian corps, selected some of the largest and best of them to serve in the construction of their bridge over one of the narrow channels which join lake to lake. These same Sappers had hard work of it in building this bridge. The 10th company who laboured at it, worked entirely naked and up to their breasts in water for one whole day. It is no wonder that a few of them suffered from fever in consequence. The open country was finely diversified, with abundance of wood and water all around, within easy distance of the route. Long lines of storks flew overhead or held solemn reviews among the frogs in the meadows. As for the latter, they were innumerable, and their concerts by day and night would delight the classical scholar who remembered his Aristophanes, and who could test the accuracy of the chorus. Eagles soared overhead, looking out for dead horses; and vultures, kites, and huge buzzards scoured the plains in quest of vermin, hares, or partridges. Beautiful orioles, a blaze of green and yellow, gaudy woodpeckers, apiasters, jays, and grosbeaks, shrieked and chattered among the bushes, while the nightingale poured forth a flood of plaintive melody, aided by a lovely little warbler in a black cap and red waistcoat with bluish facings, who darted about after the flies, and who, when he had caught and eaten one, lighted on a twig and expressed his satisfaction in a gush of exquisite music. Blackbirds and thrushes joined in the chorus, and birds of all sorts flitted around in multitudes. The commonest bird of all was the dove, and he was found so good to eat, that his cooing was often abruptly terminated by a dose of No. 6. On the first morning of my visit, as I rode from the camp, a large snake, about eight feet long and as thick as my arm, wriggled across the path; my horse plunged violently when he saw him, but the snake went leisurely and with great difficulty across the sandy road; when he gained the grass, however, he turned his head round, and darted out a little spiteful-looking tongue with great quickness. A Turk behind drew a long barrelled pistol, and was adjusting his aim, when with the quickness of lightning the snake darted into the thicket, and though four of us rode our horses through the cover, we could not find him. He was of a dark green, mottled with white, had a large head of a lighter hue, and protuberant, bright eyes. Jackals were said to abound, but probably the wild dogs were mistaken for them. There were traditions in camp concerning roe deer in the hill forests, and the sportsmen found out the tracks of wild boars through the neighbouring hills. Huge carp abounded in the lake; and very fine perch, enormous bream, and pike might be had for the taking, but tackle, rods and lines were very scarce in camp. There were no trout in these waters, but perch and pike took large flies very freely, whenever the angler could get through the weeds and marshy borders to take a cast for them. But where are the natives all this time?--come, here is one driving an araba--let us stop and look at him. He is a stout, well-made, and handsome man, with finely-shaped features and large dark eyes; but for all this there is a dull, dejected look about him which rivets the attention. There is no speculation in the orbs which gaze on you, half in dread half in wonder; and if there should be a cavass or armed Turk with you, the poor wretch dare not take his look away for a moment, lest he should meet the ready lash, or provoke some arbitrary act of violence. His head is covered with a cap of black sheepskin, with the wool on, beneath which falls a mass of tangled hair, which unites with beard, and whisker, and moustache in forming a rugged mat about the lower part of the face. A jacket made of coarse brown cloth hangs loosely from the shoulders, leaving visible the breast, burnt almost black by exposure to the sun. Underneath the jacket is a kind of vest, which is confined round the waist by several folds of a shawl or sash, in which are stuck a yataghan or knife, and a reed pipe-stick. The breeches are made of very rudely-manufactured cloth, wide above and gathered in at the knee; and the lower part of the leg is protected by rags, tied round with bits of old string, which put one in mind of the Italian bandit, _à la_ Wallack, in a state of extreme dilapidation and poverty. If you could speak with this poor Bulgarian, you would find his mind as waste as the land around you. He is a Christian after a fashion, but he puts far more faith in charms, in amulets, and in an uncleanly priest and a certain saint of his village, than in prayer or works. He believes the Turks are his natural masters; that he must endure meekly what they please to inflict, and that between him and Heaven there is only one power and one man strong enough to save him from the most cruel outrages, or to withstand the sovereign sway of the Osmanli--and that power is Russia, and that man is the Czar. His whole fortune is that wretched cart, which he regards as a triumph of construction; and he has driven those lean, fierce-eyed buffaloes many a mile, from some distant village, in the hope of being employed by the commissariat, who offer him what seems to him to be the most munificent remuneration of 3_s._ 4_d._ a day for the services of himself, his beasts, and araba. His food is coarse brown bread, or a mess of rice and grease, flavoured with garlic, the odour of which has penetrated his very bones, and spreads in vapour around him. His drink is water, and now and then an intoxicating draught of bad raki or sour country wine. In that abject figure you look in vain for the dash of Thracian blood, or seek the descendant of the Roman legionary. From whatever race he springs, the Bulgarian peasant hereabouts is the veriest slave that ever tyranny created, and as he walks slowly away with downcast eyes and stooping head, by the side of his cart, the hardest heart must be touched with pity at his mute dejection, and hate the people and the rule that have ground him to the dust. [Sidenote: THE COMMISSARIAT.] Let the reader imagine he is riding in Bulgaria any hot eventide in June, 1854; he will pass many a group of such poor fellows as these. A few miles before him, after leaving Varna, he will catch glimpses of English hill-tents through the trees on a beautiful knoll, running down towards the rich marshes at the head of the lake, which he has kept on his left all the way. Let us water our horses, for the place is yet some way off. Now and then encountering English travellers going to pester Omar Pasha at Shumla, or returning proudly from having done so, we at last draw towards the camp. The report of a gun rings through the woods and covers, and an honest English shout of "What have you hit, Jack?" or, "By Jove, he's off!" from among the bushes, shows that Ensign Brown or Captain Johnson is busy in the pursuit of the sports of the field. Private Smith, of the Rifle Brigade, with a goose in each hand, is stalking homewards from the hamlet by the lake-side. Mr. Flynn, of the Connaught Rangers, a little the worse for raki, is carrying a lamb on his shoulders, which he is soothing with sentimental ditties; and Sergeant Macgregor, of the 7th, and Sergeant Aprice, of the 23rd Welsh Fusileers, are gravely discussing a difficult point of theology on a knoll in front of you. Men in fatigue-frocks laden with bundles of sticks or corn, or swathes of fresh grass, are met at every step; and by the stream-side, half hidden by the bushes, there is a rural laundry, whence come snatches of song, mingled with the familiar sounds of washing and lines of fluttering linen, attesting the energies of the British laundress under the most unfavourable circumstances. In a short time the stranger arrives at a mass of araba carts drawn up along the road, through which he threads his way with difficulty, and just as he tops the last hill the tents of the Light Division, stretching their snowy canvas in regular lines up the slope of the opposite side, come into view. The people of England, who had looked with complacency on the reduction of expenditure in all branches of our warlike establishments, ought not to have been surprised at finding the movements of our army hampered by the results of an injudicious economy. A commissariat officer is not made in a day, nor can the most lavish expenditure effect the work of years, or atone for the want of experience. The hardest-working treasury clerk had necessarily much to learn ere he could become an efficient commissariat officer, in a country which our old campaigners declare to be the most difficult they ever were in for procuring supplies. Let those who have any recollections of Chobham, just imagine that famous encampment to be placed about ten miles from the sea, in the midst of a country utterly deserted by the inhabitants, the railways from London stopped up, the supplies by the cart or wagon cut off, corn scarcely procurable, carriages impossible, and the only communication between the camp and port carried on by means of buffalo and bullock arabas, travelling about one mile and a half an hour, and they will be able to form some faint idea of the difficulties experienced by those who had to procure the requisite necessaries for the expeditionary forces. To give the reader a notion of the requirements of such a body as an expeditionary army of 25,000 men, it may be stated that not less than 13,000 horses and mules would be required for the conveyance of their ammunition, baggage, and stores in the field. The movements of the troops were often delayed on account of want of transport. Buffalo and bullock carts, and their drivers, vanished into thin air in the space of a night. A Bulgarian is a human being after all. A Pasha's cavass might tear him away from "his young barbarians all at play;" but when he had received a few three-and-eightpences a day, off he started the moment the eye of the guard was removed, and, taking unknown paths and mountain roadways, sought again the miserable home from which he had been taken. The people were so shy, it was impossible to establish friendly relations with them. The inhabitants of the Bulgarian village of Aladyn, close to the camp at the borders of the lake, abandoned their houses altogether. Not one living creature remained out of the 350 or 400 people who were there on our arrival. Their houses were left wide open, and such of their household goods as they could not remove, and a few cocks and hens that could not be caught, were all that was left behind. The cause generally assigned for this exodus was the violence of a few ruffians on two or three occasions, coupled with groundless apprehension of further outrages--others said it was because we established our slaughter-houses there. Certainly the smell was abominable. Diarrhoea broke out in the camp soon after my arrival, and continued to haunt us all during the summer. Much of this increase of disease must be attributed to the use of the red wine of the country, sold at the canteens of the camp; but, as the men could get nothing else, they thought it was better to drink than the water of the place. There were loud complaints from officers and men from this score, and especially on account of the porter and ale they were promised not being dealt out to them; and the blame was laid, as a matter of course, on the shoulders of Sir George Brown. While the men of the light division lay outside Varna they were furnished with porter; but on moving further off they were deprived of it, and the reasons given for the deprivation were various, but the result was manifest. The men heard that the soldiers of the other divisions near Varna got their pint of porter a day, and that they should be dissatisfied at this distinction is not surprising. A draught of good porter, with the thermometer at 93° or 95° in the shade, would be a luxury which a "thirsty soul" in London could never understand. It was evident that some wholesome drink ought to have been provided for the men, to preserve them from the attacks of sickness in a climate where the heat was so great and the supply of pure water inadequate. Many of the officers rode into Varna, bought salt, tobacco, tea, and spirits, and brought it out in the saddle-bags, either to distribute gratuitously or at cost price to their men. This was an immense boon, particularly as the men, except servants on leave, were not allowed to go into Varna. A small stock of preserved potatoes was sent out, but it was soon exhausted. [Sidenote: ARRIVAL OF THE GUARDS AT VARNA.] After I had been a few days at Aladyn, I rode down to Varna, and was astonished at the change which the place had undergone. Old blind side walls had been broken down, and shops opened, in which not only necessaries, but even luxuries, could be purchased; the streets, once so dull and silent, re-echoed the laughter and rattle of dominoes in the newly-established _cafés_. Wine merchants and sutlers from Algiers, Oran, Constantine, Marseilles, Toulon, had set up booths and shops, at which liqueurs, spirits, and French and country wines, could be purchased at prices not intolerably high. The natives had followed the example. Strings of German sausages, of dried tongues, of wiry hams, of bottles of pickles, hung from the rafters of an old Turkish khan, which but a few days before was the abode of nothing but unseemly insects; and an empty storehouse was turned into a nicely whitewashed and gaily painted "Restaurant de l'Armée d'Orient pour Messieurs les Officiers et Sous-officiers." The names of the streets, according to a Gallic nomenclature, printed in black on neat deal slips, were fixed to the walls, so that one could find his way from place to place without going through the erratic wanderings which generally mark the stranger's progress through a Turkish town. One lane was named the Rue Ibrahim, another Rue de l'Hôpital, a third Rue Yusuf; the principal lane was termed the Corso, the next was Rue des Postes Françaises; and, as all these names were very convenient, and had a meaning attached to them, no sneering ought to deter one from confessing that the French manage these things better than we do. Did any one want to find General Canrobert? He had but to ask the first Frenchman he met and he would tell him to go up the Corso, turn to the right, by the end of the Rue de l'Hôpital, and there was the name of the General painted in large letters over the door of his quarters. The French post-office and the French hospital were sufficiently indicated by the names of the streets. Where at this period was the English post-office? No one knew. Where did the English general live? No one knew. Where was the hospital for sick soldiers? No one knew. On the 12th, the 5th Dragoon Guards, which left Cork on the 28th of May, were landed from the _Himalaya_. The French from Gallipoli had already approached the lower Balkans. Lord Raglan was confined for some days to his quarters at Scutari by illness. The Duke of Cambridge and his staff landed on the 14th of June, and with him came the Brigade of Guards. The disembarkation of the Guards was effected, and with a rapidity and comfort which conferred great credit on the officers. The French assisted with the most hearty goodwill. Of their own accord the men of the Artillery and the Chasseurs came down to the beach, helped to load buffalo carts, and to thump the drivers, to push the natives out of the way, to show the road, and, in fact, to make themselves generally useful. CHAPTER VI. Camp life--Good news from Silistria--Forces in and near Varna--Egyptian troops--Omar Pasha visits the camp--Bono, Johnny--Affair at Giurgevo--The Black Virgin--Levies from India--Council of War--Ominous signs. The fraternity established between the French and English troops became daily more affectionate, and individual friendships soon sprang up, all the closer, perhaps, for a squabble now and then, which ended in the _redintegratio amoris_; but it was evident that it did not answer to let the troops of the two nations mingle indiscriminately in crowded market-places, and we were well satisfied that we were in advance towards the Danube. From all I could see, I was convinced of the sagacity of the opinion of Marshal St. Arnaud, who objected to the march of the English Dragoons through France on their way to the East. On Saturday, the 24th of June, a Tatar with an escort rode past the camp by the Shumla road, at full speed for Varna, and, on arriving there, repaired to the quarters of Marshal St. Arnaud and Lord Raglan, with dispatches from Omar Pasha. The two commanders-in-chief held a conference, at which several of the French and English generals were present, and on the same evening two steamers left the port of Varna with dispatches, one for Constantinople, and the other for the Admirals at Baltschik. On the previous Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday the noise of a distant cannonade had been heard at intervals by the outlying pickets in the direction of Silistria, and hypothesis and conjecture were busy hatching _canards_, which flew about the tents in ever-varying plumage and form. But on Saturday the great fact was known in Varna, and soon travelled out here, that the siege of Silistra was raised, and that the Russians were in full retreat from the scene of their discomfiture--so precipitately that their route could not be ascertained. A reconnaissance was ordered to be undertaken by Lord Cardigan by Yeni Bazaar and to the eastward of Shumla, towards Hadschi Oghlu, to ascertain if the enemy had retreated across the Danube. [Sidenote: TURCO-EGYPTIAN TROOPS.] On the 24th Prince Napoleon arrived, to take the command of his division, and was received with the usual salute of 101 guns from each French man-of-war in harbour. Our vessels paid him the more modest compliment of one royal salute, and hoisting the French imperial ensign. On the same day a part of the 50th Regiment, and detachments of the rest of the Gallipoli division, under Sir R. England, arrived in Varna, and some of the baggage of Adams's brigade, as well as detachments of the 41st, 55th, and 95th Regiments. Portions of several French regiments also landed. The plain round Varna, for three miles, was covered with tents. Grass, herbage, and shrubs disappeared, and the fields were turned into an expanse of sand, ploughed up by araba wheels, and the feet of oxen and horses, and covered with towns of canvas. There could not have been less than 40,000 men encamped around the place, including French, English, Egyptians, and Turks, and the town itself was choked in every street with soldiery. More than 300 vessels were at anchor in the bay, in readiness to sail at a moment's notice. Upwards of 500 carts came in from the Turkish army to carry stores and provisions towards Shumla and the Danube. A review of about 8,000 Turco-Egyptian troops was held on the plain behind Varna, on the day the Tatar brought the news of the raising of the Siege of Silistria. The men, who were dressed in clean white trousers, blue frocks, and green jackets, looked well, in spite of their ill-shod feet and ragged jerkins; but their manoeuvres were carelessly performed and done in a listless manner. Physically the soldiers were square-built, bow-legged men, of fair average height, with fierce, eager eyes, and handsome features. A number of negroes, of savage aspect, were among the Egyptian contingent, and some of their best regiments did not disdain the command of Nubian eunuchs. Some of these Egyptians were mutilated in the hands, and had deprived themselves of their thumbs or fore-fingers--a useless attempt to escape conscription altogether. The French and English officers did not form a high opinion of anything but the raw material of which the troops were composed,--a raw material which, like everything else in Turkey, had been spoilt as much as possible by the genius of mal-administration. Behind stone walls, defending a breach, or in a sortie, the Osmanli, with his courage, fanaticism, and disregard of death, which he considers indeed as his passport to heaven, may repel organized European troops; but no one who sees the slow, cautious, and confused evolutions of the Turks, their straggling advance and march, their shaky squares and wavering columns, can believe they could long stand against a regular army in the open field. Their file firing was anything but good, and a spattering of musketry was kept up from rank to rank long after the general discharge had ceased. The men had all polished musket-barrels, in imitation of the French, and their arms appeared to be kept in a most creditable order. The Egyptian field-pieces, six and nine-pounder guns of brass, were beautifully clean and neat, and the carriages, though rather heavy, were, perhaps, well suited to the country. The gunners seemed to understand their business thoroughly, and the carriages shone with scrubbing, varnish, and fresh paint; the men alone were dirty. They retired to their tents very little fatigued, and partook of very excellent rations, beef and mutton made into pilaff, and lard or grease in lieu of butter. Their tents were just as commodious and as good as our own, but they put more men into each than we were in the habit of doing. On the 30th of June the bulk of the British troops quitted their original position at Varna. The Light Division, under Sir George Brown, left their quarters on the plateau near Aladyn, and marched to Devna, about eight and a half or nine miles off; on that day, and on Saturday morning, the First Division, under his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, marched from their encampment outside Varna, and pitched their tents on the plateau of Aladyn, with their left flank resting on the ground which had just been abandoned by the Rifle Brigade, and their right extending to the plains lately used by the Light Division as parading and drill ground. Sickness and diarrhoea in the camp were greatly on the decline; sore lips were common, principally from exposure to the sun. The Duke's Division seemed to grow beards with impunity. His Royal Highness, who lived out close to his division under canvas, having abandoned his quarters in Varna within a few days after he got into them, had his men's parades and field-days before nine o'clock. The brigadiers preferred the hours between nine and noon, under the impression that the sun was not so powerful then, on account of the forenoon breezes, as it was earlier in the morning. We had a thunderstorm almost every day, and very grateful it was, for the temperature was always lowered ten or twelve degrees by the rain and electrical discharges. The commissariat were doing their duty manfully. The quality of the meat was really very good, though the doctors thought a pound a day was not enough for each man in such a climate, especially as the meat was rather deficient in nutritious quality. [Sidenote: OMAR PASHA VISITS THE CAMP.] On the 3rd of July, news arrived that Omar Pasha was on his way from Silistria to Varna, and might be expected in an hour. The Turkish infantry on the plains below were observed to fall in, and draw up in front of their tents. About two o'clock a faint streak of dust rose over the white lines of the road winding far in the distance over the hills which lie towards Shumla, and through the glass could be discerned two travelling carriages, with a small escort of horse, moving rapidly towards the village of Devna, and the whole of the staff hastened to pay their respects to Omar Pasha, who mounted his horse, and attended by his suite and followers, rode up the hill towards the camp, in the front of which the division was drawn up in line. The _coup d'oeil_ was magnificent. The blue outlines of the distant hills, over which played the heavy shadows of rapidly-gathering thunder-clouds--the green sweep of the valley below dotted with tents, and marked here and there with black masses of Turkish infantry--the arid banks of sand, and grey cliffs, displaying every variety of light and shadow--and then the crest of the hill, along which for a mile shone the bayonets of the British infantry, topped by the canvas walls behind them--formed a spectacle worth coming far to see. Omar Pasha was dressed with neatness and simplicity--no order but the Star of the Medjidji glittered on his breast, and his close-fitting blue frock-coat displayed no ornament beyond a plain gold shoulder-strap and gilt buttons. He wore the fez cap, which showed to advantage the clear, well-marked lines of his calm and resolute face, embrowned by exposure to wind and weather for many a year of a soldier's life, and the hue of which was well contrasted with his snow-white whiskers. In the rude and rather sensual mouth, with compressed thick lips, were traceable, if physiognomy have truth, enormous firmness and resolution. The chin, full and square, evinced the same qualities, which might also be discerned in the general form of the head. Those who remember the statue of Radetsky, at the Great Exhibition, will understand what this means. All the rougher features, the coarse nose, and the slight prominence of the cheek-bones, were more than redeemed by the quick, penetrating, and expressive eye, full of quiet courage and genius, and by the calm though rather stubborn brow, marked by lines of thought, rising above the thick shaggy eyebrow. In person he appeared to be rather below than above the ordinary height; but his horse, a well-trained grey, was not so tall as the English chargers beside him, and he may really be more than five feet seven or eight. His figure was light, spare, and active, and his seat on horseback, though too Turkish for our notions of equestrian propriety, was firm and easy. He wore white gloves and neat boots, and altogether would have passed muster very well in the ring at Hyde-park as a well-appointed quiet gentleman. His staff were by no means so well turned out, but the few hussars of the escort were stout, soldierlike-looking fellows. One of them led a strong chestnut Arab, which was the Pasha's battle charger. As he rode by the troops presented arms, and when he had reached the end of the line they broke into column, advanced and performed some simple field-day manoeuvres, to the great delight of the Pasha. As the men moved off after exercising for about three-quarters of an hour, the cavalry came up at full trot, and at once riveted the attention of the Pasha. There were one and a half squadron of the 17th Lancers, a troop of the 8th, and a troop of the 11th Hussars. The artillery horses and dragoon horses were out at water. About six o'clock, after reviewing the Turks in the plain, he drove on to Varna. Sir George Brown returned soon after from a forty-mile ride through the rain, and rode over to see the Brigadier. He was much disappointed at not being in time to receive Omar Pasha. For some days 3,000 Bashi-Bazouks and Militia were encamped close to our cavalry camp, and every day performed irregular evolutions in the plains below, and made the night hideous with their yells and challenges. On Wednesday, the 5th of July, to the great relief of all their neighbours, our friends moved off to Varna, with great flourishing of lances, swords, and trumpets, headed by ragged red banners, there to be placed under the mild rule of General Yusuf, the famous Algerine commander, who had tamed so many of the wild tribes of the desert to the French yoke. In all the villages about tales were told of the violence of these ruffians--they were true types of the Mussulman "soldiery" as they are yet to be found in Asia, and as they would have been, perhaps, even in the camp, if the eye of Europe had not been upon them. A common practice among them during their march through this very district was to take away the sons and young children of the miserable Bulgarians, and demand a ransom. A poor widow's only son was carried off by them. They put a price on his head she could not pay. She told the chief of the party so, and offered all she had to give to the scoundrel, but he would not accept the sum; and she had never seen her son since. One would have thought that General Yusuf was the very man to get these gentry into order; but the result proved that he was unable to subdue their settled habits of irregularity. Omar Pasha did great good by a little wholesome severity. He seized on whole hordes of them, took their horses and accoutrements, and sent them off to be enlisted by compulsory levy into the armies of the faithful as foot soldiers. Their camp, just outside the town, was worth a journey to see. Their tents were all pitched regularly, instead of being thrown down higgledy-piggledy all over the ground, and their horses (nearly all stallions--such neighing and kicking, and biting and fighting as goes on among them all day!) were neatly tethered in lines, like those of regular cavalry. There were about 3,000 of these wild cavaliers, and it would have been difficult to find more picturesque-looking scoundrels, if the world was picked for them from Scinde to Mexico. Many of them were splendid-looking fellows, with fine sinewy legs, beautifully proportioned, muscular arms, and noble, well-set heads, of the true Caucasian mould; others were hideous negroes from Nubia, or lean, malignant-looking Arabs, with sinister eyes and hungry aspect; and some were dirty Marabouts, fanatics from Mecca, inflamed by the influence of their Hadj, or pilgrimage. They were divided into five regiments, and each man was paid a franc a-day by the French authorities. For this reason many of our Bashis "bolted" from Colonel Beatson and the English officers, and joined the French. Colonel Beatson had no money to pay them, and, indeed, it was not very clear that he had the sanction, or at all events the approbation, of Lord Raglan, whatever countenance he may have received from the home authorities. As Omar Pasha moved northwards, and left a larger extent of ground between his army and the Allies without military occupation, these wild and reckless men, deserting from both Beatson and Yusuf, became more and more troublesome, and began to indulge in their old habits of violence and plunder. [Sidenote: BONO, JOHNNY!] Omar Pasha left Varna early on Thursday, the 6th of July, and, on arriving at Aladyn, found the Duke of Cambridge's Division ready to receive him. He expressed his admiration at the magnificent appearance of the Guards and Highlanders, and after the review he retired with His Royal Highness the Duke to his tent, where he remained for some time, and partook of some refreshment. About two o'clock Omar Pasha's travelling carriages, escorted by Turkish cavalry, appeared in sight of our camp. The Pasha was received by Lord Raglan, Sir George Brown, Brigadier-General Scarlett, the Brigadiers of Division. After a time the 5th Dragoon Guards went past in splendid order, and then the two troops of Royal Horse Artillery and the battery, which did just what they are wont to do when his Royal Highness Saxe-some-place-or-other visits Woolwich, moving like one man, wheeling as if men, horses, and guns formed part of one machine, sweeping the plain with the force and almost the speed of steam engines, unlimbering guns, taking them to pieces, putting them together, and vanishing in columns of dust. They came by at a trot, which was gradually quickened into a dashing gallop, so that the six-pound and nine-pound guns, and carriages, and tumbrils, went hopping and bounding over the sward. A charge in line, which shook the very earth as men and horses flew past like a whirlwind, wreathed in clouds of dust, particularly excited the Pasha's admiration, and he is reported to have said, "With one such regiment as that I would ride over and grind into the earth four Russian regiments at least." He was particularly struck by the stature of the men, and the size and fine condition of the horses, both dragoon and artillery; but these things did not lead him away from examining into the more important question of their efficiency, and he looked closely at accoutrements, weapons, and carriages. At his request Sir George Brown called a dragoon, and made him take off his helmet. The Pasha examined it minutely, had the white cover taken off, and requested that the man should be asked whether it was comfortable or not. The inspection was over at half-past three o'clock, to the great delight of the men; and Omar Pasha, who repeatedly expressed his gratification and delight at the spectacle, retired with the Generals to Sir George Brown's quarters, and in the course of the evening renewed his journey to Shumla. There was one phrase which served as the universal exponent of peace, goodwill, praise, and satisfaction between the natives and the soldiery. Its origin cannot be exactly determined, but it probably arose from the habit of our men at Malta in addressing every native as "Johnny." At Gallipoli the soldiers persisted in applying the same word to Turk and Greek, and at length Turk and Greek began to apply it to ourselves, so that stately generals and pompous colonels, as they stalked down the bazaar, heard themselves addressed by the proprietors as "Johnny;" and to this appellation "bono" was added, to signify the excellence of the wares offered for public competition. It became the established cry of the army. The natives walked through the camp calling out "Bono, Johnny! Sood, sood" (milk)! "Bono, Johnny! Yoomoortler" (eggs)! or, "Bono, Johnny! Kasler" (geese)! as the case might be; and the dislike of the contracting parties to the terms offered on either side was expressed by the simple phrase of "No bono, Johnny." As you rode along the road friendly natives grinned at you, and thought, no matter what your rank, that they had set themselves right with you and paid a graceful compliment by a shout of "Bono, Johnny." Even the dignified reserve of Royal Dukes and Generals of Division had to undergo the ordeal of this salutation from Pashas and other dignitaries. If a benighted Turk, riding homewards, was encountered by a picquet of the Light Division, he answered the challenge of "Who goes there?" with a "Bono, Johnny," and was immediately invited to "advance, friend, and all's well!" and the native servants sometimes used the same phrase to disarm the anger of their masters. It was really a most wonderful form of speech, and, judiciously applied, it might, at that time, have "worked" a man from one end of Turkey in Europe to the other. The most singular use of it was made when Omar Pasha first visited the camp. After the infantry had been dismissed to their tents, they crowded to the front of their lines in fatigue jackets and frocks to see the Pasha go by, and as he approached them a shout of "Bono! bono! Johnny!" rent the air, to the great astonishment of Omar, while a flight of "foragers" gave him some notion of a British welcome. He smiled and bowed several times in acknowledgment, but it was said that as the whoops, hurrahs, and yells of the Connaught Rangers rang in his ears, he turned to one of the officers near him, and said, "These are noble-looking fellows, but it must be very hard to keep them in order!" He could not comprehend how such freedom could be made consistent with strict discipline in the ranks. Early in July Lord Cardigan returned to camp with the detachments of Light Cavalry, with which he effected an extended _reconnaissance_ along the banks of the Danube, towards Rustchuk and Silistria. The men were without tents, and bivouacked for seventeen nights; in a military point of view, the _reconnaissance_ effected very little service. On the 16th, the _Vesuvius_, Captain Powell, and the _Spitfire_, Captain Spratt, were cruising off the Sulina mouth of the Danube, and it occurred to the two captains that they would feel their way up to the scene of poor Captain Parker's death. On the morning of the 17th, Lieut. A. L. Mansell, of the _Spitfire_, went up towards the bar in one of the boats, and ascertained from the captain of an Austrian vessel coming down that there was one small buoy left to mark the channel over the bar. He ran up accordingly, found the buoy, and discovered that there was eleven feet of water on the bar, instead of six or seven as is generally reported. The channel was found to be about a cable's length across, and when Lieut. A. L. Mansell had buoyed it down he returned to the ships, which were ready with their paddle-box boats, their launches, gigs, and cutters. This little flotilla proceeded up the river, destroying the stockades as it passed, without a show of resistance, and at last came to the small town of Sulina, on which the boats opened fire. Only three musket-shots were fired in return, and at three o'clock P.M. the place was a heap of ruins, nothing being spared but the church and lighthouse. On the 17th of July, Omar Pasha having slowly advanced from his camp opposite Rutschuk, on the track of the retreating Russians, entered the town of Bucharest, and took military possession of Wallachia. [Sidenote: THE BLACK VIRGIN.] On the 18th, an old woman, said to be Fatima Honoum, the Karakizla (Black Virgin), Kurdish chieftainess, passed through Devno on her way from Varna, attended by a rabble rout of thirty or forty Bashi-Bazouks. She stopped at a rude khan or café, and enjoyed her pipe for a time, so that one had an opportunity of seeing this Turkish Semiramis. She appeared to be a lean, withered, angular old woman, of some seventy years of age, with a face seamed and marked in every part of its dark mahogany-coloured surface with rigid wrinkles. Her nose was hooked and skinny--her mouth toothless and puckered--her eyes piercing black, restless, and sinister, with bleary lids, and overhung by tufty grey brows. Her neck, far too liberally exhibited, resembled nothing so much as the stem of an ill-conditioned, gnarly young olive tree. With most wanton and unjustifiable disregard of the teachings of Mahomet and of the prejudices of Mussulmans, she showed all her face, and wore no yashmak. Her attire consisted of a green turban, dirty and wrinkled as her face; an antiquated red jacket, with remnants of embroidery, open in front, and showing, as far as mortal sight could gaze upon it, the lady's bosom; a handsome shawl waist scarf, filled with weapons, such as knives, pistols, and yataghans, and wide blue breeches. Hanoum was a spinster, and her followers believed her to be a prophetess. The followers were Bashi-Bazouks _pur sang_, very wild and very ragged, and stuck all over with weapons, like porcupines with spines. Their horses were lean and scraggy, and altogether it was a comfort to see this interesting Virgin Queen of the Kurds on her way to Shumla. The lady refused to visit our camp, and seemed to hold the Giaour in profound contempt. We never heard of her afterwards, but she was remarkable as being the only lady who took up arms for the cause in this celebrated war. Next day, some five-and-twenty horsemen rode into the village, attired in the most picturesque excesses of the Osmanli; fine, handsome, well-kempt men, with robes and turbans a blaze of gay colours, and with arms neat and shining from the care bestowed on them. They said they came from Peshawur and other remote portions of the north-western provinces of the Indian Peninsula, and while the officer who was conversing with them was wondering if their tale could be true, the officer in charge of the party came forward and announced himself as an Englishman. It turned out to be Mr. Walpole, formerly an officer in our Navy, whose charming book on the East is so well known, and it appeared that the men under his command were Indian Mahomedans, who had come up on their pilgrimage to Mecca, and who, hearing of the Turkish crusade against the Infidels, had rushed to join the standard of the Sultan. They were ordered to be attached to Colonel Beatson's corps of Bashi-Bazouks, and to form a kind of body-guard to the colonel, whose name is so well known in India. Mr. Walpole seemed quite delighted with his command, and, as he had the power of life and death, he imagined there would be no difficulty in repressing the irregularities of his men. A council of war was held on Tuesday, July 18th, at Varna, at which Marshal St. Arnaud, Lord Raglan, Admiral Hamelin, Admiral Dundas, Admiral Lyons, and Admiral Bruat were present, and it was resolved that the time had come for an active exercise of the powers of the allied forces by sea and land. The English Cabinet, urged probably by the English press, which on this occasion displayed unusual boldness in its military counsels and decision in its suggestions of hostility against the enemy, had despatched the most positive orders to Lord Raglan to make a descent in the Crimea, and to besiege Sebastopol, of which little was known except that it was the great arsenal of Russia in the Black Sea. On the 19th orders were sent out by Lord Raglan to Sir George Brown, at Devno, to proceed to headquarters at Varna immediately. Sir George Brown lost no time in obeying the summons. He sent a portion of his baggage on at once, and went on to Varna, attended by his aide-de-camp, Captain Pearson. Lord Raglan and his second in command had a long conversation, and on Thursday morning, the 20th, Sir George Brown, attended by Captain Pearson, Colonel Lake, of the Royal Artillery, Captain Lovell, of the Royal Engineers, &c., went on board the _Emeu_, Captain Smart, and immediately proceeded to the fleets at Baltschik. At the same time General Canrobert, attended by Colonels Trochu, Leboeuf, and Sabatier, took ship for the same destination. The generals went on board the flag ships of the respective admirals, and stood out to sea, steering towards the Crimea, on board her Majesty's ship _Fury_. Of course, the object of this expedition was kept a dead secret; but it was known, nevertheless, that they went to explore the coast in the neighbourhood of Sebastopol, in order to fix upon a place for the descent. On the 21st the 1st Division of the French army, General Canrobert and General Forey's Division, struck their tents, and broke up their camp outside Varna. They took the road which led towards the Dobrudscha, which they were to reconnoitre as far as the Danube, and on the 22nd General Yusuf followed with his wild gathering of Bashi-Bazouks, numbering 3,000 sabres, lances, and pistols. [Sidenote: OMINOUS SIGNS.] The result of this expedition was one of the most fruitless and lamentable that has ever occurred in the history of warfare. The French Marshal, terrified by the losses of his troops, which the cholera was devastating by hundreds in their camps at Gallipoli and Varna, and alarmed by the deaths of the Duc d'Elchingen and General Carbuccia, resolved to send an expedition into the Dobrudscha, where there were--as Colonel Desaint, chief of the French topographical department, declared on his return from an exploration--about 10,000 Russians, two regiments of regular cavalry, 10 Sotnias of Cossacks, and 35 pieces of artillery. Marshal St. Arnaud, who was confident that the expedition for the Crimea would be ready by the 5th of August, and that the descent would take place on the 10th of the same month, imagined that by a vigorous attack on these detached bodies of men he might strike a serious blow at the enemy, raise the spirits and excite the confidence of the Allies, remove his troops from the camp where they were subject to such depressing influences, and effect all this in time to enable them to return and embark with the rest of the army. It has been said that he proposed to Lord Raglan to send a body of English troops along with his own, but there is, I believe, no evidence of the fact. The 1st Division was commanded by General Espinasse, and started on the 21st for Kostendji; the 2nd Division, under General Bosquet, marched on the 22nd towards Bajardik, and the 3rd Division, under Prince Napoleon, followed the next day and served as a support to the 2nd. All the arrangements were under the control of General Yusuf. Having passed through the ruined districts of Mangalia, the 1st Division reached Kostendji on the 28th of July. They found that the whole country had been laid waste by fire and sword--the towns and villages burnt and destroyed, the stock and crops carried off. A cavalry affair took place on the same day between Yusuf's Bashi-Bazouks and some Russian cavalry, in which the former behaved so well that the General, aided by 1,200 Zouaves, pushed forward to make an attack on the enemy, and wrote to General Espinasse to march to his assistance. On that night, just ere the French broke up their camp at Babadagh, in order to set out on this march, the cholera declared itself among them with an extraordinary and dreadful violence. Between midnight and eight o'clock next morning nearly 600 men lay dead in their tents smitten by the angel of death! At the same moment the division of Espinasse was stricken with equal rapidity and violence at Kerjelouk. All that night men suffered and died, and on the 31st of July General Yusuf made his appearance at Kostendji with the remains of his haggard and horror-stricken troops, and proceeded towards Mangalia in his death march. On the 1st of August General Canrobert, who had returned from his _reconnaissance_, arrived at Kostendji from Varna, and was horrified to find that his camp was but a miserable hospital, where the living could scarcely bury the remains of their comrades. He could pity and could suffer, but he could not save. That day and the next the pestilence redoubled in intensity, and in the midst of all these horrors food fell short, although the General had sent most urgent messages by sea to Varna for means of transport, and for medicine and the necessaries of life. The 2nd and the 3rd Divisions were also afflicted by the same terrible scourge, and there was nothing left for the Generals but to lead their men back to their encampments as soon as they could, leaving behind them the dead and the dying. The details of the history of this expedition, which cost the French more than 7,000 men, are among the most horrifying and dreadful of the campaign. On returning to Varna the Bashi-Bazouks, tired of the settled forms of a camp life, and impatient of French drill, and the superintendence of brutal or rude non-commissioned officers, began to desert _en masse_, and on the 15th of August the corps was declared disbanded, and General Yusuf was obliged to admit his complete failure. We return to Varna, where we find the same awful plague of the later days of the world developing itself with increasing strength and vigour. All June and July I lived in camp at Aladyn and Devno, with the Light Division, making occasional excursions into Varna or over to the camps of the other divisions; and although, the heat was at times very great indeed, there were no complaints among the men, except that diarrhoea began to get common about the beginning of July. On St. Swithin's day we had a heavy fall of rain, some thunder and lightning, and a high wind. On the 17th I heard several of my friends complaining of depression, heaviness, ennui, &c., and "wishing to do something," and the men exhibited traces of the same feeling. On the night of the 19th, having gone down towards the river to visit Captain Anderson, of the Artillery, I was struck by the appearance of prodigious multitudes of small dark beetles, which blew out our candles, and crawled all over the tents in swarms. On the 20th, as I expected there would be a move down to Varna, and wanted to get some articles of outfits, I rode down there with some officers. Up to this time there had been no case of cholera in the Light Division; but early on Sunday morning, 23rd, it broke out with the same extraordinary violence and fatal effect which had marked its appearance in the French columns, and the camp was broken up forthwith, and the men marched to Monastir, nine miles further on, towards the Balkans. CHAPTER VII. The Angel of Death--Rations--Army Payments--Turkish Outrages--Cholera--French Hospital--Captain Burke--The Fire at Varna--Progress of the Cholera--Preparations for a Move--Final Deliberations--Embarkation of the Troops--Array of Transports--Suspense. It will be seen that the cholera first appeared among the troops at Varna, but the English forces were tolerably free from it till it had been among the French for nearly three weeks. A good deal of sickness prevailed among the Turkish and Egyptian troops. Diarrhoea was only too prevalent. Nearly every one had it in his turn. The quantity of apricots ("Kill Johns") and hard crude fruit which were devoured by the men, might in some degree account for the prevalence of this debilitating malady. The commissariat bread was not so good as at first, and speedily turned sour; but the officers took steps to remedy the evil by the erection of ovens in the camp. As the intensity of the sun's rays increased, the bread served out to us from the Varna bakeries became darker, more sour, and less baked. As a general rule, the French bread was lighter and better than our own, and yet they suffered as much from diarrhoea as our troops. In Varna the inhabitants suffered from the pestilence as much as the troops. Many of them fled from the town, and encamped near the neighbouring villages. Turks and Greeks suffered alike, and perished "like flies," to use their own image. Illness increased; on the 28th of July there were thirty-three cases of cholera in our hospital, and a much larger number in the French hospital. The Duke of Cambridge was suffering from diarrhoea; indeed, a large percentage of officers of the different divisions had been attacked by this complaint, but great precautions were taken by the medical officers to prevent neglect in the early stages, and to cheek the premonitory symptoms. [Sidenote: ARMY PAYMENTS.] The Heavy Dragoons at Varna, although encamped on a lovely plateau on a promontory by the sea-side, the healthiest-looking site that could have been chosen by a medical board, in a few days lost twenty-six men from cholera--a large number out of such skeleton regiments. The ration was increased to 1-1/2lb. of meat, and a ration of rum was issued. Drilling and tight stocking began to fall into disuse, and, by a general order, moustachios were allowed, according to the pleasure of officers and men. No less than 110,000 pounds' weight of corn, chopped straw, &c., was issued daily for the horses. To this was added all the full rations of meat, 27,000lb. of bread, proportionate quantities of rice, tea, coffee, sugar, &c., for the men. The commissariat had, besides, the horses, carts, saddles, packsaddles, tents, carriages for Dragoons, Light Cavalry, Infantry, Artillery, Sappers and Miners, to find interpreters. Commissary-General Filder's office in Varna was like a bank in the City in the height of business. The officers at the other branch departments were equally busy, and it was not unusual for some of them to ride to Varna and back to Devno, a distance of more than forty miles, between sunrise and sunset. We paid in ready money, and a commissariat chest, under the care of Mr. Cowan, was established at Shumla, to keep our officers supplied with gold and silver. The French, on the contrary, gave cheques on their commissariat chest at Varna, which were only payable on presentation there. It can readily be imagined that a peasant at the other side of the Balkans, or an ignorant Bulgarian up the country, regarded this printed paper with huge disdain, and it was certainly rather hard to have to journey from Roumelia into Bulgaria in order to get 10_s._ or 12_s._ for the hire of an araba. The araba drivers were suspicious, and grew sulky and discontented. As soon as they were paid any large sum they sought, and generally with success, the first opportunity of getting away from our service. Sir George Brown and Sir E. Lyons went down to Constantinople on board the _Agamemnon_, on the 1st of August, and for several days they were busily engaged in making arrangements for the transport of the fleet, and in the preparation of boats and provisions. Positive orders were received by Lord Raglan to attack Sebastopol. On the 20th he had despatched Sir George Brown and several English officers to make a _reconnaissance_ conjointly with General Canrobert and officers of the French Head-quarters Staff. On the 28th of July the commission returned after a cruise, in which they had been enabled to count the very guns of Sebastopol. In the course of their _reconnaissance_ they coasted slowly along the west face of the shore from Eupatoria southwards, and at the mouth of the Katcha discovered a beach, which the English and French generals decided on making the site of their landing. The _Fury_ stood off the port quietly at night, and about two o'clock ran in softly, and stopped within 2,000 yards of the batteries. There she remained till six o'clock in the morning. As the General was counting the guns, an officer observed a suspicious movement, and in a moment afterwards a shot roared through the rigging. This was a signal to quit, and the _Fury_ steamed out of the harbour as fast as she could; but the shot came after her still faster. A shell burst close to her, and one shot went through her hull. Signs of a move soon became unmistakable. On the 29th July the Turkish fleet and the transports, which had been lying in the Bosphorus, left their anchorage for Varna, carrying with them pontoons and siege guns. The preparations made at Varna for the embarkation of the English forces were hailed with satisfaction by officers and men, tired of the monotony of life in this wretched country, and depressed by the influence of illness and laborious idleness. It was not then known where they were going to; but, in the absence of any exact knowledge respecting the destination of the troops, conjecture pointed with unsteady finger to Odessa, Anapa, Suchum-Kaleh, or Sebastopol. There were, however, divided counsels and _timides avis_. Lord de Ros, Admiral Dundas, and Admiral Hamelin, were notoriously opposed to the descent on the Crimea; Marshal St. Arnaud did not like to attack Sebastopol, nor was Sir George Brown very sanguine of success. The force of the Russians in the Crimea was supposed to be upwards of 55,000 men, but considerable reinforcements might have been sent there of which we knew nothing. The Russians were well served by their spies, and were acquainted with all our movements; neither Marshal St. Arnaud nor Lord Raglan had equal means of intelligence. Speaking merely in reference to strategic considerations, there appeared to be some rashness in attempting the reduction of such a fortress as Sebastopol with an army inferior in force to that of the enemy inside and outside the walls--an army liable to be attacked by all the masses which Russia could direct, in her last extremity, to defend the "very navel of her power"--unless the fleet was able to neutralize the preponderance of the hostile army, and place our troops upon equal terms. It was not impregnable, either from the quality of the works or natural position, and, like all such fortresses, it could not but fall before the regular uninterrupted continuance and progress of sap, and mine, and blockade. The result showed, however, that the usual conditions of a siege were not complied with in this case; and the character of the expedition, which was at first a dashing, sudden onslaught, was, perhaps inevitably, changed by the course of events. Colonel Maule, Assistant Adjutant-General, Major Levinge, Mr. Newbury, Pay-master of the 2nd battalion Rifle Brigade, and Gregg, of the 55th Regiment, died. The hospital was quite full, and, numerous as our medical staff was, and unremitting as were our medical officers in doing all that skill and humanity could suggest for the sufferers, there were painful cases, of not rare occurrence, in which the men did not procure the attention they required paid to them till it was too late. Many of the poor fellows, too, who desired the attendance of a clergyman or priest at their dying hour, were denied that last consolation, for the chaplains were few, or at least not numerous enough for the sad exigencies of the season. [Sidenote: CHOLERA.] The French losses from cholera were frightful. The hospital had been formerly used as a Turkish barrack. It was a huge quadrangular building, like the barracks at Scutari, with a courtyard in the centre. The sides of the square were about 150 feet long, and each of them contained three floors, consisting of spacious corridors, with numerous rooms off them of fair height and good proportions. About one-third of the building was reserved for our use; the remainder was occupied by the French. Although not very old, the building was far from being in thorough repair. The windows were broken, the walls in parts were cracked and shaky, and the floors were mouldering and rotten. Like all places which have been inhabited by Turkish soldiers for any time, the smell of the buildings was abominable. Men sent in there with fevers and other disorders were frequently attacked with the cholera in its worst form, and died with unusual rapidity, in spite of all that could be done to save them. I visited the hospital one memorable night in search of medical aid for my friend Dickson, who was suddenly seized with cholera. I never can forget the aspect of the place--a long train of thirty-five carts filled with sick was drawn up by the wall. There were three or four men in each. These were soldiers sent in from the camps waiting till room could be found for them; others were sitting by the roadside, and the moonbeams flashed brightly off their piled arms. All were silent; the quiet that prevailed was only broken by the moans and cries of the sufferers in the carts. Observing many empty arabas were waiting in the square, I asked a _sous officer_ for what they were required. His answer, sullen and short, was,--"_Pour les morts_." On the night of Tuesday (Aug. 10th) a great fire broke out at Varna, which utterly destroyed more than a quarter of the town. The sailors of the ships, and the French and English soldiery stationed near the town, worked for the ten hours during which the fire lasted with the greatest energy; but as a brisk wind prevailed, which fanned the flames as they leapt along the wooden streets, their efforts were not as successful as they deserved. The fire broke out near the French commissariat stores, in a spirit shop. The officers in charge broached many casks of spirits, and as the liquid ran down the streets, a Greek was seen to set fire to it. He was cut down to the chin by a French officer, and fell into the fiery torrent. The howling of the inhabitants, the yells of the Turks, the clamour of the women, children, dogs, and horses, were appalling. Marshal St. Arnaud displayed great vigour and coolness in superintending the operations of the troops, and by his exertions aggravated the symptoms of the malady from which he had long been suffering. The French lost great quantities of provisions, and we had many thousand rations of biscuit utterly consumed. In addition to the bread (biscuit) which was lost, immense quantities of stores were destroyed. 19,000 pairs of soldiers' shoes and an immense quantity of cavalry sabres, which were found amid the ruins, fused into the most fantastic shapes, were burnt. The soldiers plundered a good deal, and outrages of a grave character were attributed to the Zouaves during the fire. Tongues and potted meats, most probably abstracted from sutlers' stores, were to be had in the outskirts of the camp for very little money soon after the occurrence, and some of the camp canteen keepers were completely ruined by their losses. To add to our misfortunes, the cholera broke out in the fleets in Varna Bay and at Baltschik with extraordinary virulence. The _Friedland_ and _Montebello_ suffered in particular--in the latter upwards of 100 died in twenty-four hours. The depression of the army was increased by this event. They "supped full of horrors," and listened greedily to tales of death, which served to weaken and terrify. We lost fifteen or sixteen men a day. Some people said we pitched our camps too closely; but Sir George Brown's division covered nearly twice the space which would have been occupied by the encampment of a Roman legion consisting of nearly the same number of men, and yet there is no account in history of any of these camp epidemics in Gaul, or Thrace, or Pannonia, or in any of the standing camps of the Romans, and we must believe that the cholera and its cognate pests arise out of some combination of atmospherical and physical conditions which did not occur in former times. The conduct of many of the men, French and English, seemed characterized by a recklessness verging on insanity. They might be seen lying drunk in the kennels, or in the ditches by the road-sides, under the blazing rays of the sun, covered with swarms of flies. They might be seen in stupid sobriety gravely paring the rind off cucumbers of portentous dimensions, to the number of six or eight, and eating the deadly cylinders one after another, till there was no room for more--all the while sitting in groups in the fields, or on the flags by the shops in the open street, and looking as if they thought they were adopting highly sanitary measures for their health's sake; or frequently three or four of them would make a happy bargain with a Greek for a large basketful of apricots ("kill Johns"), scarlet pumpkins, water melons, wooden-bodied pears, green-gages, and plums, and then retire beneath the shade of a tree, where they divided and ate the luscious food till nought remained but a heap of peel, rind, and stones. They then diluted the mass of fruit with raki, or peach brandy, and struggled home or to sleep as best they could. One day I saw a Zouave and a huge Grenadier staggering up the street arm in arm, each being literally laden with enormous pumpkins and cucumbers, and in the intervals of song--for one was shouting out "Cheer, boys, cheer," in irregular spasms, and the other was chanting some love ditty of a very lachrymose character--they were feeding each other with cucumbers. One took a bit and handed it to his friend, who did the same, and thus they were continuing their amphiboean banquet till the Englishman slipped on a stone and went down into the mud, bringing his friend after him--pumpkins, cucumbers, and all. The Frenchman disengaged himself briskly; but the Grenadier at once composed himself to sleep, notwithstanding the entreaties of his companion. After dragging at him, head, legs, arms, and shoulders, the Zouave found he could make no impression on the inert mass of his friend, and regarding him in the most tragic manner possible, he clasped his hands, and exclaimed, "_Tu es là, donc, mon ami, mon cher Jeeon! Eh bien, je me coucherai avec toi_;" and calmly fixing a couple of cucumbers for his pillow, he lay down, and was soon snoring in the gutter in unison with his ally. The Turkish soldiers were equally careless of their diet and living. It was no wonder, indeed, that cholera throve and fattened among us. All the tokens of an impending expedition were eagerly caught up and circulated among the camps. A number of boats, ordered by Admiral Lyons at Constantinople, now arrived at Varna, and their construction showed they were intended for the disembarkation of troops. Each vessel consisted of two of the large Turkish boats of the Bosphorus, which are about fifty feet long, and about eight feet broad, fastened together, and planked over at top, so as to form a kind of raft, and drawing more than a foot of water, and capable of landing two heavy guns and their men, or of carrying 150 or 200 men with the greatest of ease. The fleet was assembled in the bay, and consisted of steamers of a magnitude and speed hitherto unknown in any operation of war, and of sailing vessels which would have constituted a formidable navy of themselves. It was calculated that the disembarkation of 20,000 could be effected by the boats of our steamers in two hours. Cavalry would be more difficult to manage; but at this time our strength in that arm was not very great, for we had two Generals in command of a force which mustered in the Crimea less than 1,200 sabres. The artillery, under General Cator, consisted of the siege train (30 guns out), commanded by Colonel Gambia; the Royal Horse Artillery, Colonel Strangeways; the Artillery of the Light Division, Colonel Dacres; of the First Division, Colonel Lake; of the Second Division, Colonel Dupuis; and of the Third Division, Colonel Fitzmayer. Each division had twelve field guns attached to it, so that there were forty-eight field guns in all. The C and I troops of the Royal Horse Artillery acted with the Cavalry. But the armies of the allies were about to enter upon the career of active warfare, and to escape from a spot fraught with memories of death unredeemed by a ray of glory. It was no secret that in the middle of July a council of generals and admirals had, by a majority, overcome the _timides avis_ of some, and had decided upon an expedition to the Crimea, in compliance with the positive orders of the English Cabinet, and with the less decided suggestions of the Emperor of the French. That project had been arrested by the sickness and calamities which had fallen on the French and English armies, but it had not been abandoned. In the second week in August the cholera assumed such an alarming character that both Admirals (French and English) resolved to leave their anchorage at Baltschik, and stand out to sea for a cruise. On Wednesday the 16th the _Caradoc_, Lieutenant Derriman, which left Constantinople with the mails for the fleet and army the previous evening, came up with the English fleet. The _Caradoc_ was boarded by a boat from the _Britannia_, and the officer who came on board communicated the appalling intelligence that the flag-ship had lost 70 men since she left Baltschik, and that she had buried 10 men that morning. Upwards of 100 men were on the sick list at that time. Some of the other ships had lost several men, but not in the same proportion. After the great fire on the night of the 10th the cholera seemed to diminish in the town itself, and the reports from the various camps were much more favourable than before. The British army was scattered broadcast all over the country, from Monastir to Varna, a distance of twenty-six or twenty-seven miles. The Duke of Cambridge's division marched in from Aladyn, and encamped towards the south-western side of the bay. It appeared that notwithstanding the exquisite beauty of the country around Aladyn, it was a hot-bed of fever and dysentery. The same was true of Devno, which was called by the Turks "the Valley of Death;" and had we consulted the natives ere we pitched our camps, we assuredly should never have gone either to Aladyn or Devno, notwithstanding the charms of their position and the temptations offered by the abundant supply of water and by the adjacent woods. It was the duty of the general in command to pay attention to the representations of the medical officers and the traditions of the natives, which assigned to this locality a most unfavourable character for the preservation of health. Whoever gazed on these rich meadows, stretching for long miles away, and bordered by heights on which the dense forests struggled all but in vain to pierce the masses of wild vine, clematis, dwarf acacia, and many-coloured brushwoods--on the verdant hill-sides, and on the dancing waters of lake and stream below, lighted up by the golden rays of a Bulgarian summer's sun--might well have imagined that no English glade or hill-top could well be healthier or better suited for the residence of man. But these meadows nurtured the fever, the ague, dysentery, and pestilence in their bosom--the lake and the stream exhaled death, and at night fat unctuous vapours rose fold after fold from the valleys, and crept up in the dark and stole into the tent of the sleeper and wrapped him in their deadly embrace. So completely exhausted was the Brigade of Guards, that these 3,000 men, the flower of England, had to make two marches from Aladyn to Varna, which was not more than (not so much many people said as) ten miles. Their packs were carried for them. How astonished must have been the good people of England, sitting anxiously in their homes, day after day, expecting every morning to gladden their eyes with the sight of the announcement, in large type, of "Fall of Sebastopol," when they heard that their Guards--their _corps d'élite_--the pride of their hearts--the delight of their eyes--these Anakims, whose stature, strength, and massive bulk they exhibited to kingly visitors as no inapt symbols of our nation, had been so reduced by sickness, disease, and a depressing climate, that it was judged inexpedient to allow them to carry their own packs, or to permit them to march more than five miles a day, even though these packs were carried for them! In the Brigade there were before the march to Varna upwards of 600 sick men. [Sidenote: FINAL DELIBERATIONS.] The Highland Brigade was in better condition, but even the three noble regiments which composed it were far from being in good health. The Light Division had lost 110 or 112 men. The Second Division had suffered somewhat less. The little cavalry force had been sadly reduced, and the Third (Sir R. England's) Division, which had been encamped to the north-west of Varna, close outside the town, had lost upwards of 100 men also, the 50th Regiment, who were much worked, being particularly cut up. The ambulance corps had been completely crippled by the death of the drivers and men belonging to it, and the medical officers were called upon to make a special report on the mortality among them. In truth, it may be taken as an actual fact that each division of the army had been weakened by nearly one regiment, and that the arrival of the division of Sir George Cathcart did little more than raise the force to its original strength. The same day Lieutenant A. Saltmarshe, of the 11th Hussars, died of cholera. Dead bodies rose from the bottom in the harbour, and bobbed grimly around in the water, or floated in from sea, and drifted past the sickened gazers on board the ships--all buoyant, bolt upright, and hideous in the sun. At a Council of War, held at Marshal St. Arnaud's quarters on the 24th of August, the final decision was taken. There were present the Marshal, Lord Raglan, General Canrobert, Sir George Brown, Sir Edmund Lyons, Sir John Burgoyne, Admirals Dundas, Hamelin, and Bruat, and the deliberation lasted several hours. Sir John Burgoyne's views with regard to the point selected for our landing in the Crimea were not quite in unison with those of the Generals who have lately reconnoitred the best locality. It would not have been very politic to have published the decisions of this Council, even if they had been known, though secrets did leak out through closed doors and fastened windows. It was, indeed, said at the time, that the London journals did great mischief by publishing intelligence respecting the points to be attacked. Some people were absurd enough to say, with all possible gravity, that they would not be at all surprised if the whole expedition against Sebastopol were to be abandoned in consequence of articles in the English newspapers. Certainly, if any "dangerous information" were conveyed to the Czar in this way, it was not sent home from the head-quarters of the army, but was derived from sources beyond a correspondent's reach. Considerations connected with geographical position did not appear to exercise the slightest influence on the reason of persons who urged the extraordinary proposition that the publication in a London newspaper of a probable plan of campaign influenced the Czar in the dispositions he made to meet our attack. Even if the Czar believed that plan to be correct--and he might well entertain suspicions on that point--is it likely that he would take the trouble, as soon as he has read his morning paper, to send off a courier to the Crimea to prepare his Generals for an attack on a certain point which they must have hitherto left undefended? His spies in London rendered him much surer and better service. The debates in Parliament threw a much plainer and steadier light upon our movements. And yet so positive was the Emperor Nicholas that all our preparations were shams intended to deceive him, so unintelligible to him were the operations of a free press and free speech, that he persisted in thinking, up the very eve of the descent, that our armies were in reality destined to follow up his retreating legions on the Danube, and he obstinately rejected all Prince Menschikoff's appeals for reinforcements. Under any circumstances the Russian engineers knew their coast well enough to be ready to defend its weak points, and to occupy the best ground of defence against the hostile descent. They knew our object, if we went to the Crimea at all, must be the reduction of Sebastopol, and of course they took care to render the _primos aditus difficiles_. When the _Furious_ returned to the fleet, after a cruise along the south-western coast of the Crimea, she saw a Russian intrenched camp of about 6000 men placed above the very spot at which it seemed desirable we should effect a landing. Who told the Russians what the intentions of our chiefs were? Why, they _saw_ an English steam frigate, with Sir George Brown, General Canrobert, and Sir E. Lyons on board, making a deliberate survey of that very spot days before, and it was only natural to suppose that the same strategical knowledge which led the English and French Generals to select this place for the landing warned the Russians that it would be wise to defend it. Certainly it was not any article in a London journal which enabled the Russians to know the point selected by our Generals, so as to induce them to throw up an intrenchment and to form a camp of 6000 men there. However, Marshal St. Arnaud prevented much doubt existing as to our real intentions, for on the 25th he published the following Ordre Général. (No. 100.) "ARMÉE D'ORIENT. "ÉTAT MAJOR-GÉNÉRAL. "Soldats,--Vous venez de donner de beaux spectacles de persévérance, de calme et d'énergie, au milieu de circonstances douleureuses qu'il faut oublier. L'heure est venue de combattre, et de vaincre. "L'ennemi ne nous a pas attendu sur le Danube. Ses colonnes démoralisées, détruites par la maladie, s'en éloignent péniblement. C'est la Providence, peut-étre, qui a voulu nous épargner l'épreuve de ces contrées malsaines. C'est elle, aussi, qui nous appelle en Crimée, pays salubre comme le notre, et à Sebastopol, siége de la puissance Russe, dans ces murs où nous allons chercher ensemble le gage de la paix et de notre rétour dans nos foyers. "L'enterprise est grande, et digne de vous; vous la réaliserez à l'aide du plus formidable appareil militaire et maritime qui se vit jamais. Les flottes alliées, avec leurs trois mille canons et leurs vingt-cinq mille braves matelots, vos émules et vos compagnons d'armes, porteront sur la terre de Crimée une armée Anglaise, dont vos pères ont appris à respecter la haute valeur, une division choisie de ces soldats Ottomans qui viennent de faire leurs preuves sous vos yeux, et une armée Française que j'ai le droit et l'orgueil d'appeler l'élite de notre armée toute entière. "Je vois là plus que des gages de succès; j'y vois le succès lui-même. Généraux, Chefs de Corps, Officiers de toutes armes, vous partagerez, et vous ferez passer dans lâme de vos soldats la confiance dont la mienne est remplie. Bientôt, nous saluerons ensemble les trois drapeaux réunis flottant sur les ramparts de Sebastopol de notre cri nationale, 'Vive l'Empéreur!' "Au Quartier-général de Varna, Août 25, 1854. (Signée) "Le Maréchal de France, Comm.-en-Chef l'Armée d'Orient, "A. ST. ARNAUD." [Sidenote: EMBARKATION OF THE TROOPS.] In curious contrast to the above order, Lord Raglan issued a memorandum, requesting "Mr. Commissary-General Filder to take steps to insure that the troops should all be provided with a ration of porter for the next few days." It reminded one of the bathos of the Scotch Colonel's address to his men before the Pyramids, compared to Napoleon's high-flown appeal. The Light Division began its march from Monastir to Varna at five A.M. on Wednesday, the 23rd. The men were in the highest spirits on their march, and sang songs on the way; their packs were carried by mules and horses. They arrived at Yursakova, ten miles from Monastir, near the old camp of Sir De Lacy Evans's division, who had already left for Varna, at one o'clock in the day, and pitched their camp there. Sunday was a day of rest, and many of the men availed themselves of the opportunity afforded to them of receiving the Sacrament. Through the valley of Devno, "the Valley of Death," the men marched in mournful silence, for it was the place where they had left so many of their comrades, and where they had suffered so much. The air was tainted by the carcases of dead horses; and as some of the officers rode near the burial-places of the poor fellows in the division who had died of cholera, they were horrified to discover that the corpses had been dug up, most probably by the Bulgarians, for the sake of the blankets in which they had been interred, and had been left half-covered a prey to the dogs and vultures. On Monday the brigade again advanced and reached Karaguel, seven miles from Varna. All the other divisions began to move towards Varna at the same time, and prepared for embarkation as fast as they could be shipped from the neighbourhood of the town. The greatest care was taken to reduce the baggage and _impedimenta_ of the army to a minimum. To each regiment there was only allowed five horses; and as every officer had at least one--some, indeed, had two, and others three--there were some thirty-five or forty horses from every regiment to be provided for, so that the park formed near Varna for the derelicts consisted of 4000 government animals and 1200 officers' horses. On the 27th of August, most of the English men-of-war which had lain at Baltschik came down to Varna; and, including French, Turkish, and English vessels, there were seventeen sail of the line in the bay. All this time the sickness, though decreasing, continued to affect us. The 5th Dragoon Guards suffered so much--their commanding officer (Major Le Marchant) absent from ill-health, the senior Captain (Duckworth), the surgeon (Pitcairn), and the veterinary-surgeon (Fisher), dead, as well as a number of non-commissioned officers and privates--that it was dis-regimented for a time, and was placed under the command of Colonel Hodge, who incorporated it with his own regiment, the 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoons. On the morning of the 29th of August, the brigade of Guards and the brigade of Highlanders moved down to the beach, and were embarked on board the _Simoom_, the _Kangaroo_, and other large steamers. Captain L. T. Jones, H. M. S. _Samson_, Captain King of the _Leander_, and Captain Goldsmith, of the _Sidon_, deserved the greatest praise. The plan of fitting the paddle-box boats, so that they were capable of carrying seven horses each, was due to Lieutenant Roberts, Her Majesty's Steamer _Cyclops_, who worked hard, fitting up boats and pontoons. On 1st of September, the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd Divisions of the French army were embarked on board the vessels destined for their conveyance to the Crimea. Marshal St. Arnaud and his staff embarked at Varna, on board the _Berthollet_, on the 2nd of September, and at six o'clock the same evening shifted his headquarters to the _Ville de Paris_ in Baltjik Bay. Monday, September the 4th, was spent by the authorities in final preparations, in embarking stragglers of all kinds, in closing the departments no longer needed at Varna, such as the principal commissariat offices, the post-office, the ordnance and field train, &c. The narrow lanes were blocked up with mules and carts on their way to the beach with luggage, and the happy proprietors, emerging from the squalid courtyards of their whilome quarters, thronged the piers in search of boats, the supply of which was not by any means equal to the demand. Some of those most industrious fellows, the Maltese, who had come out and taken their harbour boats with them, made a golden harvest, for each ceased his usual avocation of floating stationer, baker, butcher, spirit merchant, tobacconist, and poultryman for the time, and plied for hire all along the shores of the bay. [Sidenote: PARTING SCENES.] BOOK II. DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION FOR THE CRIMEA--THE LANDING--THE MARCH--THE AFFAIR OF BARLJANAK--THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA--THE FLANK MARCH. CHAPTER I. Parting scenes--Extent of the Armada--Life at sea--Waiting for orders--Slow progress--The shores of the Crimea--Anchorage. The arrangements for the conveyance of the troops to their destination were of the largest and most perfect character; and when all the transports were united, they constituted an armada of 600 vessels, covered by a fleet with 3000 pieces of artillery. Although, at first sight, this force appeared irresistible, it could not be overlooked that the enemy had a large fleet within a few hours' sail--that in using our men-of-war as transports, we lost their services in case of a naval action--that our army had suffered much from illness and death, and that the expedition had something of uncertainty, if not audacity, in its character--all that was fixed being this, that we were to descend at the Katcha, beat the Russians, and take Sebastopol. Writing at the time, I said--"I am firmly persuaded that the patience of people at home, who are hungering and thirsting for the news of 'the Fall of Sebastopol,' will be severely tried, and that the chances are a little against the incidents of its capture being ready by Christmas for repetition at Astley's. It is late, very late, in the year for such a siege as there is before us, and I should not be surprised if we are forced to content ourselves with the occupation of a portion of the Crimea, which may become the basis of larger and more successful operations next year." Few but our generals, admirals, and some old officers, troubled their heads much about these things, except a few notorious old grumblers. The only persons who were dejected or melancholy were those who were compelled to stay behind. Such vast establishments as had been created at Varna for the use of our army could not be broken up without many fragments remaining, and these fragments must be watched. There were, besides, the poor invalids in the hospitals, the officers and men in charge of them and of various regimental stores, of depôts, of commissariat supplies, the commissariat officers themselves--in fact, the guardians of the _débris_ which an army leaves behind it, all melancholy, and lamenting their hard fate. The most extravagant efforts were made by some of the officers on whom the lot fell to remain, in order to evade so great a calamity. At the last moment many an aching heart was made happy by an order from head-quarters. The women of several of the regiments who had mournfully followed their husbands to the beach, and rent the air with their wailings when they heard they were to be separated from those with whom they had shared privation and pestilence, were allowed to go on board. It was found that no provision had been made for their domicile or feeding. A camp of women!--the very idea was ludicrous and appalling; and so, as they could not be left behind, the British Andromaches were perforce shipped on board the transports and restored to their Hectors. In the course of (Monday) September 4th, six English men-of-war and four French men-of-war left Varna Bay, and from morning to evening not an hour passed that some six or eight transports did not weigh anchor and steer away to the northward to the rendezvous at Baltschik. Sir Edmund Lyons, who had charge of the arrangements connected with the expedition, was busy all the day on board his flagship communicating with the shore and with the fleet. The signal for starting was very anxiously expected, but evening closed in on the bulk of the English flotilla still anchored in the waters of Varna, and for the last time, perhaps, in the history of the world, the echoes of its shores were woke up by the roll of English drums, and by the music of the bands of our regiments, which will, in all probability, never re-visit these ill-omened lands. As the sun set and shot his yellow rays across the distant hills, the summit of which formed our camping grounds, and lighted up the flat expanse of rolling vapours above the lake, one could not but give a sigh to the memory of those who were lying far away from the land of their fathers--whose nameless graves are scattered in every glade and on every knoll in that unkindly Moesian soil. However, the morrow came, and with it life and motion. A gun from the Admiral! Signals from the _Emperor_, the seat of power of the Admiralty agents! The joyful news throughout the fleet that we were to weigh, and to get off to our rendezvous in Baltschik as soon as we could. Many sailing transports were already stealing out to the southwards under all light canvas, in order to get a good offing. All the steamers were busy, clothing the bay and the adjacent coast with clouds of smoke as they got up steam, through which, as it shifted, and rose and fell, and thinned away under the influence of a crisp, fresh breeze, one could see the town of Varna, all burnt up and withered by fire, its white minarets standing up stiffly through the haze, its beach hemmed by innumerable boats, its be-cannoned walls, the blanched expanse around it of hill and plain, still thickly dotted with the camps of the French. [Sidenote: EXTENT OF THE ARMADA.] At ten o'clock A.M., Tuesday, September 4th, we were fairly under way, with a ship in tow. The _City of London_, in which I had a berth, carried the head-quarters of the 2nd Division, Sir De Lacy Evans, Lieutenant-General Commanding, Colonel Percy Herbert, Deputy Assistant Quarter Master General, Colonel Wilbraham, Deputy Assistant General, Captain Lane Fox, Captain Allix, aide-de-camp, Captain Gubbins, aide-de-camp, Captain Bryan, aide-de-camp, and Major Eman, 41st Regiment. The coast from Varna to Baltschik very much resembles that of Devonshire. It was as green, more richly wooded, and crowned by verdant expanses of dwarf forest trees, which undulate from the very verge of the sea to the horizon. For some four or five miles outside Varna, the French, camps dotted these pleasant-looking hills--the abode of fever and cholera. Then came the reign of solitude--not a homestead, not a path, not a sign of life visible as for the next eight or ten miles one coasted along the silent forest! Just about Baltschik the wood disappears, and the land becomes like our coast between the Forelands, with high white cliffs and bare green hills above them. The town itself, or rather the overgrown village, seemed through the glass to be as dirty and straggling as any Bulgaro-Turkish town it had been our lot to witness, and offered no temptation to go ashore. On steaming out of the bay northwards the number of steamers and sailing transports in sight was wonderful, but when, after a run of two hours, we anchored in Baltschik roads, one was almost disappointed at the spectacle, for the line of coast is so long, and the height of the cliffs inland so considerable, that the numerous vessels anchored in lines along the shore were dwarfed, as it were, by the magnitude of the landscape. It was only as the eye learnt to pick out three-deckers and large vessels--to recognize the _Britannia_ here, the _Trafalgar_ there, the _Himalaya_ further on--that the grandeur of these leviathans grew upon one, just as a simple attempt to count the vessels along the coast gave an idea of their numbers. In addition to the transports, there were several coal vessels for the supply of the steamers; some laden with Turkish coal from Heraclea, and others with coal from England. Towards evening Lord Raglan came from Varna on board H.M.S. _Caradoc_, Lieutenant Reynolds, which he had selected as his headquarters afloat. The Duke of Cambridge, and a portion of his staff, took up their quarters on board Her Majesty's ship _Triton_, Commander Lloyd. Many of the ships had to get water from the beach, to complete coaling, &c., and the masters were twice summoned on board the _Emperor_, to receive instructions from Captain Christie, R.N., respecting the sailing of the expedition, and the landing of the troops, &c., conveyed to him by the Rear-Admiral. The French were nowhere visible, and we learnt, on inquiry, that their fleet, with the few transports under their charge, had left on the previous Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and were to rendezvous at Fidonisi, or Serpents' Island, off the mouth of the Danube, near which they were to be joined by the fleets from Bourgas and Varna. Their men were nearly all on board line-of-battle ships. A squadron of steamers, with a multitude of brigs and transports in tow, was visible towards evening, steering north-east, and the tricolor could be seen ere evening flying from the peaks of the steamers; they passed by Baltschik with a stiff breeze off the land on their quarter. Towards evening the wind freshened and hauled round more to the northward; but the fleet rode easily at anchor all night. Wednesday, the 6th of September, was passed in absolute inactivity, so far as the bulk of the officers and men of the expedition were concerned. There was a fresh wind to the eastward, which would have carried the transports out rapidly to sea. We thought at the time that some arrangement with the French, or some deficiency to be made good, not known to us, was the cause of the delay.[7] The ships of the various divisions were got into order as far as possible, and the officers and men were in great measure consoled for the detention by the exchange of good fare on board ship for ration beef and bread and camp living. The soldier may have the sunny side of the wall in peace, but assuredly he has the bleaker side in times of war. Wherever the sailor goes he has his roof over his head, his good bed, his warm meal. He moves with his house about him. If he gets wet on deck he has a snug hammock to get into below, or a change of dry clothing, and his butcher and his baker travel beside him. From a wet watch outside, the soldier is lucky if he gets into a wet tent; a saturated blanket is his covering, and the earth is his pillow. He must carry his cold victuals for three days to come, and eat them as best he may, exposed to the inclemency of the weather, with no change of clothing and no prospect of warmth or shelter. These and such other topics could not fail to be discussed on board ship, and the discussion necessarily promoted a better understanding between the services, for Jack saw that these rigid gentlemen in red coats and straps and buckles, whom he is rather apt to look upon as Sybaritical and effeminate creatures, had to go through as much hard work and exposure as himself; and the soldier was not a little surprised, perhaps, to find that those whose business is upon the waters lived in comfort which he would gladly find in the best-appointed barrack. Sailors and soldiers worked together in the greatest harmony, although it was trying to the best of tempers to be turned out of bed for a stranger, and although people with only six feet square a-piece to live, move, and have their being in, when stowed away in thousands, might be expected to view their neighbours with a little reasonable dislike. [Sidenote: SIGNAL FOR SAILING.] At half-past four o'clock on Thursday morning, the 7th of September, three guns from the _Agamemnon_ fired in quick succession woke up the sleepers of the fleet. The signal-men made out through the haze of morning twilight the joyful order fluttering in the coloured bunting from the mizen of the Admiral, "Prepare to weigh anchor," and in a quarter of an hour the volumes of smoke rising from the steamers, mingled with white streaks of steam, showed that not much time would be lost in obeying it. Ere seven o'clock arrived the steamers had weighed anchor, and each was busy "dodging about" the mass of transports to pick up its own particular charges. This was a work of time, of trouble, and of difficulty. Towing is at all times an unpleasant operation, but it is especially difficult to arrange the details and to get the towed vessels under weigh when there is such a mass of shipping to thread as there was at present. When the vessels were found, and the hawsers passed and secured, then came the next great difficulty--to get them into their assigned places in the several lines of the different divisions. There was some time lost before the lines were formed, and the signal "to sail" was given. With a gentle breeze off shore the flotilla started in nearly the order assigned to it. The lines were about half a mile apart, and each line was four or five miles long, for the towing power of the several steamers was so unequal, that the weaker ones tailed off and the stronger got ahead, in spite of repeated orders to keep station. It was a vast armada. No pen could describe its effect. Ere an hour had elapsed it had extended itself over half the circumference of the horizon. Possibly no expedition so complete and so terrible in its means of destruction, with such enormous power in engines of war and such capabilities of locomotion, was ever yet sent forth. The speed was restricted to four miles and a half per hour, but with a favouring wind it was difficult to restrain the vessels to that rate, and the transports set no sail. The course lay N.E. by E., and the fleet was ordered to make for a point 40 miles due west of Cape Tarkan. On looking to the map it will be seen that the point thus indicated is about 50 miles east of Fidonisi, or Serpents' Island, off the mouth of the Danube, and that it lies about 100 miles to the north-east of Sebastopol, Cape Tarkan being a promontory of the Crimea, 63 miles north of the fortress. It was understood that this point was the rendezvous given to our French and Turkish allies. The fleet, in five irregular and straggling lines, flanked by men-of-war and war steamers, advanced slowly, filling the atmosphere with innumerable columns of smoke, which gradually flattened out into streaks and joined the clouds, adding to the sombre appearance of this well-named "Black" Sea. The land was lost to view very speedily beneath the coal clouds and the steam clouds of the fleet, and as we advanced, not an object was visible in the half of the great circle which lay before us, save the dark waves and the cold sky. Not a bird flew, not a fish leaped, not a sail dotted the horizon. Behind us was all life and power--vitality, force, and motion--a strange scene in this so-called Russian lake! From time to time signals were made to keep the stragglers in order, and to whip up the laggards, but the execution of the plan by no means equalled the accuracy with which it had been set forth upon paper, and the deviations from the mathematical regularity of the programme were very natural. The effect was not marred by these trifling departures from strict rectilinearity, for the fleet seemed all the greater and the more imposing as the eye rested on these huge black hulls weighing down upon the face of the waters, and the infinite diversity of rigging which covered the background with a giant network. Towards three o'clock we came up with eight French and Turkish steamers, towing about 50 small brigs and schooners under the French flag, which appeared to be laden with commissariat stores, for there were very few men on board. They steered rather more to the east than we did, and we soon passed them. Soon afterwards several large French men-of-war steamers, with transports in tow, appeared in the distance on our starboard quarter (right-hand side), steering the same course with ourselves, and they seemed to get very close to the stragglers of our fleet. One could not but contrast the comfort of our soldiers in their splendid transports with the discomfort to which our brave allies must have been exposed in their small shallops of 150 and 200 tons burden. Towards night, quick steamers were sent on in advance and on the flanks, to look out, as a matter of precaution. At daybreak they returned, and reported to the Admiral that the French and Turkish fleets were steering eastward across our bows a long way in advance. In the course of Friday morning, the 8th, the wind chopped round, and blew rather freshly right in our teeth. The result was a severe strain upon hawsers and steamers; in some instances the hawsers parted and the transports drifted away. Our progress against a head wind and light head sea was tedious, and on taking our observation at noon we found we were in lat. 48 33 N., long. 31 10 E., which gave us an average speed of 3 7-10ths miles since we started on Thursday. At ten A.M. we steered by signal N.E. 1/2 N. About eleven o'clock the topgallantsails of a large fleet steering in two lines were seen above the horizon. Signals were made for the transports to close up and keep in their stations, and the _Agamemnon_ stood on in advance to communicate with the strangers. The _Britannia_, towed by a man-of-war steamer and followed by the _Caradoc_, went in the same direction. At the same time the _Napoleon_, with a convoy of steamers and transports, rose well into sight on our starboard quarter. The _Trafalgar_, the _Terrible_, and the _Retribution_, followed the _Britannia_, and other men-of-war were in advance on our bows. [Sidenote: SLOW PROGRESS.] At half-past twelve o'clock the Turco-French fleet was clearly visible, steering nearly E.N.E. in two lines. They were all under plain sail aloft and alow--27 sail of the line, frigates and steamers. As we came up, they laid their maintopsails aback, and hove-to while we passed. They were in two lines, and the decks of those steamers we came near were covered with troops, as thickly packed as they could stand. Large boats and flats were slung over the sides and lashed amidships. Some of the Turks (who appeared to have six line-of-battle ships--one three-decker and five two-deckers, and a couple of frigates) carried troops also. We passed through the fleet slowly, and about three o'clock they were hull down on our starboard quarter. The wind went down towards evening, but the weather became raw and cold. When we came up with the French fleet, Admiral Dundas went on board the _Ville de Paris_, where there was a conference, at which Marshal St. Arnaud was seized with such a violent attack of his old malady that he was obliged to leave the table. It had been reported to the French General that there was a Russian camp on the Katcha, which was the spot indicated by the reconnaissance under Sir George Brown and General Canrobert as the best place for the disembarkation; and this circumstance, coupled with the fact that the gallant officers in recommending the place had not duly considered the small size of the bay, and the great size of the fleet, caused some difference of opinion in the council. Lord Raglan could not attend this conference on account of the swell, which prevented his getting up the side of the _Ville de Paris_, and Marshal St. Arnaud requested Admiral Hamelin and Colonel Trochu to repair on board the _Caradoc_ and ask his opinion. It was there decided that a second commission of exploration should be sent to examine the coast from Eupatoria to Sebastopol, but not until the French Marshal had faintly recommended a descent on Theodosia (Kaffa), instead of the west coast of the Crimea. General Canrobert, Colonel Trochu, Colonel Leboeuf, Admiral Bruat, General Thierry, General Bizot, General Martimprey, and Colonel Rose[8] were deputed on this service by the French. Sir John Burgoyne, Sir George Brown, Admiral Lyons, and some other officers, represented the English. About six o'clock on Saturday morning, the _Agamemnon_ and _Caradoc_, accompanied by the _Samson_ and the _Primauguet_, left the fleet and steered due east, a course which would bring them to the coast of the Crimea, a little above Sebastopol. For the rest of the fleet, the greater part of Saturday was almost lost, for we did not move eight miles in the interval between eight A.M. and noon. The advanced ships were ordered by signal to lie-to for the rear of the fleet, which was very far astern. Our observation at noon gave our position lat. 44 30 N., long. 30 11 E., which is 22 miles north-west of the point, 40 miles west of Cape Tarkan, for which we were ordered to steer, and it appeared we were keeping away considerably to the westward and northward at present. From ten A.M. till three P.M. we scarcely moved a mile. Finally, all cast anchor in the middle of the Black Sea, in 25 fathoms water. The weather fine--the precious time going fast. So passed the greater part of Saturday and all day Sunday. Night came on, but still there was no sign of the _Agamemnon_ or of the French and English Generals-in-Chief. The French and Turkish fleets combined were ten leagues south this morning, trying to beat up to us. The _Napoleon_ arrived and anchored near us, and several French steamers with transports in tow hove in sight. All the Generals not in the secret of our policy were sorely puzzled. Our exact bearings at noon, verified and amended, were, lat. 45 36 north, long. 31 23 east. This was about 25 miles north and west of the original rendezvous given to the fleet at starting. Many of the ships were so short of coal they would have had some difficulty in steaming to Sebastopol, in case it was resolved to go there. We made very slow progress. At half-past two o'clock the French fleet was visible on the starboard or right-hand bow, hull down, and with their topmasts only visible above the horizon. They seemed to be steering towards the south-east. The sun was hot, but the wind felt cold and piercing; at times slight showers fell. The sea was very smooth and tranquil, and of that peculiar dark colour which has induced so many nations to agree in giving it names of similar significance. The fleet stretched across the whole diameter of the circle--that is, they had a front of some eighteen miles broad, and gradually the irregular and broken lines tapered away till they were lost in little mounds and dots of smoke, denoting the position of the steamers far down below the horizon. As many of the seamen in the merchant vessels and transports had been grumbling at the expected boat service, which rendered them liable to shot and shell if the enemy should oppose the landing of the troops, and some had gone so far, indeed, as to say they would not serve at all--particularly the seamen of the _Golden Fleece_, a communication was made to Admiral Dundas, before the departure of the ships from their anchorage, and his reply, to the following effect, was circulated and read among the crews of the transports, to their great satisfaction, on Sunday morning:-- "Having been in communication with General Lord Raglan on the subject of officers and men employed in the transport-service receiving pensions for wounds, I beg you will make known to them that the same pensions as are given to the officers and seamen of the Royal Navy will be granted to them for wounds sustained in action. "W. DEANS DUNDAS." [Sidenote: THE SHORES OF THE CRIMEA.] The _Caradoc_ and _Primauguet_ returned at seven A.M., on the morning of the 11th September, with their attendant guardians, after a cruise along the coast; on the morning of the 10th they arrived off Sebastopol, which they reconnoitred from the distance of three miles, and then proceeded to Cape Chersonese, where the beach appeared favourable for a descent, but the _timides avis_ opposed the proposition on the ground that the men would have to fight for their landing. Some camps were seen near the town, and on turning towards the north, and arriving off the mouth of the Belbek, the Commissioners saw a small camp on the heights over the river. It was decided that this beach and little bay were too close to the enemy for the landing. Then they went upwards to the Katcha, which Sir George Brown had recommended, but all the officers at once condemned the spot, as the beach was much too small. There were some troops visible on shore. The _Caradoc_ next ran on to the Alma, which was found to be protected by large camps along the southern ridges--proceeding towards Eupatoria she lay off a beach between the sea and a salt-water lake about fourteen miles south of that town, which after some consideration, the Generals fixed upon as the scene of their landing, and having reconnoitred Eupatoria, they made for the rendezvous. In about half an hour after they joined us, signal was made to the transports to steer to Eupatoria. Soon afterwards this signal was recalled, and was replaced by another to "steer S.S.E." For the whole day we ran very quietly on this course without any incident worthy of notice. The night closed in very darkly. The lightning flashed in sheets and forked streams every two or three minutes, from heavy masses of clouds behind us, and the fleet was greatly scattered. We were driving through a squall of rain and wind, varied by hailstorms. The thermometer was still at 65°. Our course was rather hazardous at times, and so many steamers were steering across us that great care was required to steer clear of them in the dark. The moon, which would otherwise have aided us, was quite obscured by banks of clouds. During the night the expedition altered its course slightly to the eastward, and stood in more directly towards the land. The night was fine, but the sharpness of the air told of the approach of winter. Two heavy showers of hail, which fell at intervals in the morning, covered the decks with coatings of ice a couple of inches thick, but the sun and the broom soon removed them. Early in the morning of the 12th, just after dawn, a dark line was visible on our port (or left-hand) side, which became an object of interest and discussion, for some maintained it was land, others declared it was cloud-land. The rising sun decided the question in favour of those who maintained the substantiality of the appearance. It was indeed the shore of the Crimea. The first impression as we drew near was, that the coast presented a remarkable resemblance to the dunes which fortify the northern shores of La Belle France against her old enemy Neptune; but when the leading ships had got within a distance of 18 or 20 miles, it was evident that the country beyond the line of beach was tolerably well cultivated to the margin of the sand. Clumps of trees, very few and wide apart, could be made out with the glass, and at last a whitewashed farm-house or fishing-station, surrounded by outhouses, was visible on the sea-shore. The land was evidently a promontory, for it tapered away at each end to a thin line, which was lifted up by the mirage above the sea horizon, and was lost in air. We had, in fact, struck on the coast south of Cape Tarkan. At seven o'clock a remarkable table-land came into view in quite an opposite direction, namely, on our starboard or right-hand side, showing that we were running into a deep indentation of the coast. By degrees, as we advanced, this hill, which was in the form of the section of a truncated cone, became a very prominent object, and was generally supposed to be Tchatyr Dagh, a remarkable mountain of some 5000 feet high, east of Sebastopol. As no course had been given to steer by during the night, the fleet scattered greatly, and was seen steering in all directions. At 9.30 A.M. the steamer leading the second division was stopped, her head lying N.E. by E. The other divisions "slowed" and stopped also, or quickened their speed, as they happened to be before or behind their positions. At 10 A.M. a fleet of eleven men-of-war appeared in the north-west, steering towards us. Signal was made to close up and keep in order. At a quarter past ten signal was made to steer E.N.E. by compass. This unexpected change of course puzzled us all greatly, and we were thus ordered to go back on the very course we had just come. About 8 A.M. we had been in about 44 45 lat., 32 30 long., as we now began to steer away from land towards our original rendezvous. The average speed of the expedition was about three miles an hour. At one o'clock we steered due N. by W., the fleet of transports and of men-of-war being visible in all directions, some going south, others east, others west, others north--in fact, it puzzled every one but the Admiral, or those who were in the secret, to form the slightest notion of what we were doing. Three three-deckers, two two-deckers, two frigates, and four steamers, ran away on our starboard side, as our head was turned from the land, to which we had been steering, and lapped over, as it were, the wing of the fleet of transports. Out of all this apparent chaos, however, order was springing, for these changes of our course were no doubt made with the view of picking up stragglers, and sweeping up all the scattered ships. The _Emperor_ led the way towards the N.E., and great was the grumbling and surprise of the captains, Admiralty agents, and military men with a taste for aquatics. "We have been steering S.E. all night, and now we are steering N.W., and going back again--very strange!" &c., was the cry. Others believed the expedition was only intended as a demonstration. In fact, "they knew all along" that was all that was meant, and that we were going to Anapa or Odessa, or some other pet destination of the speakers, after we had thoroughly frightened the Russ in Sebastopol. There were wise men, too, who said the expedition was a feint at that particular point, and that when we had drawn the garrison out of Sebastopol we should run suddenly down and take it with comparative ease, while deprived of its usual number of defenders. We had, however, only gone on this course for two hours when the leading ships of the lines stopped engines, the fleet passing slowly through the rear of the transports towards the southward, with a fine leading breeze. None of the French expedition were clearly visible, but some steamers and sailing ships far away to the N.W. were supposed to belong to it. At 3.15 signal was made from the _Emperor_ to steer W.N.W. This order completely baffled even the sagest of our soothsayers, and took the wind out of the sails of all the prophets, who were rendered gloomy and disconsolate for the rest of the day. But when, in a few minutes after, the _Emperor_ made signal to steer by compass N.E. by E., and we turned our head once more in-shore, it was felt that any attempt to divine the intentions of our rulers was hopeless. We were also desired to prepare to anchor, but in the depth of water under us--not less than forty fathoms--it was very likely that many ships would never be able to get up their anchors and cables again if we had done so, as they were not strong enough to stand so great a strain. The expedition had been got together pretty well by this time, and with a freshening breeze stood in for the land. It presented the same aspect as the other portion of it, which we had seen closely earlier in the day. [Sidenote: ANCHORAGE.] A few farm-houses were dimly discernible in the distance over the waste and low-lying plains, which seemed embrowned by great heats. Little dark specks, supposed to be cattle, could also be distinguished. Shortly before six o'clock the anchor was let go in sixteen fathoms of water, at the distance of twelve or fifteen miles from shore. The number of vessels was prodigious--forty-four steamers could be counted, though many of the French vessels were not visible. When evening set in, the bands of the various regiments, the drums and fifes of those who had no bands, the trumpets of cavalry and horse artillery, and the infantry bugles formed a _concert monstre_, which must have been heard on shore in spite of the contrary breeze. Some of the ships lay closer in than we did, and they were so thick that collisions took place more than once, happily without any serious consequences. The sunset was of singular beauty and splendour. Heavy masses of rich blue clouds hung in the west, through innumerable golden chasms of which the sun poured a flood of yellow glory over the dancing waters, laden with great merchantmen, with men-of-war staggering under press of canvas, and over line after line of black steamers, contending in vain to deface the splendour of the scene. When night came on, and all the ships' lights were hung out, it seemed as if the stars had settled down on the face of the waters. Wherever the eye turned were little constellations twinkling far and near, till they were lost in faint halos in the distance. The only idea one could give of this strange appearance is that suggested by the sight from some eminence of a huge city lighted up, street after street, on a very dark night. Flashes of the most brilliant lightning, however, from time to time lifted the veil of night from the ocean, and disclosed for an instant ships and steamers lying at anchor as far as could be seen. About eight o'clock, just as every one had turned in for the night, orders were sent on board to the deputy-quartermaster-general of each division respecting the preparations for the disembarkation of the men. The men seemed in excellent health and spirits. The number of fever and cholera cases, though greater than we could have wished, was not sufficient to cause any very great alarm. No doubt the voyage had done the army good, and they all looked forward with confidence to their landing next day. The place off which we anchored on the night of Tuesday, September 12th, was marked on the charts as Schapan. It is fourteen miles distant N.N.E. from our starting-point on Tuesday at noon, so that we only ran that length the whole of the afternoon from twelve to six o'clock. CHAPTER II. Eupatoria--Orders for the landing--The French land first--Cossacks in sight--Sir George Brown's escape--A brush with the Cossacks--Tartar allies--Shelling a Russian camp--An unpleasant night--A garrison at Eupatoria. At six o'clock on the morning of the 13th, signal was given to weigh and proceed, and at eight o'clock the lines were formed and the expedition proceeded, steering towards the S.E. The French and Turkish line-of-battle ships joined us in the course of the day. A division of the allies went on in front, and cruised towards Sebastopol. It was evident, from the course we had taken, that the expedition was going towards Eupatoria, a town situated on a low promontory of land about thirty-four miles distant from Sebastopol. Towards noon the ships of the expedition closed in with the shore. The country was flat, but numerous herds of cattle were to be seen in the plains and salt marshes, and the farm-houses became more frequent as we proceeded southwards. At noon Eupatoria bore ten miles S.E. by E. from us. We soon after saw the Cossacks in twos or threes--or at least horsemen whom every one declared to be those famous irregulars--scouring along towards the town, but there were very few of them, and they were at long intervals; now and then a farmer-looking man, in a covered cart, was visible, jogging along, as it appeared, with perfect indifference to the formidable apparition of some 400 vessels keeping company with him at the distance of some five or six miles only. Eupatoria soon became visible. It lies on a spit of sand, and for a long time we imagined that it was defended by heavy works, for the solid stone houses close by the sea-coast were so increased by refraction and lifted up so high, that they looked like forts. The town is astonishingly clean, perhaps by contrast with Varna and Gallipoli. A large barrack was in course of erection near the town on the north side. Towards the south side were innumerable windmills, and several bathing-boxes, gaily painted, along the beach gave an air of civilization to the place, in spite of the old Turkish minarets which peered above the walls in a very dilapidated state. The chapel was a conspicuous object, and boasted of a large dome. Many square stone buildings were in view. At a quarter past three the expedition anchored off the town, at the distance of two or three miles. We could see up the main streets of the town with our glasses very clearly. Cossacks dotted all the hills, watching us, and some of them were "driving" the cattle across the sandy hillocks towards the interior. There seemed to be a blockhouse on shore, and a kind of earthwork, near which was a flagstaff, but no flag was exhibited. The _Caradoc_ slowly coasted by the flat and very low shore close in. A boat with Colonel Steele, Colonel Trochu, and Mr. Calvert, interpreter, proceeded towards the quay with a flag of truce, and summoned the town, which the governor surrendered at once, as he had only 200 invalids under his command. He said, very brusquely, "Nous sommes tous rendus, faites ce que vous voulez." Some Russian soldiers stood gazing on the expedition from the mounds of earth near the town, and we were amused by seeing the process of relieving guard, which was done in very good style by three regulars. They left a sentry behind, in lieu of the man whom they relieved. [Sidenote: THE PLACE OF LANDING.] There was only one vessel in the roadstead--a Tartar sloop of sixty or seventy tons. The _Tribune_ stood leisurely in as soon as the fleet anchored, till she was within half a mile of the town. A boat put off with four men, who pulled towards the sloop, got into her, and immediately hoisted a white flag; the first prize on the shore of the Crimea! All this time the people were gazing at us out of the windows, from the corners of the streets, and from the roofs of the houses. All the vessels were drawn up in immense lines, with a front extending over nine miles, and with an unknown depth--for the rigging and sails of the distant transports belonging to the expedition were lost far below the horizon; and after we had anchored, stragglers arrived every hour. After a short conversation by signal between generals and admirals, towards eight o'clock P.M. the _Agamemnon_ sent off boats to the steamers and transports with the following order to the quartermasters-general of division:-- ORDERS FOR SAILING. "Wednesday night. "The Light Division to be actually under way at one A.M. to-morrow morning. "The Fourth Division to sail at two A.M. "The First Division to sail at three A.M. "The Third Division and the Fifth Division to sail at four A.M. "Steer S.S.E. for eight miles. Rendezvous in lat. 45 degrees. Do not go nearer to shore than eight fathoms." These orders were obeyed, and after an interchange of rockets from the admirals, the divisions weighed in the order indicated, and slowly stood along the coast till about eight o'clock in the morning, when we anchored off Staroe Ukroplenie, or the Old Fort. The place thus selected for our landing was a low strip of beach and shingle, cast up by the violence of the surf, and forming a sort of causeway between the sea and a stagnant salt-water lake. The lake is about one mile long, and half a mile broad, and when we first arrived, its borders and surface were frequented by vast flocks of wildfowl. The causeway was not more than two hundred yards broad, leading, at the right or southern extremity of the lake, by a gentle ascent, to an irregular table-land or plateau of trifling elevation, dotted with tumuli or barrows, such as are seen in several parts of England. Towards the sea this plateau presented a precipitous face of red clay and sandstone, varying in height from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet, and it terminated by a descent almost to the sea-level, at the distance of nearly two miles from the shores of the lake. Thence towards the south there was a low sandy beach, with a fringe of shingle raised by the action of the waves above the level of the land, and saving it from inundation. This low coast stretched along as far as the eye could reach, till it was lost beneath the base of the mountain ranges over Sebastopol. The country inland, visible from the decks of our ships, was covered with cattle, with grain in stack, with farm-houses. The stubble-fields were covered with wild lavender, southernwood, and other fragrant shrubs, which the troops collected for fuel, and which filled the air with an aromatic perfume. As we cruised towards Eupatoria, we could see the people driving their carts and busy in their ordinary occupations. Now and then some Cossacks were visible, scouring along the roads to the interior, and down south towards the menaced stronghold of the Czar; but they were not numerous, and at times it was doubtful whether the people we saw were those freebooters of the Don, or merely Crim Tartar herdsmen, armed with cattle-spears. The post carriage from Sebastopol to Odessa was also seen rolling leisurely along, and conveying, probably, news of the great armament with which the coast was menaced. We were further disappointed to find the natives in dress and aspect very like our friends of Bulgaria. They were better kempt, and seemed better clad; but the "style" of the men was the same as that of the people with whom we had been so long and so unpleasantly familiar. The daybreak of Thursday (September 14) gave promise of a lovely morning, but the pledge was not quite fulfilled. The sun rose from a cloudless sky. Towards noon the heat of his mid-day beams was tempered by a gentle breeze, and by some floating fleecy vapours, which turned speedily into showers of rain, and the afternoon was dark and gloomy. The vast armada, which had moved on during the night in perfect order, studded the horizon with a second heaven of stars, and, covering the face of the sea with innumerable lights, advanced parallel with the coast till it gradually closed in towards the shore near Lake Saki. At seven A.M. most of the fleet were in shore near their prescribed positions, but it was found necessary to send the _Firebrand_ and some other steamer to sea, in order to tow up the slower transports of men-of-war. The _Emperor_, which was our guiding star, did not keep exactly in her position, or the places taken by the leading steamers of the rest of the fleet were wrong, and some doubt and a little confusion arose in consequence; but the absence of an enemy rendered any slight deviations from order of comparatively trifling importance. The greatest offender against the prescribed order of disembarkation was the Admiral himself, who, instead of filling the place assigned to him in the centre of his fleet, stood out four miles from the shore, and signalled for four ships of the line to come out from among us and reconnoitre. [Sidenote: THE FRENCH THE FIRST TO LAND.] As the ships of our expedition drew up in lines parallel to the beach, the French fleet passed us under steam, and extended itself on our right, and ran in close to shore below the cliffs of the plateau. Their small war steamers went much nearer than ours were allowed to do, and a little after seven o'clock the first French boat put off from one of the men-of-war; not more than fifteen or sixteen men were on board her. She was beached quietly on shore at the southern extremity of the real cliff already mentioned. The crew leaped out; they formed into a knot on the strand, and seemed busily engaged for a few moments over one spot of ground, as though they were digging a grave. Presently a flag-staff was visible above their heads, and in a moment more the tricolor was run up to the top, and fluttered out gaily in the wind, while the men took off their hats, and no doubt did their "_Vive l'Empereur!_" in good style. The French were thus the first to take possession and seisin of the Crimea.[9] There was no enemy in sight. The most scrutinizing gaze at this moment could not have detected a hostile uniform along the coast. The French Admiral fired a gun shortly after eight o'clock, and the disembarkation of their troops commenced. In little more than an hour they got 6000 men on shore. This was very smart work, but it must be remembered that nearly all the French army were on board line-of-battle ships, and were at once carried from their decks to the land by the men-of-war's boats. The instant the French had landed a regiment, a company was pushed on to reconnoitre--skirmishers or pickets were sent on in front. As each regiment followed in column, its predecessors deployed, extended front, and advanced in light marching order _en tirailleur_, spreading out like a fan over the plains. It was most curious and interesting to observe their progress, and to note the rapid manner in which they were appropriating the soil. In about an hour after their first detachment had landed, nearly 9000 troops were on shore, and their advanced posts were faintly discernible between three and four miles from the beach, like little black specks moving over the cornfields, and darkening the highways and meadow paths. The _Montebello_ carried upwards of 1400 men, in addition to her crew. The _Valmy_ had in all 3000. The _Ville de Paris_ and _Henri Quatre_ were laden with men in proportion; and all the line-of-battle ships and steamers had full cargoes of troops. In fact, it was found that their small brigs and schooners were neither safe nor comfortable, and that they were better suited for carrying stores and horses than men. The fleet of French men-of-war carried more than 20,000 men. Their whole force to be landed consisted of 23,600 men. Our army amounted to 27,000 men, who were embarked in a vast number of transports, covering a great extent of water. But they were carried in comfort and safety; and, though there was still much sickness on board, it was as nothing compared to the mortality among the closely-packed French. Perhaps no army ever was conveyed with such luxury and security from shore to shore as ours in the whole history of war. A body of French Spahis, under Lieutenant de Moleyn, were the first cavalry to land. Next morning these men attacked an advanced post, and cut off a Russian officer and a few soldiers, whom they carried back to camp. About nine o'clock one black ball was run up to the fore of the _Agamemnon_ and a gun was fired to enforce attention to the signal. This meant, "Divisions of boats to assemble round ships for which they are told off, to disembark infantry and artillery." In an instant the sea was covered with a flotilla of launches, gigs, cutters, splashing through the water, some towing flats, and the large Turkish boats, others with horse-floats plunging heavily after them. They proceeded with as great regularity as could be expected to their appointed ships, and the process of landing commenced. Up to this moment not an enemy was to be seen; but as the boats began to shove off from the ships, five horsemen slowly rose above the ridge on the elevated ground, to the right of the strip of beach which separated the salt-water lake from the sea in front of us. After awhile four of them retired to one of the tumuli inland opposite the French fleet. The other retained his position, and was soon the cynosure of all neighbouring eyes. The Russian was within about 1100 yards of us, and through a good telescope we could watch his every action. He rode slowly along by the edge of the cliff, apparently noting the number and disposition of the fleet, and taking notes with great calmness in a memorandum book. He wore a dark green frock-coat, with a little silver lace, a cap of the same colour, a sash round his waist, and long leather boots. His horse, a fine bay charger, was a strange contrast to the shaggy rough little steeds of his followers. There they were, "the Cossacks," at last!--stout, compact-looking fellows, with sheepskin caps, uncouth clothing of indiscriminate cut, high saddles, and little fiery ponies, which carried them with wonderful ease and strength. Each of these Cossacks carried a thick lance of some fifteen feet in length, and a heavy sabre. At times they took rapid turns by the edge of the cliff in front of us--now to the left, now to the rear, of their officer, and occasionally they dipped out of sight, over the hill, altogether. Then they came back, flourishing their lances, and pointed to the accumulating masses of the French on their right, and more than half-a-mile from them, on the shore, or scampered over the hill to report progress as to the lines of English boats advancing to the beach. Their officer behaved very well. He remained for an hour within range of a Minié rifle, and making a sketch in his portfolio of our appearance, we all expected she was going to drop a shell over himself and his little party. We were glad our expectations were not realized, if it were only on the chance of the sketch being tolerably good, so that the Czar might really see what our armada was like. [Sidenote: FIRST TRACES OF THE ENEMY.] Meantime the English boats were nearing the shore, not in the order of the programme, but in irregular groups; a company of a regiment of the Light Division, the 7th Fusileers, under Lieutenant-Colonel Yea, I think, landed first on the beach to the left of the cliffs;[10] then came a company of the 2nd Battalion of the Rifle Brigade, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Lawrence: a small boat from the _Britannia_ commanded by Lieutenant Vesey, had, however, preceded the Fusileers, and disembarked some men on the beach, who went down into the hollow at the foot of the cliffs. The Russian continued his sketching. Suddenly a Cossack crouched down and pointed with his lance to the ascent of the cliffs. The officer turned and looked in the direction. We looked too, and, lo! a cocked hat rose above the horizon. Another figure, with, a similar head-dress, came also in view. The first was on the head of Sir George Brown, on foot; the second we found out to be the property of the Assistant Quartermaster-general Airey. Sir George had landed immediately after the company of the Fusileers on their right, and having called Colonel Lysons' attention to the ground where he wished the Light Division to form, he walked on towards the cliff or rising ground on the right of the salt-water lake. The scene was exciting. It was evident the Russian and the Cossack saw Sir George, but that he did not see them. The Russian got on his horse, the Cossacks followed his example, and one of them cantered to the left to see that the French were not cutting off their retreat, while the others stooped down over their saddle-bows and rode stealthily, with lowered lances, towards the Englishmen. Sir George was in danger, but he did not know it. Neither did the Russians see the picket advancing towards the brow of the hill, for our General was not alone, Sergeant Maunsell and two privates of the 23rd had followed him as he advanced towards the hill; and they had not gone very far when Sir George ordered one of them to go back, and tell the officer commanding the company to advance, and extend his men along the brow of the hill. Sir George was busy scanning the country, and pointing out various spots to the Quartermaster-general. Suddenly the two turned and slowly descended the hill--the gold sash disappeared--the cocked hat was eclipsed--Cossacks and officers dismounted and stole along by the side of their horses. They, too, were hid from sight in a short time, and on the brow of the cliff appeared a string of native carts. General Airey had seen these arabas, and applied to Colonel Lysons to know if he should not intercept them. In about five minutes two or three tiny puffs of smoke rose over the cliff, and presently the faint cracks of a rifle were audible to the men in the nearest ships. In a few minutes more the Cossacks were flying like wind on the road towards Sebastopol, and crossing close to the left of the French lines of skirmishers. Sir George Brown, whose sight was very indifferent, had a near escape of being taken prisoner. The Cossacks, who had been dodging him, made a dash when they were within less than a hundred yards. The General had to run, and was only saved from capture by the fire of the Fusileers. The Cossacks bolted. The first blood spilt in this campaign was that of a poor boy, an arabajee, who was wounded in the foot by the volley which dislodged them; and our capture consisted of fourteen arabas, in which were found abundance of delicious fruit and stores of firewood. The Cossacks beat the drivers to hasten them in taking the bullocks out of the carts, nor did they desist in their attempts till one of them was badly hit, and our men were close at hand. The drivers came in to us when the Cossacks rode off. The Light Division got on shore very speedily, and were all landed, with the exception of a few companies, in an hour. The First Division landed simultaneously with the leading division; the Duke of Cambridge and his staff being early on the beach, the Brigadiers Sir C. Campbell and Major-General Bentinck preceding their respective brigades. As the regiments landed, the brigades were formed in contiguous columns at quarter distance. The Light Division was on the left, the First Division the next, and so on in order towards the right. The Second Division had landed. Sir De Lacy Evans got on shore with his staff about half-past ten o'clock. By eleven o'clock, the Rifles and Fusileers had been inspected, and were marching from the left of the line, along the front of the other regiments, towards the right. They ascended the slope of the hill over the cliffs, passing by the pickets and sentries who had been placed on outpost duty by Sir George Brown, and marching straight on over the plain I have described inland. Very amusing was it to watch the loading and unloading of the boats. A gig or cutter, pulled by eight or twelve sailors, with a paddle-box boat, flat, or Turkish pinnace in tow (the latter purchased for the service), would come up alongside a steamer or transport in which troops were ready for disembarkation. The officers of each company first descended, each man in full dress. Over his shoulder was slung his havresack, containing what had been, ere it underwent the process of cooking, four pounds and a half of salt meat, and a bulky mass of biscuit of the same weight. This was his ration for three days. Besides this, each officer carried his greatcoat, rolled up and fastened in a hoop round his body, a wooden canteen to hold water, a small ration of spirits, whatever change of under-clothing he could manage to stow away, his forage-cap, and, in most instances, a revolver. Each private carried his blanket and greatcoat strapped up into a kind of knapsack, inside which was a pair of boots, a pair of socks, a shirt, and, at the request of the men themselves, a forage-cap; he also carried his water canteen, and the same rations as the officer, a portion of the mess cooking apparatus, firelock and bayonet of course, cartouch box and fifty rounds of ball-cartridge for Minié, sixty rounds for smooth-bore arms. [Sidenote: OUR BLUE-JACKETS ASHORE.] As each man came creeping down the ladder, Jack helped him along tenderly from rung to rung till he was safe in the boat, took his firelock and stowed it away, removed his knapsack and packed it snugly under the seat, patted him on the back, and told him "not to be afeerd on the water;" treated "the sojer," in fact, in a very kind and tender way, as though he were a large but not a very sagacious "pet," who was not to be frightened or lost sight of on any account, and did it all so quickly, that the large paddle-box boats, containing 100 men, were filled in five minutes. Then the latter took the paddle-box in tow, leaving her, however, in charge of a careful coxswain, and the same attention was paid to _getting_ the "sojer" on shore that was evinced in getting him into the boat; the sailors (half or wholly naked in the surf) standing by at the bows, and handing each man and his accoutrement down the plank to the shingle, for fear "he'd fall off and hurt himself." Never did men work better than our blue-jackets; especially valuable were they with horses and artillery; and their delight at having a horse to hold and to pat all to themselves was excessive. When the gun-carriages stuck fast in the shingle, half a dozen herculean seamen rushed at the wheels, and, with a "Give way, my lad--all together," soon spoked it out with a run, and landed it on the hard sand. No praise can do justice to the willing labour of these fine fellows. They never relaxed their efforts as long as man or horse of the expedition remained to be landed, and many of them, officers as well as men, were twenty-four hours in their boats. Our force consisted of:-- The Light Division, Sir George Brown--2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, 7th Fusileers, 19th Regiment, 23rd Fusileers, Brigadier Major-General Codrington, 33rd Regiment, 77th Regiment, 88th Regiment, and Brigadier-General Buller. The First Division, under the Duke of Cambridge, included the Grenadier, Coldstream, and Scots Fusileer Guards, under Major-General Bentinck, and the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd Highlanders, under Brigadier Sir C. Campbell. The Second Division, under Sir De Lacy Evans, consisted of the 30th, 55th, and 95th, under Brigadier-General Pennefather, and the 41st, 47th, and 49th, under Brigadier-General Adams. The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was composed of the 1st Royals, 28th, 38th, 44th, 50th, and 68th Regiments--Brigadiers Sir John Campbell and Eyre. (4th Regiment only six companies.) The Fourth Division, under Sir George Cathcart--the 20th Regiment, 21st Regiment, Rifle Brigade, 2nd Battalion, 63rd Regiment. (46th Regiment _en route_; 57th Regiment _en route_.) The Cavalry Division (Lord Lucan) was made up of the 4th Light Dragoons, 8th Hussars, 11th Hussars, 13th Light Dragoons, 17th Lancers, forming a Light Cavalry Brigade, under Lord Cardigan; the Scots Greys (not yet arrived here), 4th Dragoon Guards, 5th Dragoon Guards, 6th Dragoons, making the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, under Brigadier-General Scarlett. By twelve o'clock, that barren and desolate beach, inhabited but a short time before only by the seagull and wild-fowl, was swarming with life. From one extremity to the other, bayonets glistened, and redcoats and brass-mounted shakoes gleamed in solid masses. The air was filled with our English speech, and the hum of voices mingled with loud notes of command, cries of comrades to each other, the familiar address of "Bill" to "Tom," or of "Pat" to "Sandy," and an occasional shout of laughter. At one o'clock most of the regiments of the Light Division had moved off the beach over the hill, and across the country towards a village, to which the advanced parties of the French left had already approached. The Second Battalion of the Rifle Brigade led the way, covering the advance with a cloud of skirmishers, and pushed on to the villages of Bagaili and Kamishli, four miles and three-quarters from the beach, and lying in the road between Tchobatar and the Alma; and the other regiments followed in order of their seniority, the artillery, under Captain Anderson, bringing up the rear. One wing of the Rifles, under Major Norcott, occupied Kamishli--the other, under Lieutenant-Colonel Lawrence, was installed in Bagaili, and they were supported and connected by a small party of cavalry. By this time the rain began to fall pretty heavily, and the wind rose so as to send a little surf on the beach. The Duke of Cambridge's division followed next in order. The 2nd Division followed, and Sir De Lacy Evans and staff inspected them on the beach. Up to three o'clock we landed 14,200 men, and two batteries of artillery. Many of the staff-officers, who ought to have been mounted, marched on foot, as their horses were not yet landed. Generals might be seen sitting on powder-barrels on the beach, awaiting the arrival of "divisional staff horses," or retiring gloomily within the folds of their macintoshes. Disconsolate doctors, too, were there, groaning after hospital panniers--but too sorely needed, for more than one man died on the beach. During the voyage several cases of cholera occurred; 150 men were buried on the passage from Varna, and there were about 300 men on board not able to move when we landed. The beach was partitioned off by flagstaffs, with colours corresponding to that of each division, in compartments for the landing of each class of man and beast; but it was, of course, almost beyond the limits of possibility to observe these nice distinctions in conducting an operation which must have extended over many square miles of water. Shortly before two o'clock, Brigadier-General Rose, the Commissioner for the British Army, with Marshal St. Arnaud, rode over from the French quarters to inform Lord Raglan, by the authority of the Marshal, that "the whole of the French troops had landed." Disembarkation was carried on long after sunset, and a part of the 3rd and 4th Divisions remained on the beach and on the hill near it for the night. All the regiments were the better for the sea voyage. The 20th and 21st Regiments and the 1st Battalion of the Rifle Brigade looked remarkably fresh and clean, but that was accounted for, without disparagement to their companions in arms, by the circumstance of their having so recently come out, and that the polish had not been taken off them by a Bulgarian summer. The Guards had much improved in health during their sojourn on shipboard, and were in good spirits and condition. After a short time the country people began to come in, and we found they were decidedly well inclined towards us. Of course they were rather scared at first, but before the day was over they had begun to approach the beach, and to bring cattle, sheep, and vegetables for sale. Their carts, or rather arabas, were detained, but liberally paid for; and so well satisfied were the owners, that they went home, promising increased supplies to-morrow. The men were apparently of pure Tartar race, with small eyes very wide apart, nose very much sunk, and a square substantial figure. They generally wore turbans of lambswool, and jackets of sheepskin with the wool inwards. They spoke indifferent Turkish, and were most ready with information respecting their Russian masters, by whom they had been most carefully disarmed. A deputation of them waited on Lord Raglan to beg for muskets and powder to fight the Muscovite. [Sidenote: MISERIES OF THE FIRST BIVOUAC.] They told us that the ground round Sebastopol had been mined for miles, but such rumours are always current about a fortress to be defended, and Russian mines not better constructed than those at Silistria could not do much harm. They said, too, that the cholera, of which we had had such dreadful experience, had been most fatal at Sebastopol, that 20,000 of the troops and seamen were dead, and that the latter had been landed to man the forts. They estimated the force between us and Sebastopol at about 15,000 men, and the garrison at 40,000 more. They added, however, that there was an army south of Sebastopol, which had been sent to meet an expected attack on Kaffa. On the whole, the information we at first obtained was encouraging, and the favourable disposition of the people, and their willingness to furnish supplies, were advantages which had not been expected. While the troops were disembarking, one of the reconnoitring steamers returned with news of a Russian camp situated near the beach, about eight miles south of the place where we were landing. The _Samson_, the _Fury_, and the _Vesuvius_, in company with three French steamers, at once proceeded to the spot. They found a camp of about 6000 men formed at a mile's distance from the sea. The steamers opened fire with shell at 2500 yards, knocking them over right and left, and driving the soldiery in swarms out of the camp, which was broken up after less than an hour's firing. The squadron returned to the fleet, having effected this service, and were ordered to cruise off Sebastopol. Few of those who were with the expedition will forget the night of the 14th of September. Seldom or never were 27,000 Englishmen more miserable. No tents had been sent on shore, partly because there had been no time to land them, partly because there was no certainty of our being able to find carriage for them in case of a move. Towards night the sky looked very black and lowering; the wind rose, and the rain fell in torrents. The showers increased in violence about midnight, and early in the morning fell in drenching sheets, which pierced through the blankets and greatcoats of the houseless and tentless soldiers. It was their first bivouac--a hard trial enough, in all conscience, worse than all their experiences of Bulgaria or Gallipoli, for there they had their tents, and now they learned to value their canvas coverings at their true worth. Let the reader imagine old generals[11] and young gentlemen exposed to the violence of pitiless storms, with no bed but the reeking puddle under the saturated blankets, or bits of useless waterproof wrappers, and the twenty-odd thousand poor fellows who could not get "dry bits" of ground, and had to sleep or try to sleep, in little lochs and watercourses--no fire to cheer them, no hot grog, and the prospect of no breakfast;--let him imagine this, and add to it that the nice "change of linen" had become a wet abomination, which weighed the poor men's kits down, and he will admit that this "seasoning" was of rather a violent character--particularly as it came after all the luxuries of dry ship stowage. Sir George Brown slept under a cart tilted over. The Duke of Cambridge, wrapped in a waterproof coat, spent most of the night riding about among his men. Sir De Lacy Evans was the only general whose staff had been careful enough to provide him with a tent. In one respect the rain was of service: it gave the men a temporary supply of water; but then it put a fire out of the question, even if enough wood could have been scraped together to make it. The country was, however, destitute of timber. During the night it blew freshly from the west, a heavy sea tumbled into the bay, and sent a high surf upon the beach, which much interfered with the process of landing cavalry and artillery on the 15th. Early in the day signal was made to the steamers to get up steam for Eupatoria, and it was no doubt intended to land the cavalry and artillery there, in consequence of the facility afforded by a pier and harbour; but towards noon the wind went down, and the swell somewhat abated. Several valuable animals were drowned in an attempt to land some staff horses. Lord Raglan lost one charger and another swam off seaward, and was only recovered two miles from the shore. Some boats were staved and rendered useless, and several others were injured by the roll of the surf on the beach; nor did the horse-boats and flats escape uninjured. Operations went on slowly, and the smooth days we had wasted at sea were bitterly lamented. The work was, however, to be done, and in the afternoon orders were given to land cavalry. For this purpose it was desirable to approach the beach as close as possible, and a signal to this effect was made to the cavalry steamers. The _Himalaya_ in a few minutes ran in so far that she lay inside every ship in our fleet, with the exception of the little _Spitfire_, and immediately commenced discharging her enormous cargo of 390 horses, and nearly 700 men. The attendance of cutters, launches, paddle-box boats, and horse-floats from the navy was prompt, and the seamen of the Royal and mercantile marine rivalled each other in their efforts. Never did men work so hard, so cheerfully, or so well. The horses, too, were so acclimated to ship life--they were so accustomed to an existence of unstable equilibrium in slings, and to rapid ascents and descents from the tight ropes, that they became comparatively docile. Besides this, they were very tired from standing for fourteen days in one narrow box, were rather thin and sickly, and were glad of change of air and position. [Sidenote: ESTABLISHMENT OF A MARKET.] Before the disembarkation had concluded for the day, signal was made for all ships to "land tents." It need not be said that this order was most gratefully received. But alas! the order was countermanded, and the tents which had been landed were sent back to the ships again. Our French allies, deficient as they had been in means of accommodation and stowage and transport, had yet managed to land their little scraps of tents the day they disembarked. Whilst our poor fellows were soaked through and through, their blankets and greatcoats saturated with wet, and without any change of raiment, the French close at hand, and the Turks, whose tents were much more bulky than our own, were lying snugly under cover. The most serious result of the wetting was, however, a great increase in illness among the troops. CHAPTER III. Sad scenes--French foragers--Order for the advance--First view of the enemy--Skirmish at Bouljanak. It was decided to garrison Eupatoria, and Captain Brock and 500 Marines were sent away for the purpose, in conjunction with a French, force. On the 15th of September, signal had been made from the _Emperor_ for all ships to send their sick on board the _Kangaroo_. Before evening she had about 1500 invalids in all stages of suffering on board. When the time for sailing arrived, the _Kangaroo_ hoisted, in reply to orders to proceed, this signal--"It is a dangerous experiment." The _Emperor_ then signalled--"What do you mean?" The reply was--"The ship is unmanageable." All the day she was lying with the signal up--"Send boats to assistance;" and at last orders were given to transfer some of her melancholy freight to other vessels also proceeding to Constantinople. Many deaths occurred on board--many miserable scenes took place which it would be useless to describe. It was clear, however, that neither afloat nor on shore was the medical staff sufficient. More surgeons were required, both in the fleet and in the army. Often--too often--medical aid could not be obtained at all; and it frequently came too late. Provisions were at first plentiful. Sixty arabas, laden with flour for Sebastopol, were seized on the 15th of September. More came in for sale or hire the next day: horses also were brought in, and men offered themselves as servants. A market was established for meat and vegetables, and the confidence of the country people in their new customers was confirmed by prompt payment and good treatment. A village near the head-quarters of the Light Division was sacked by some Zouaves, who deprived the inhabitants of everything they could lay their hands upon, in spite of the exertions of the Rifles who were stationed in the place. Lord Raglan gave strict orders that no French soldiers should be permitted to enter the village. On the evening of Saturday, September 16th, a lengthened dark line was seen approaching along the sea coast. As it came nearer, it was resolved by the telescope into a train of Spahis, under the command of some cavalry officers, driving in immense flocks of sheep and cattle for the use of their troops in the camp situated on the extreme right of our lines. First came a drove of some hundreds of sheep captured, natives, drivers, and all guarded in the rear by some Spahis, flourishing their long lances in high delight. Close after them appeared a mighty herd of cattle, tossing their horns and bellowing, as the remorseless Spahis goaded them on over the hard shingle, and circled like drovers' dogs around them. Next came the French officers in command of the party. They were followed by a string of country carts driven by sad-looking Cimmerians, who seemed very anxious to be out of the hands of their Arab captors. Lastly appeared, with all the gravity of their race, a few camels, which the Spahis had laden heavily with grain. Such razzias caused an amount of evil quite disproportionate to any paltry gains made by plundering those poor people. They frightened them from our markets, and, though for the moment successful, threatened to deprive us of the vast supplies to be obtained from their goodwill. The much-abused Turks remained quietly in their well-ordered camp, living contentedly on the slender rations supplied from their fleet. Their appearance was very acceptable to the large Mussulman population, and they were very proud of serving on equal terms with their French and English allies. On the 17th the disembarkation of stores continued and was completed, and the tents were carried up to the various divisions with great labour by large fatigue parties. The siege train still remained on board ship, and it was intended to land it at the mouth of the river Belbeck, close to Sebastopol, as we could not stay to put it ashore at Old Fort. The Cossacks came round our outposts, and the sky at night was reddened by the glare of their burnings. The Tartars said the Russians had 15,000 men posted in an entrenched camp on the Alma river, about twelve miles distant, on the road to Sebastopol. A troop of the 11th Hussars, who went out reconnoitring, were pursued by a regiment of Cossacks, but retired in order without any casualty. Captain Creswell, an officer of the regiment, who was a great favourite with his comrades, died of cholera in the little village in which his troop was quartered. At twelve o'clock on the night of Monday, September 18th, orders were given by Lord Raglan that the troops should strike tents at daybreak, and that all tents should be sent on board the ships of the fleet. M. de Bazancourt asserts that the French Marshal was ready to march on the 17th, and that he all along hoped to do so, but that the English were not prepared, as they had an immense quantity of _impedimenta_. He further says that it was arranged between the Generals to defer the march till 11 A.M. on the 18th, but that we again delayed the movement when the time came, and that Marshal St. Arnaud wrote to Lord Raglan to say he would move without him if he was not ready the following morning. [Sidenote: ADVANCE OF THE ARMIES.] At three o'clock in the morning of the 19th, the camp was roused by the _réveil_, and the 50,000 sleepers woke into active life. The boats from the ships lined the beach to receive the tents which were again returned to the ships. The English commissariat officers struggled in vain with the very deficient means at their disposal to meet the enormous requirements of an army of 26,000 men, for the transport of baggage, ammunition, and food; and a scene, which to an unpractised eye seemed one of utter confusion, began and continued for several hours, relieved only by the steadiness and order of the regiments as they paraded previous to marching. The right of the allied forces was covered by the fleet, which moved along with it in magnificent order, darkening the air with innumerable columns of smoke, ready to shell the enemy should they threaten to attack our right, and commanding the land for nearly two miles from the shore. It was nine o'clock ere the whole of our army was ready. The day was warm. On the extreme right and in advance, next the sea, was the 1st Division of the French army, under Bosquet, marching by battalion in columns _par peloton_, the artillery being in the centre. The 2nd Division, under Canrobert, marching in column by division, protected the right flank, which, however, was in no need of such defence, as it was covered by the allied fleets. The 3rd Division was on the left flank of the French army. The 4th Division and the Turks formed the rear guard. The formation of our allies was of a lozenge shape, with the 1st Division at the salient angle, the 2nd and 3rd Divisions at the lateral angles, and the 4th Division at the other angle, the baggage being in the centre. Next to Prince Napoleon's Division was the 2nd British, under Sir De Lacy Evans, with Sir Richard England's (the 3rd) Division in his rear in support. On a parallel line with the 2nd Division marched the Light Division, under Sir George Brown, with the 1st Division under the Duke of Cambridge in support in his rear. The order of the English advance was by double columns of companies from the centre of divisions. The 8th Hussars and 17th Lancers moved on our left flank, to protect it, and the 13th Light Dragoons and 11th Hussars, in extended order, preceded the infantry, so as to cover our front. The commissariat and baggage followed behind the 3rd and 1st Divisions, and were covered by the 4th Division as a rear guard. Part of the 4th Division and of the 4th Light Dragoons were left to protect and clear the beach of stores. They joined the army late on the evening of the 20th. The country beyond the salt lake, near which we were encamped, was entirely destitute of tree or shrub, and consisted of wide plains, marked at intervals of two or three miles with hillocks and long irregular ridges of hills running down towards the sea at right angles to the beach. It was but little cultivated, except in the patches of land around the unfrequent villages built in the higher recesses of the valleys. Hares were started in abundance, and afforded great sport to the soldiers whenever they halted, and several were fairly hunted down among the lines. All oxen, horses, or cattle, had been driven off by the Cossacks. The soil was hard and elastic, and was in excellent order for artillery. The troops presented a splendid appearance. The effect of these grand masses of soldiery descending the ridges of the hills, rank after rank, with the sun playing over forests of glittering steel, can never be forgotten by those who witnessed it. Onward the torrent of war swept; wave after wave, huge stately billows of armed men, while the rumble of the artillery and tramp of cavalry accompanied their progress. After a march of an hour a halt took place for fifty minutes, during which Lord Raglan, accompanied by a very large staff, Marshal St. Arnaud, Generals Bosquet, Forey, and a number of French officers, rode along the front of the columns. The men of their own accord got up from the ground, rushed forward, and column after column rent the air with three thundering English cheers. It was a good omen. As the Marshal passed the 55th Regiment, he exclaimed, "English, I hope you will fight well to-day!" "Hope!" exclaimed a voice from the ranks, "sure you know we will!" Many sick men fell out, and were carried to the rear. It was a painful sight--a sad contrast to the magnificent appearance of the army in front, to behold litter after litter borne past to the carts, with the poor sufferers who had dropped from illness and fatigue. However, the march went on, grand and irresistible. At last, the smoke of burning villages and farm-houses announced that the enemy in front were aware of our march. It was melancholy to see the white walls of the houses blackened with smoke--the flames ascending through the roofs of peaceful homesteads--and the ruined outlines of deserted hamlets. Presently, from the top of a hill, a wide plain was visible, beyond which rose a ridge darkened here and there by masses which the practised eye recognised as cavalry. It was our first view of the enemy, and we soon lost sight of them again. On the left of the plain, up in a recess formed by the inward sweep of the two ridges, lay a large village in flames; right before us was a neat white house unburnt, though the outhouses and farm-yard were burning. This was the Imperial Post-house of Bouljanak, just twenty miles from Sebastopol, and some of our officers and myself were soon busily engaged in exploring the place. [Sidenote: FIRST SKIRMISH WITH THE COSSACKS.] The house was deserted and gutted. Only a picture of a saint, bunches of herbs in the kitchen, and a few household utensils, were left; and a solitary pea-hen stalked sadly about the threshold, which soon fell a victim to a revolver. A small stream ran past us, which was an object of delight to our thirsty soldiers who had marched more than eight miles from their late camp. After a short halt for men and horses by the stream, over which the post-road was carried by a bridge which the enemy had left unbroken for the passage of our artillery, the army pushed on again. The cavalry (about 500 men of the 8th Hussars, the 11th Hussars, and 13th Light Dragoons) pushed on in front, and on arriving about a mile beyond the post-house, we clearly made out the Cossack Lancers on the hills in front. Lord Cardigan threw out skirmishers in line, who covered the front at intervals of ten or twelve yards from each other. The Cossacks advanced to meet us in like order, man for man, the steel of their long lances glittering in the sun. They were rough-looking fellows, mounted on sturdy little horses; but the regularity of their order and the celerity of their movements showed that they were by no means despicable foes. As our skirmishers advanced, the Cossacks halted at the foot of the hill. From time to time a clump of lances rose over the summit of the hill and disappeared. Lord Cardigan was eager to try their strength, and permission was given to him to advance somewhat nearer; but as he did so, dark columns of cavalry appeared in the recesses of the hills. Lord Lucan therefore ordered the cavalry to halt, gather in their skirmishers, and retire slowly. When our skirmishers halted, the Cossacks commenced a fire of carabines from their line of vedettes, which was quite harmless. Few of the balls came near enough to let the whiz be heard. I was riding between the cavalry and the skirmishers, with Lieutenant-Colonel Dickson, R.A., Captain Fellowes, 12th Lancers, Dr. Elliott, R.A., and we were looking out anxiously for the arrival of Maude's Troop, when the Russians, emboldened by our halt, came over the brow of the hill, and descended the slope in three columns, the centre of which advanced nearer than the others. "Now," said Dickson, "we'll catch it. These fellows mean mischief." I conceived that it would be a very pleasant thing to look at, whatever they meant. Our skirmishers, who had replied smartly to the fire of the Cossacks, but without effect, retired and joined their squadrons. At every fifty paces our cavalry faced. Fellowes rode off to quicken the advance of the artillery. Suddenly one of the Russian squares opened--a spurt of white smoke rose out of the gap, and a round shot, which first pitched close to my horse and covered me with dust, tore over the column of cavalry behind, and rolled away between the ranks of the riflemen in the rear, just as they came in view. In another instant a second shot bowled right through the 11th Hussars, and knocked over a horse, taking off his rider's leg above the ankle. Another and another followed. Meantime the C Troop followed by the I Troop, galloped over the hillock, but were halted by Lord Raglan's order at the base in rear of the cavalry on the left flank. Our cavalry was drawn up as targets for the enemy's guns, and had they been of iron they could not have been more solid and immovable. The Russian gunners were rather slow, but their balls came bounding along, quite visible as they passed, right from the centre of the cavalry columns. After some thirty rounds from the enemy, our artillery, having cleared their front, opened fire. Captain Brandling laid the first gun, No. 5, and fired with so true an aim that the shell was seen to burst right over a Russian gun, and apparently to shut it up. All our shells were not so successful as the first, but one, better directed than the rest, burst right in the centre of a column of light infantry, which the Russians had advanced to support their cavalry. Our fire became so hot that the enemy retired in fifteen minutes after we opened on them, and manoeuvring on our left with their light cavalry, seemed to threaten us in that direction; but Captains Maude and Henry having shifted their guns so as to meet their front, the enemy finally withdrew over the hills, and seemed to fall back on the Alma. While this affair was going on the French had crept up on the right, and surprised a body of Russian cavalry with a round from a battery of nine-pounders, which scattered them in all directions. It is impossible to form an accurate notion of the effect of our fire, but it must have caused the Russians a greater loss than they inflicted on us. There is reason to believe they lost about twelve men killed, thirty-five wounded, and thirty-two horses _hors de combat_. We lost six horses, and four men were wounded. Two men lost their legs. The others, up to yesterday, though injured severely, were not in danger. A sergeant in the 11th Hussars rode coolly to the rear with his foot dangling by a piece of skin to the bone, and told the doctor he had just come to have his leg dressed. Another trooper behaved with equal fortitude, and refused the use of a litter to carry him to the rear, though his leg was broken into splinters. When the Russians had retired beyond the heights orders were given to halt and bivouac for the night, and our tired men set to work to gather weeds for fuel. So ended the affair of the Bouljanak. Lord Cardigan was, it is said, anxious to charge, but received most positive orders from Lord Lucan not to do so. Lord Raglan was anxious not to bring on any serious affair in the position in which the army was placed, and the cavalry were ordered to retire towards the Bouljanak, their retreat being supported by the 1st Brigade Light Division, and part of the 2nd Division. As our skirmishers retired and formed, the Cossacks raised a derisive yell, but did not attempt to pursue or molest them. It is now known that this was a _reconnaissance_ made by the General Kiriakoff with the 2nd Brigade of the 17th Division, No. 4 Light Field Battery, the 2nd Brigade of the 6th Division of Cavalry, consisting of the Saxe Weimar and another Regiment of Hussars, 900 Don Cossacks, and one Cossack battery. The infantry kept out of sight behind the ridge, and we were not aware of their presence in such force. As soon as the rations of rum and meat had been served out, the casks were broken up, and the staves used to make fires for cooking, aided by nettles and long grass. At night the watch-fires of the Russians were visible on our left and front. It was cold and dreary, and if I could intrude the recital of the sorrows of a tentless, baggageless man wandering about in the dark from regiment to regiment in hope of finding his missing traps,[12] I might tell a tale amusing enough to read, the incidents of which were very distressing to the individual concerned. The night was damp, the watch-fires were mere flashes, which gave little heat, and barely sufficed to warm the rations; but the camp of British soldiers is ever animated by the very soul of hospitality; and the wanderer was lucky enough to get a lodging on the ground beside Colonel Yea, of the 7th Fusileers, who was fortunate enough to have a little field-tent, and a bit of bread and biscuit to spare after a march of ten miles and a fast of ten hours. [Sidenote: EXPECTATION OF AN ATTACK.] All night arabas continued to arrive, and soldiers who had fallen out or gone astray. Sir George Brown, Sir De Lacy Evans, the Brigadier-Generals, and staff-officers, went about among their divisions ere the men lay down. It was admitted that, as a military spectacle, the advance of our troops, and the little affair of our artillery, as well as the management of the cavalry, formed one of the most picturesque and beautiful that could be imagined. All night we could see the Russian position on the Alma clearly defined by the watch-fires, which illuminated the sky. A heavy dew fell, but the night was clear, and many a debate did we hold as to the strength of the enemy--of the ground they occupied--of their qualities as soldiers. It was by no means sure that the Russian cavalry might not beat up our quarters during the night, and the cavalry were placed in advance, and the 1st Brigade Light Division supported them, lying down in rear. There is every reason to be thankful that they gave us a quiet night, for an alarm on the part of an enemy who knew the ground might have greatly distressed us, at little risk to them. Lord Raglan and part of his staff occupied the rooms of the deserted post-house at Bouljanak, which were tolerably comfortable. Colonel Lagondie, of the Head-quarters Staff, who had been sent by Lord Raglan to take a message to Prince Napoleon, to place his division nearer to Sir De Lacy Evans, was taken prisoner, owing to his having mistaken a party of Cossacks for English cavalry. When the armies halted, the French had their right resting a good deal in advance towards the Alma, so that they were nearer to it than we were. The line of the armies was in an oblique position, the English on the left being thrown back on the Bouljanak, and the French on the right being a good deal in advance of it. CHAPTER IV. M. de Bazancourt's Strictures--The Advance--French Attack--A Delicate Question--Advance of the British--The Light Division--The Guards--The Victory--Russian Account--Humane Efforts--Advance from the Alma--Eskel. With early morning on Tuesday, September 20th, the troops were up and stirring; but the march did not begin for some hours afterwards, and this circumstance has given rise to severe strictures by several French writers on the conduct of our generals on the occasion. At 5 o'clock on the evening of the 19th, says M. de Bazancourt, M. St. Arnaud convened the French Generals before his tent, and explained to them verbally his plan of battle, concerted with the English Commander-in-Chief. This plan was that the English army should execute "a turning movement on the Russian right, whilst its attention was seriously drawn on its left by a French division, and that the bulk of the army should make a powerful effort to force the Russian centre." General Bosquet, who had charge of the French right, consisting of the 2nd Division, supported by the Turks, was to turn the Russian left by the abrupt slopes, "judged (by the Russians) to be inaccessible," and therefore not defended by artillery. The 1st and 3rd Divisions were to assault the centre of the position--the 4th Division forming the reserve. The hour of starting was fixed as follows:--The French right wing at 5.30 A.M.; the left wing, formed by the English, at 6 A.M.; the centre at 7 A.M. Having given these explanations to his generals, M. St. Arnaud sent Colonel Trochu, with General Rose, across to Lord Raglan, to inform him of the plan, and the hours fixed for the march of the troops, which Lord Raglan "accepted entirely" in detail. On this statement it may be remarked, that if the plan had been "concerted" between the Generals, as the French writer declares, there was no necessity for Lord Raglan's acceptance of a proposition which he had, conjointly with another, previously agreed to. In order to obtain unity of action in the allied movements Prince Napoleon and General Canrobert received orders to communicate with Lord Raglan and with Sir De Lacy Evans, who commanded the 2nd Division, immediately in proximity with the French. [Sidenote: PLAN OF ATTACK.] The French writer proceeds:--"At 5.30 the 2nd Division quitted its bivouac, and descended into the plain towards the Alma, which it reached at 6.30, but no movement was visible among the English army. General Canrobert and Prince Napoleon, astonished at this immobility, so contrary to the instructions, went in all haste to Sir De Lacy Evans, whom they found in his tent, and expressed their astonishment at a delay which might gravely compromise the success of the day. 'I have not received the order,' replied Sir De Lacy Evans. They were at once obliged to arrest the march of Bosquet's division, and on informing the Marshal, who was already mounted, of what had passed, he sent over a staff officer, Major Renson, to order them to wait for the English troops, who were _en retard_, and despatched Colonel Trochu in all haste to Lord Raglan, whom he found on horseback, although the English troops were still in the encampment as he passed the lines, and not at all prepared for the march as agreed upon. It was half-past 7 o'clock when Colonel Trochu reached the head-quarters of our army; and when Lord Raglan had received the message which the Marshal sent, to the effect that he thought, after what his lordship said to the Colonel the night before, that the English should push on in front at 6 o'clock, he said with that calm which distinguished him,--'I am giving orders at this moment, and we are just about to start. Part of my troops did not arrive at their bivouac till late at night. Tell the Marshal that at this moment the orders are being carried all along the line.'" It will be observed that General Evans was not only not asked for his opinion in concerting the plan of attack, but that he was not even made acquainted with it. This is the more inexplicable, that General Evans' Division, from its position, would necessarily have to co-operate with the French. As it is desirable that the point of order as to this march should be fully illustrated, I think it best to let Sir De Lacy Evans speak for himself. "Shortly after daybreak on the morning of this battle his Imperial Highness Prince Napoleon and General Canrobert did me the honour to come into my tent to confer on the co-operation of my division with that of the Prince in the ensuing conflict. They informed me that this co-operation had been agreed to the previous evening between the two commanders-in-chief, expressed surprise that I had not been made acquainted with it, and showed me a well-executed plan by the French staff of the Russian position, and of the proposed lines of movement of the allied columns of attack. "According to this plan, General Bosquet's troops and the Turks, supported by the powerful fire of the shipping, were to turn the enemy's left. The second British division, that of the Prince, and two other French divisions, were to attack their centre. The whole of the remainder of the British army was to turn the enemy's right. "I expressed the very great pleasure I should have in fulfilling my share of these operations, and with this view sent forthwith to Lord Raglan for permission--which was given--to place at once my right as proposed, in contact with the left of the Prince, which was promptly done. "About three hours, however, elapsed before the armies (excepting the corps of General Bosquet) received orders to advance. To the unavoidable want of unity in command this delay was probably attributable. "But before moving off, both head-quarter staffs passed along the front. On reaching my division Lord Raglan expressed to me a dissent from part of the plan alluded to, not necessary to observe on here; mentioning also, in the course of his remarks, a disposition he supposed to exist on the part of the Marshal or the French chiefs to appropriate me and my division altogether, which he could not allow; that he had no objection to my communicating and co-operating with and regulating my advance by that of the Prince's division, but could not consent to my receiving orders through any one but himself. "On hearing this, I requested him to send to acquaint the Marshal that such was his lordship's desire, as I believed a different expectation was entertained, which, if not removed, might lead during the action to misunderstanding. This his lordship immediately did. And it was arranged that Major Claremont, one of the British commissioners with the French army, was to be the medium of any communications to me which the French chiefs might find it desirable to make. "The armies advanced. After about three miles a halt for a short interval took place by order of the commander of the force. On the arrival of the Second Division in front of the village of Bourliouk, which, having been prepared for conflagration by the Russians, became suddenly, for some hundred yards, an impenetrable blaze, Major Claremont came to me in great haste, to say from the Marshal that a part of the French army, having ascended the heights on the south of the river, became threatened by large bodies of Russians, and might be compromised, unless the attention of the enemy were immediately drawn away by pressing them in our front. "I made instant dispositions to conform to this wish--sending at the same time, as was my duty, an officer of my staff (Colonel the Hon. P. Herbert) to Lord Raglan, who was then a short distance in our rear, for his lordship's approval--which was instantly granted." "It was," says M. de Bazancourt, in the next paragraph, "10.30 before Colonel Trochu announced that the English were ready to march, and the result was that it was impossible to execute the original plan of battle," for the enemy had full time to counteract the dispositions of the army, and Menschikoff, seeing that Bosquet's attack was of secondary importance, weakened his left wing to reinforce his centre and his right. At 11 o'clock Bosquet received the order to march, which was countermanded soon afterwards, as he was still too far in advance, and whilst the halt took place, that active and able general made a _reconnaissance_, the first of the day, of the enemy's position, and discovered two passes to the heights in front--one a mere path on the mountain side, close to the sea; the second about two-thirds of a mile to the left of that path, running from the burning village of Almatamak, and ascending the heights by a very narrow ravine. It was plain that infantry could get up, but it seemed very doubtful if guns could be brought up the second of these passes to the heights, and the first was utterly impracticable for artillery. One of the Russian officers, speaking of this battle, says that the French, in making this _reconnaissance_, brought up a large white stone, and fixed it on the north bank of the river; but I think it much more likely that it was the white cart belonging to Colonel Desaint, the topographical officer attached to the French army, for it is not likely that our allies would have taken such trouble as to move down an enormous stone for no possible object. [Sidenote: SCALING THE ALMA HEIGHTS.] It appears somewhat strange that no _reconnaissance_ was made of the Russian position by the generals. They did not reconnoitre the Alma, nor did they procure any information respecting the strength of the enemy or of the ground they occupied. They even concerted their plan before they had seen the enemy at all, relying on the bravery of the troops, not only to force the Russians from their lines, but, if necessary, to swim, or to ford a stream of unknown depth, with steep rotten banks, the bridges across which might, for all they knew, and certainly ought, according to the practice of war, to have been effectually destroyed by the enemy, so as to make the passage of guns all but impossible. We shall first follow the French attack. On returning to his troops, Bosquet, with the brigade of d'Autemarre, followed by its artillery, moved on the village, whilst the brigade of General Bouat was directed to march to the very mouth of the river, and to ascend by the first of the paths indicated, after having crossed the shallow bar, in single file, up to their waists on a sort of narrow rib of hard sand which had been discovered by the officers of the _Roland_. The artillery of the brigade, being unable to pass, was sent back to join that of d'Autemarre's brigade; and the soldiers of Bouat's brigade, having crossed the river, commenced to climb up the steep paths to the top of the opposite height without meeting any obstruction from the enemy, who had, indeed, been driven away from the seaside by the heavy guns of the steamers. The brigade of d'Autemarre, which passed the Alma without any difficulty, by the bridge close to the burnt village of Almatamak, moving forward at the same time with great celerity, swarmed up the very steep cliffs on the opposite side, and gaining the heights in a few minutes, after immense exertions, crowned the summit, and dispersed a feeble troop of Cossacks who were posted there. It will be seen that the French right had thus been permitted to ascend the very difficult heights in front of them without opposition from the enemy; and although the cliffs were so precipitous as to create considerable difficulties to even the most active, hardy, and intelligent troops in scaling their rugged face, yet it would seem very bad generalship on the part of Prince Menschikoff to have permitted them to have established themselves on the plateau, if we did not know, by the angry controversy which has taken place between him, General Kiriakoff, and Prince Gortschakoff I., that it was part of his plan to allow a certain number of battalions to gain the edge of the cliffs, and then, relying on the bayonet, to send heavy masses of infantry against them and hurl them down into the Alma, and the ravines which run towards its banks. General Bosquet, when he observed this success, at once spurred up the steep road of which mention has already been made; and Major Barral, who commanded the artillery, having satisfied himself that the guns could just be brought up by the most tremendous exertions, orders were given for their advance, and they were, by prodigious efforts of horses and infantry soldiers, urged up the incline, and placed on the plateau at right angles to the line of the cliffs, so as to enfilade the Russians, on whom, protected by the 3rd Zouaves, who lay down in a small ravine about a hundred yards in front, they at once opened fire. Prince Menschikoff, surprised by the extraordinary rapidity of this advance, and apprized of its success by the roar of the French guns, ordered up three batteries of eight pieces each to silence the French fire, and to cover an advance of his infantry against the two brigades which were forming on his left; and finding that the French maintained themselves against this superior fire, in a rage despatched two field batteries to crush them utterly. These guns were badly managed, and opened in line at the distance of 900 yards, and the fire, for nearly an hour, was confined to a duel of artillery, in which the French, though suffering severely, kept their ground with great intrepidity and courage. All at once the Russians ordered some cavalry and a field battery to menace the right of the line of French guns; but Bouat's brigade having pushed on to meet them, and a few well-directed shells having burst among the horsemen, they turned round and retired with alacrity. According to the concerted plan, the Division Canrobert and the Division Napoleon were not to attack till the Division Bosquet had gained the heights, and were engaged with the enemy. The directions given by the Marshal to the Generals ere they advanced were simply, "Keep straight before you, and follow your own inspiration for your manoeuvres. We must gain these heights. I have no other instructions to give to men on whom I rely." On hearing the first guns of Bosquet's artillery, the French, in the centre and in the left, deployed and advanced, covered by a number of riflemen. The 1st Zouaves, under Colonel Bourbaki, at once rushed to the front, driving before them a line of Russian riflemen and skirmishers placed among the orchard trees and rivers which skirted the deep banks of the Alma, and availing themselves of the branches of these trees to swing themselves across the narrow stream into which others plunged up to the waist. The Russian regiment of Moscow came down the opposite slopes to support their skirmishers, but were driven back with loss by the sudden fire of the batteries of the First Division, that had just come into action. Having thus cleared the way, the 1st and 9th battalions of Chasseurs, the 7th of the line, and the 1st Zouaves advanced amid a storm of grape, round shot, and musketry up the high banks before them, at the other side of which were deployed masses of the enemy, concealed from view in the ravines and by the inequalities of the ground. [Sidenote: A SHARP ENCOUNTER.] At the same time, the Prince's division advancing towards Bourliouk, which was in flames, was met by a very serious fire of riflemen and skirmishing parties of infantry from the vineyards and rugged ground on the other side of the stream, and by a plunging fire of artillery, which was answered by the batteries of his division; but, after a short pause, the first line, consisting of Cler's Zouaves and the infantry of marine, supported by the second line under General Thomas, passed the Alma and drove back the enemy, who opened a masked battery upon them, which occasioned considerable loss. Canrobert's division, meantime, was compelled to attack without the aid of its artillery; for the river in their front was not practicable for guns, and they were obliged to be carried round to the right to follow the road by which Bosquet's batteries had already reached the summit; but the column pushed on energetically, and forming on the crest of the plateau by battalions, in double columns on two lines, ready to form square under the fire of the enemy's artillery, which had been engaged with that of the French second division, drove back the Russian regiments in front, which, on retiring, formed in square in front of their right flank. It was then that the officers perceived a white stone tower, about 800 yards on their left, behind which was formed a dense mass of the enemy's infantry. These with great precision advanced, at the same time pouring in a tremendous fire, at the distance of 200 yards, upon Canrobert's division, which was, as we have seen, left without its artillery. The general, perceiving his danger, sent off a staff-officer to Bosquet's division, and a battery, commanded by Captain. Fievet, coming up to his assistance in all haste, opened fire with grape on the ponderous mass of the enemy, checking their fire, whilst Bosquet, by a flank movement, threatened to take its battalions in the rear. The third division, with equal success and greater losses, attacking a mamelon occupied in force by the enemy, drove them back with great intrepidity: but it was evident by the movements of the Russians that they were about to make a great effort to save their centre, and M. St. Arnaud sent off orders to General Forey, who commanded the reserve, to move one of his brigades (de Lourmel's) to General Canrobert's support, and to proceed with the other (d'Aurelle's) to the extreme right of the battle. This was a happy inspiration: d'Aurelle's brigade, with great speed, crossed the river, and arrived to the support of Canrobert's division at a most critical moment. The Russians seemed to consider the Telegraph Tower as the key of the centre of their position. Sharpshooters, within the low wall outside the work, and batteries on its flanks, directed a steady fire on the French, who were checked for a moment by its severity: but the two batteries of the reserve came up and drew off some of the enemy's fire. The Russians, however, still continued a serious fusillade, and directed volleys of grape against the French, who were lying down in the ravine till the decisive moment should arrive for them to charge the enemy. The losses of our allies were sensible; it was evident that the Russian cavalry, says, M. de Bazancourt,[13] were preparing for a rush in upon them from the flank of the Russian square, which, partially covered by the Telegraph Tower, kept up an incessant fire from two faces upon the French. Colonel Cler, at this critical moment, perceiving that the 1st and 2nd Zouaves, the Chasseurs, and the 39th Regiment had arrived, calling to his men to charge, dashed at the tower, which, after a short but sanguinary combat, they carried at the point of the bayonet, driving out the Russians in confusion, and at the very moment General Canrobert, with his division, advanced at the double to support the movement. Struck down for a moment by a fragment of a shell which wounded him on the chest and shoulder, the gallant officer insisted upon leading on his men to complete the success obtained against the Russian left and left-centre; and Generals Bosquet and Canrobert, wheeling round their divisions from left to right, drove back the enemy towards the rear of the troops, which were still contending with the English, or forced them to seek for safety in flight. It was at this moment that M. St. Arnaud, riding up to the Generals, congratulated them on the day, and directed them to proceed to the aid of the English. Thanks be to the valour of our soldiers--thanks be to Heaven--we required no French aid that day. We received none, except that which was rendered by one battery of French artillery of the reserve, under M. de la Boussiniere, which fired a few rounds on some broken Russian columns from a spot close to the two English guns, of which I shall have to speak hereafter. Such is the part, according to their account, which the French had in the victory of the Alma. Their masses crossed the river and crowded the plateau ere they were seriously engaged, and their activity and courage, aided by the feeble generalship of the commander of the Russian left, and by many happy chances, enabled them to carry the position with comparatively little loss. Having thus far given the French version of the action, let us return to our countrymen, and see what was their share in this great battle, which was not decisive, so far as the fate of Sebastopol was concerned, merely because we lacked either the means or the military genius to make it so. There is one question which has often been asked in our army and in the tents of our allies, which is supposed to decide the controversy respecting the military merits of St. Arnaud and Lord Raglan: "Would Napoleon have allowed the Russians three days' respite after such a battle?" The only reply that could be made if Napoleon commanded the victorious army, and was not hampered with a colleague of equal power, was, and is, that the notion is preposterous. "But," say the French, "the English were not ready to move next day." "Ay, it is true," reply the English, "because we were far from the sea; but still we offered to assist you to pursue the very night of the battle." "Then," rejoin the French, "we were too much exhausted, and it would have been foolish to have attempted such a movement, and to have divided our army." Posterity, which cares but little for ephemeral political cliquerie, family connexion, or personal amiability, will pass a verdict in this cause which none of us can hope to influence or evade. [Sidenote: ANOTHER ADVANCE] The reason of the extraordinary delay in executing our plan of attack has never yet been explained. Lord Raglan's excuse, as given by M. de Bazancourt, is not worth any notice but this--it is not true. The Staff-officer says that "the army was under arms soon after 6 A.M., and on the move" Where?--a mile or two too much inland? What were we doing for five hours? For this same authority further on says, "It was 11 A.M. before we came in sight of the Alma." Now, the distance between the Bouljanak and the Alma is barely six miles. Were we five hours marching six miles? This is indeed a feeble statement; but it is not quite so weak as that which follows, namely, that it was not till _after_ 11 o'clock "the plan of attack was finally settled." This statement is made to cover Lord Raglan, and to prevent there being any suspicion that a plan had been arranged the night before, for the disregard and non-performance of which the Staff-officer's uncle was responsible. That Lord Raglan was brave as a hero of antiquity, that he was kind to his friends and to his staff, that he was unmoved under fire, and unaffected by personal danger, that he was noble in manner, gracious in demeanour, of dignified bearing, and of simple and natural habits, I am, and ever have been, ready not only to admit, but to state with pleasure; that he had many and great difficulties to contend with, _domi militiæque_, I believe; but that this brave, high-spirited, and gallant nobleman had been so long subservient to the power of a superior mind--that he had lost, if he ever possessed, the ability to conceive and execute large military plans--and that he had lost, if he ever possessed, the faculty of handling great bodies of men, I am firmly persuaded. He was a fine English gentleman--a splendid soldier--perhaps an unexceptionable lieutenant under a great chief; but that he was a great chief, or even a moderately able general, I have every reason to doubt, and I look in vain for any proof of it whilst he commanded the English army in the Crimea. It was 10 o'clock ere the British line moved towards the Alma. A gentle rise in the plain enabled us to see the Russian position for some time after, but the distance was too great to make out details, and we got into a long low bottom between the ridge and another elevation in front. Our army advanced in columns of brigades in deploying distance, our left protected by a line of skirmishers, the brigade of cavalry, and horse artillery. The army, in case of attack on the left or rear, could form a hollow square, with the baggage in the centre. Sir De Lacy Evans's division, on the extreme right, was in contact with the French left, under Prince Napoleon, which was of course furthest from the sea. At the distance of two miles we halted, and then the troops steadily advanced, with our left frittered into a foam of skirmishers of the Rifle Brigade, Major Northcott covered by the 11th and 8th Hussars, 13th Light Dragoons, and 17th Lancers. This was a sight of inexpressible grandeur, and one was struck with the splendid appearance of our infantry in line as seen from the front. The bright scarlet, the white facings, and cross belts, rendering a man conspicuous, gave him an appearance of size which other uniforms do not produce. The French columns looked small compared to our battalions, though we knew they were quite as strong; but the marching of our allies, laden as they were, was wonderful. Our staff was more showy and numerous than that of the French. Nothing strikes the eye so much as a cocked hat and bunch of white feathers; several officers doffed the latter adornment, thinking that they were quite conspicuous on horseback. When the regiments halted, I went past the Light Division, part of the 2nd Division, the Guards, and the Highlanders. Many a laugh did I hear from lips which in two hours more were closed for ever. The officers and men made the most of the delay, and ate what they had with them; but there was a want of water, and the salt pork made them so thirsty that in the passage of the Alma the men stopped to drink and fill their canteens under the heaviest fire. The plan of attack has been already described, as well as the circumstances of our early march. As we advanced we could see the enemy very distinctly--their grey-coated masses resembling patches of wood on the hill-sides. The ravines held them occasionally, but still we could see that from within a mile of the sea coast, up to the left of the Tartar village, towards which we were advancing, a strong force of infantry was posted, and now and then, as the Russian made his last disposition to meet our advance, the sun's rays flashed brightly in diamond-like points from bright steel. The line of the river below the heights they occupied was indicated by patches of the richest verdure, and by belts of fine fruit trees and vineyards. The Alma is a tortuous little stream, which has worked its way down through a red clay soil, deepening its course as it proceeds seawards, and which drains the steppe-like lands on its right bank, making at times pools and eddies too deep to be forded, though it can generally be crossed by waders who do not fear to wet their knees. The high banks formed by the action of the stream in cutting through the rich soil vary from the right side to the left, according to the course of the stream--the corresponding bank on the opposite side being generally of a slope, more or less abrupt, as the bank is high. The drop from the edge to the water varies also from two to six or eight feet. Along the right or north bank of the Alma there is a number of Tartar houses, at times numerous and close enough to form a cluster of habitations deserving the name of a hamlet, at times scattered wide apart amid little vineyards, surrounded by walls of mud and stone of three feet in height. The bridge over which the post road passes from Bouljanak to Sebastopol runs close to one of these hamlets--a village, in fact, of some fifty houses. This village is approached from the north by a road winding through a plain nearly level till it comes near to the village, where the ground dips, so that at the distance of three hundred yards a man on horseback can hardly see the tops of the nearer and more elevated houses, and can only ascertain the position of the stream by the willows and verdure along its banks. At the left or south side of the Alma the ground assumes a very different character--it rises at once from the water in steep banks up to plateaux at the top of varying height and extent. The general surface is pierced here and there by the course of the winter's torrents, which have formed small ravines, commanded by the heights above. A remarkable ridge of tumuli and hillocks, varying in height from 100 to 400 feet, runs along the course of the Alma on the left side, assuming the form of cliffs when close to the sea, and rising in a gentle slope a little to the left of the village I have mentioned, which is called by the Tartar, and marked on the maps as Burliuk. At its commencement on the left this ridge recedes from the course of the river for several hundred yards, the ground sloping gradually from the bank up to the knolls and tumuli into which the ridge is broken. It then strikes downwards at a sharp angle to its former course, till it sinks into the high ground over the river below the village. There is then a sort of [Greek: D] formed, of which the base is the river, and the sides the elevated terrace of the ridge. This terrace, or the succession of terraces, is commanded by higher ground in the rear, but is separated from the position on its proper left by a ravine. It is marked by deep gullies towards the river. If the reader will place himself on the top of Richmond-hill, dwarf the Thames to the size of a rivulet, and imagine the hill to be deprived of vegetation, he may form some notion of the position occupied by the Russians, the plains on the left bank of the Thames will bear some similitude to the land over which the British and French advanced, barring only the verdure. On the slope of the rising ground, to the right of the bridge, the Russians had thrown up two epaulements, armed with 32-pounder batteries and 24-pound howitzers. [Illustration PLAN OF THE HEIGHTS and BAY of ALMA.] [Sidenote: GATHERING UP FOR AN ATTACK] These 12 guns enfiladed the slopes parallel to them, or swept them to the base. The principal battery consisted of a semicircular earthwork, in which were embrasures for 13 guns. On the right, and farther in the rear, was another breastwork, with embrasures for 9 guns, which played on the right of the bridge. To the left, on a low ridge in front of the village, they had placed two and a half field batteries, which threw 1000 and 1200 yards beyond the village. The first battery was about 300 yards distant from the river, but the hill rose behind it for 50 feet. The second was turned more towards the right. About 12.15, when we were about three miles from the village, the steamers ran in close to the bluff at the south side of the Alma, commenced shelling the heights, the enemy were obliged to retire their infantry and guns, and the ships covered the advance of the French right, and never permitted the Russians to molest them till they were in force on the plateau. At one o'clock we saw the French columns struggling up the hills, covered by a cloud of skirmishers. They swarmed like bees to the face of the cliffs, tiny puffs of smoke rising from every tree, and shrub, and stone. On the right they formed their masses without opposition. At sight of a threatening mass of Russian infantry, who advanced slowly, pouring in all the time a tremendous rolling fire, the French, who were forming in the centre, seemed to pause, but it was only to collect their skirmishers, for as soon as they had formed they ran up the hill at the _pas de charge_, and broke up the Russians at once, who fled in disorder, with loss, up the hill. We could see men dropping on both sides, and the wounded rolling down the steep. However, our attention was soon drawn to our own immediate share in the battle. As I had slept at the head-quarters camp, I joined the general staff, and for some time rode with them; but when they halted, just before going into action, Major Burke, who was serving on the staff as Aide-de-camp to Sir John Burgoyne, advised me to retire, "as," said he, "I declare I will make Sir John himself speak to you if you do not." There was at the time very little to be seen from the ground which the staff occupied, and there were so many officers along with Lord Raglan, that it was difficult to see in front at all; and so, observing Sir De Lacy Evans somewhat in advance on the right of Lord Raglan, on higher ground about a quarter of a mile away, I turned my horse to join him, and in an instant afterwards a round shot rushed over the heads of the staff, being fired at the Rifles in advance of them. As it turned out, Sir De Lacy's small staff suffered much more severely than Lord Raglan's large one, although the Staff-officer seems firmly persuaded that the enemy's artillery was partially directed against the body to which he belonged. One could scarcely have been in a safer place on the field, considering out of so large a body only two were wounded, whereas five of General Evans's small staff were badly hit or contused. By the time I had reached Sir De Lacy Evans, who was engaged in giving orders to Brigadier Adams, the round shot were rolling through the columns, and the men halted and lay down by order of Lord Raglan. Sir De Lacy said, "Well, if you want to see a great battle, you're in a fair way of having your wish gratified." At this moment the whole of the village in our front burst into flames--the hay-ricks and wooden sheds about it causing the fire to run rapidly, fanned by a gentle breeze, which carried the smoke and sparks towards our line. Sir De Lacy rode towards the left to get rid of this annoyance, and to get to his men, and as he did so, the round shot came bounding among the men lying down just before us. From the groans and stifled cries it was too plain they left dead and dying in their course. The Rifles in advance of our left were sharply engaged with the enemy in the vineyard, and, anxious to see what was going on, I rode over in that direction, and arrived at the place where were stationed the staff of the Light Division. Sir George Brown was just at the time giving some orders to one of his Aides relative to the "Russian cavalry on our left front." I looked across the stream, and saw, indeed, some cavalry and guns slowly moving down towards the stream from the elevated ground over its banks; but my eye at the same time caught a most formidable-looking mass of burnished helmets, tipped with brass, just above the top of the hill on our left, at the other side of the river. One could plainly see through the glass that they were Russian infantry, but I believe the gallant old General thought at the time that they were cavalry, and that a similar error led to the serious mistake, later in the day, which deprived the Light Division of part of its regimental strength, and wasted it on "preparing to receive" an imaginary "cavalry." Sir George looked full of fight, clean shaven, neat and compact; I could not help thinking, however, there was a little pleasant malice in his salutation to me. As he rode past, he said, in a very jaunty, Hyde Park manner, "It's a very fine day, Mr. Russell." At this moment the whole of our light was almost obscured by the clouds of black smoke from the burning village on our right, and the front of the Russian line above us had burst into a volcano of flame and white smoke--the roar of the artillery became terrible--we could hear the heavy rush of the shot, those terrible dumps into the ground, and the crash of the trees, through which it tore with resistless fury and force; splinter and masses of stone flew out of the walls. It was rather provoking to be told so coolly it was a very fine day amid such circumstances; but at that very moment the men near us were ordered to advance, and they did so in quick time in open line towards the walls which bounded the vineyards before us. As I had no desire to lead my old friends of the Light Division into action, I rode towards the right to rejoin Sir De Lacy Evans, if possible; and as I got on the road I saw Lord Raglan's staff riding towards the river, and the shot came flinging close to me, one, indeed, killing one of two bandsmen who were carrying a litter close to my side, after passing over the head of my horse. It knocked away the side of his face, and he fell dead--a horrible sight. The G and B batteries of the Second Division were unlimbered in front, and were firing with great steadiness on the Russians; and now and then a rocket, with a fiery tail and a huge waving mane of white smoke, rushed with a shrill shout against the enemy's massive batteries. Before me all was smoke--our men were lying down still; but the Rifles, led by Major Norcott, conspicuous on a black horse, were driving back the enemy's sharpshooters with signal gallantry, and clearing the orchards and vineyards in our front by a searching fire. When I reached the spot where I had last seen Sir De Lacy Evans, he was nowhere to be found, for he had, as I afterwards heard, ridden with his staff close to the river by the burning village. My position was becoming awkward. Far away in the rear was the baggage, from which one could see nothing; but where I was placed was very much exposed. A shell burst over my head, and one of the fragments tore past my face with an angry whir-r-r, and knocked up the earth at my poor pony's feet. Close at hand, and before me, was a tolerably good stone-house, one story high, with a large court-yard, in which were several stacks of hay that had not as yet caught fire. I rode into this yard, fastened up my pony to the rope binding one of the ricks, and entered the house, which was filled with fragments of furniture, torn paper, and books, and feathers, and cushion linings, and established myself at the window, from which I could see the Russian artillerymen serving their guns; their figures, now distinctly revealed against the hill side, and again lost in a spurting whirl of smoke. I was thinking what a terrible sort of field-day this was, and combating an uneasy longing to get to the front, when a tremendous crash, as though a thunderclap had burst over my head, took place right above me, and in the same instant I was struck and covered with pieces of broken tiles, mortar, and stones, the window out of which I was looking flew into pieces, parts of the roof fell down, and the room was filled with smoke. [Sidenote: A WARNING TO QUIT.] There was no mistaking this warning to quit. A shell had burst in the ceiling. As I ran out into the yard I found my pony had broken loose, but I easily caught him, and scarcely had I mounted when I heard a tremendous roll of musketry on my left front, and looking in the direction, I saw the lines of our red jackets in the stream, and swarming over the wooden bridge. A mass of Russians were at the other side of the stream, firing down on them from the high banks, but the advance of the men across the bridge forced these battalions to retire; and I saw, with feelings which I cannot express, the Light Division scrambling, rushing, foaming like a bloody surge up the ascent, and in a storm of fire, bright steel, and whirling smoke, charge towards the deadly epaulement, from which came roar and flash incessantly. I could distinctly see Sir George Brown and the several mounted officers above the heads of the men, and could detect the dark uniforms of the Rifles scattered here and there in front of the waving mass. On the right of this body, the 30th, 55th, and 95th were slowly winning their way towards the battery, exposed to a tremendous fire, which swallowed them up in the fiery grey mantle of battle. The rush of shot was appalling, and I recollect that I was particularly annoyed by the birds which were flying about distractedly in the smoke, as I thought they were fragments of shell. Already the wounded were passing by me. One man of the 30th was the first; he limped along with his foot dangling from the ankle, supporting himself on his firelock. "Thank you kindly, sir," said he, as I gave him a little brandy, the only drop I had left. "Glory be to God, I killed and wounded some of the Roosians before they crippled me, any way." He halted off towards the rear. In another moment two officers approached--one leaning on the other--and both wounded, as I feared, severely. They belonged to the 30th. They went into the enclosure I had left, and having assured them I would bring them help, I rode off towards the rear, and returned with the surgeon of the Cavalry Division, who examined their wounds. All this time the roar of the battle was increasing. I went back to my old spot; in doing so I had to ride gently, for wounded men came along in all directions. One was cut in two by a round shot as he approached. Many of them lay down under the shelter of a wall, which was, however, enfiladed by the enemy. Just at this moment I saw the Guards advancing in the most majestic and stately order up the hill; while through the intervals and at their flanks poured the broken masses of the Light Division, which their officers were busy in re-forming. The Highlanders, who were beyond them, I could not see; but I never will forget the awful fury, the powerful detonation of the tremendous volleys which Guards and Highlanders poured in upon the Russian battalions, which in vain tried to defend their batteries and to check the onward march of that tide of victory. All of a sudden the round shot ceased to fly along the line; then there was a sharp roll of musketry and a heavy fire of artillery which lasted for some moments. Then one, two, three round shot pitched in line, ricochetting away to the rear. As I looked round to see what mischief they did, a regiment came rapidly towards the river. I rode towards them; they were the 50th. "The cannon shot come right this way, and you'll suffer frightfully if you go on." As I spoke, a shell knocked up the dust to our right, and Colonel Waddy, pushing the left, led his men across the river. I rode towards the bridge. The road wall was lined by wounded. Fitzgerald (7th), with his back against the wall, was surveying his wounded legs with wonderful equanimity. "I wish they had left me one, at all events," said he, as we tried to stop the bleeding. As I passed the bridge there was a spattering of musketry. The cannon were still busy on our right, and field-guns were firing on the retreating Russians, whose masses were over the brow of the hill. Then there was a thundering cheer, loud as the roar of battle, and one cannon boomed amid its uproar. This was the victory. A few paces brought me to the bloody slopes where friend and foe lay in pain, or in peace for ever. [Sidenote: A NICE QUESTION.] When the columns were deploying, Northcott moved from the left and advanced to the front of the Light and First Divisions, till they came to a long low stone wall. Here they waited till the line came up. The instant they did so, the two front companies, in extended order, leaped over the wall into the vineyards, the two companies in support moving down a road to their left, on a ford, by which they crossed the stream. The Rifles were first across the river. They were under the cover of a bank which bounded the plateau, and hid them from the fire at our advancing columns. It was a second terrace; for just at this place the ground was a series of three giant steps--the first being that from the river to the top of the bank; the second, from the plateau at the top of the bank to the plateau on which the enemy were in position; and the third being from that position to the highest ground of all, on which they had their reserves. No sooner had the Rifles lined this lower ridge than the enemy pushed a column of infantry, headed by some few Cossacks, down the road which led to the ford, and threatened to take them in rear and flank and destroy them, for these gallant fellows were without support. Major Norcott, however, was not dismayed, but at once made the most skilful disposition to meet this overwhelming column of the enemy. Retiring from the ridge, he placed one of the four companies under him on the road by which they were advancing, two others he posted along the bank of a vineyard on the right of this road, and with the fourth he occupied the farm-house in the centre of the vineyard: thus availing himself of the resources of the ground with much skill and judgment. At this moment there were no supports in sight--nothing to rest or form upon in the rear--the Rifles were quite alone. The Russians advanced leisurely; but to the astonishment of our officers, just as the men were about to open fire on them, the Cossacks and the column halted, and then wheeling to the right-about, retired up the road and disappeared over the brow of the hill. On looking round, however, the phenomenon was soon explained--Codrington's brigade was rushing across the river under a tremendous fire, and at the same time the Russians advanced heavy columns of infantry towards the ridge over the stream. The Rifles moved towards their right to join the Light Division, and at the same time poured in a close and deadly fire upon the dense formation of the enemy, which must have caused them great loss. Having effected their junction, the Rifles moved up with the Light Division, and bringing up their left shoulders, threw themselves on the flank of the battery, bravely led by Major Norcott, till they were forced to retire with their supports. One company, under Captain Colville, was separated from the left wing, and did not participate as fully as the other companies in the fight; and the right wing, under Colonel Lawrence, was kept back by a variety of impediments, and had no opportunity of playing the same distinguished part as the left. As soon as the line of the Light Division came up to the Rifles, the latter were ordered to retire, and re-form in rear of the brigades; but some few of the men could not obey the order, and were consequently in front along with the advance--some with the Guards, others with the men of Codrington's brigade. Captain the Hon. W. Colville and Lieutenant Nixon both claim, or claimed, the credit of having led up their men skirmishing in front of the advance of the red soldiers; and the question is one which I cannot decide. Both those gallant officers arrogated to themselves the honour of having performed the same action; and I believe each thought that he had, when one of the colonels of the Guards was dismounted, brought a horse to the officer, and enabled him to resume his place with his men. [Sidenote: A DAY TO BE REMEMBERED.] The approach of the Light Division--why should I not dwell fondly on every act of that gallant body, the first "put at" everything, the first in Buffering, in daring, in endurance throughout the campaign?--their approach, then, was in double columns of brigades; the Second Division being on their right, and the second battalion of the Rifle Brigade, divided into two wings, one under Major Norcott, the other under Colonel Lawrence, being in advance in skirmishing order. When the Light Division got within long range, they deployed; the men lay down. Again they advanced; once more they were halted to lie down; this time the shot pitched among them; the same thing was repeated again ere they reached the river, and many were wounded before they got to the vineyards. Here, indeed, they were sheltered, but when the order was given to advance, the men were thrown into disorder, not so much by the heavy fire as by the obstacles opposed by hedges, stone walls, vines, and trees. These well-drilled regiments were thus deprived of the fruits of many a day's hard marching at Gallipoli, Aladyn, and Devna; but the 1st Brigade being in rather better ground and more in hand than the 2nd Brigade, moved off, and with them the 19th Regiment, belonging to Brigadier Buller, who was lost in a hollow, and afterwards, as Lord Raglan euphemistically expressed it, manoeuvred judiciously on the left. The 19th, 7th, 23rd, and 33rd were led at a run right to the river, gallantly conducted by Codrington. Their course was marked by killed and wounded, but the four regiments were quickly under the shelter of the high bank at the south side, in such a state of confusion from the temporary commingling of the men in the rush, that it was necessary to re-form. The enemy, too late to support their skirmishers, sought to overwhelm them in the stream, and three battalions of grey-coated infantry came down at the double almost to the top of the bank, and poured down a heavy fire. They were straggling, but not weak; the Brigade and the 19th made a simultaneous rush up the bank, and, as they crowned it, met their enemies with a furious fire. The dense battalions, undeployed, were smitten, and as the Light Division advanced they rapidly fell back to the left, for the renewed fire of their batteries, leaving, however, many dead and wounded men. After a momentary delay, these gallant regiments, led by Sir George Brown and Brigadier Codrington, advanced up the slope which was swept by the guns of the battery; grape, round, and shell tore through their ranks, and the infantry on the flanks, advancing at an angle, poured in a steady fire from point-blank distance. It must be confessed that the advance was disorderly--instead of the men being two deep and showing an extended front of fire, they were five, six, and seven deep, in ragged columns, with scarcely any front, and not half so extended as they should have been. Thus their fire was not as powerful or their advance as imposing as it ought to have been. The General and Brigadier made some attempts to restore order, but they were unsuccessful. The men had not only got into confusion in the river from stopping to drink, as I have related, but had disordered their ranks by attacks on the grapes in the vineyards on their way. Behind the work, on rising ground, a Russian regiment kept up a most destructive file fire on our advance; the field-pieces on the flank also played incessantly upon them. Every foot they advanced was marked by lines of slain or wounded men. The 7th Fusiliers, smitten by a storm of grape, reeling to and fro like some brave ship battling with a tempest, whose sails are gone, whose masts are toppling, and whose bulwarks are broken to pieces, but which still holds on its desperate way, impelled by unquenchable fire, within a few seconds lost a third of its men. Led by "Old Yea," it still went on--a colour lost for the time, their officers down, their files falling fast--they closed up, and still with eye which never left the foe, pressed on to meet him. The 23rd Regiment was, however, exposed more, if that were possible, to that lethal hail. In less than two minutes from the time they crowned the bank till they neared the battery the storm had smitten down twelve of their officers, of whom eight never rose again. Diminished by one-half, the gallant companies sought, with unabated heart, to reach their terrible enemies. The 19th marched right up towards the mouths of the roaring cannon which opened incessantly and swept down their ranks; the 33rd, which had moved up with the greatest audacity over broken ground towards the flank of the epaulement, where it was exposed to a tremendous fire and heavy losses from guns and musketry from the hill above, was for the moment checked by the pitiless pelting of this iron rain. Their general at this terrible crisis seemed to have but one idea--right or wrong, it was to lead them slap at the battery, into the very teeth of its hot and fiery jaws. As he rode in front, shouting and cheering on his men, his horse fell, and down he went in a cloud of dust. He was soon up, and called out, "I'm all right. Twenty-third, be sure I'll remember this day." It was indeed a day for any one to remember. General Codrington in the most gallant manner rode in advance of his brigade, and rode his horse right over and into the work, as if to show his men there was nothing to fear; for by this time the enemy, intimidated by the rapid, though tumultuous advance of the brigade, were falling away from the flanks of the battery, and were perceptibly wavering in their centre. The infantry behind the breastwork were retreating up the hill. The Russians were in great dismay and confusion. They limbered up their guns, which were endangered by the retirement of their infantry from the flanks of the epaulement, and retired towards their reserves, which were posted on high ground in the rear. In this retrograde movement their artillery got among the columns of the infantry, and increased the irregular nature of their retreat; but they still continued to fire, and were at least three times as numerous as the men of the Light Division who were assailing them. When Sir George Brown went down, a rifleman, named Hugh Hannan, assisted him on his horse, and as they stood under a murderous fire, saluted as he got into his seat, and said, "Are your stirrups the right length, sir?" Major Norcott, on his old charger, which, riddled with balls, carried his master throughout the day, and lay down and died when his work was over, got up to the redoubt, which was also entered by Brown and Codrington. (The reserve artillery horses had succeeded in drawing away all the guns except one, which was still in position, and on this gun, when the first rush was made, an officer of the 33rd, named Donovan, scratched his name.) In broken groups the 23rd, with whom were mingled men of the 19th and 33rd Regiments, rushed at the earthwork, leaped across it, bayoneted a few Russians who offered resistance, and for an instant were masters of the position. Captain Bell, of the 23rd, observed a driver in vain urging by whip and spar two black horses to carry off one of the brass sixteen-pounder guns which had done so much execution. Bell ran up, and, seizing the reins, held a revolver to his head. He dismounted, and ran off. Bell, with the assistance of a soldier of the 7th, named Pyle, led the horses round the shoulder of the parapet to the rear of our line, where the gun remained after the Light Division was obliged to retire, and reported the capture to Sir George Brown. The horses were put into our "black battery." This was but an episode. The colours of the 23rd were planted on the centre of the parapet. Both the colour-officers, Butler and Anstruther, were killed. The colours were hit in seventy-five places, and the pole of one was shot in two; it had to be spliced. Meantime, the Russians, seeing what a handful of men they had to deal with, gained heart. The brigade and the 19th had held the entrenchment for nearly ten minutes, keeping the massive columns above them in check by their desperate but scattered fire. Where were the supports? they were not to be seen. The advance of the Guards, though magnificent, was somewhat slow. Two of the dark-grey masses, bristling with steel on our front, began to move towards the battery. The men fired, but some staff-officer or officers called out that we were firing upon the French. A bugler sounded the "Cease firing." The Russians advanced, and our men were compelled to fall back. Some of the enemy, advancing from the epaulement, proceeded in pursuit, but were checked by the apparition of the Guards. [Sidenote: FORMING A SQUARE.] The Duke of Cambridge, who commanded the First Division, had never seen a shot fired in anger. Of his Brigadiers, only Sir Colin Campbell--a soldier trained in many a stubborn fight, and nursed in the field--was acquainted with actual warfare; but it is nevertheless the case that the deciding move of the day on our left was made by his Royal Highness, and that the Duke, who was only considered to be a cavalry officer, showed then, as on a subsequent tremendous day, that he had the qualities of a brave and energetic leader. When the last halt took place, the Guards and Highlanders lay down a good deal to the rear of the Light Division, which they were to support; and in the advance immediately afterwards, the Brigade of Guards, being on the left behind Codrington's Brigade, lost several men ere they reached the river by the fire directed on those regiments. Between them and the river the ground was much broken, and intersected by walls and the hedges of vineyards; but on their left, opposite the Highlanders, the ground was more favourable. The men wearing their bearskins--more ponderous and more heavily weighted than the men of the line--suffered much from thirst and the heat of the day, and they displayed an evident inclination to glean in the vineyards after the soldiers of the Light Division; but the Duke led them on with such rapidity that they could not leave their ranks, and the officers and sergeants kept them in most admirable order till they came to the wall, in leaping over which they were of course a little disorganized. On crossing it they were exposed to a heavier fire, and by the time they reached the river the Light Division were advancing up the slope against the enemy's guns. The bank of the stream in front was deep and rugged, but the Duke and his staff crossed it gallantly; and placing himself in front of the Guards on the left--Sir Colin Campbell being near him at the head of his Brigade, and General Bentinck being on his right--his Royal Highness led his division into action. On reaching the other side of the river the Guards got into another large vineyard, the same in which the Rifles had been stationed for a time, and it became very difficult to get them into line again, for they had of course been disordered in passing through the river. The guards threw out their sergeants in front, as if on parade, and dressed up in line, protected in some degree from fire as they did so by the ridge in front of them, and Sir Colin Campbell formed up his Highlanders on their left, as if they were "ruled" by machinery. It was time they were ready for action, for at this moment the Light Division was observed to be falling back towards them in disorder, and the Russians, encouraged by the partial success, but taught by their short experience that it would be rather dangerous to come too near them, were slowly advancing after them, and endeavouring to get positions for the guns; in fact, it was probable that in a few minutes more they would run them into the epaulement once more. In front of the 42nd Highlanders was the 88th Regiment halted, and doing nothing; and Colonel Cameron, who was astonished to find them in such a position, was obliged to move out of his course a little in order to pass them. As we thus come on this gallant regiment, it may be as well to say how they came here. As the 88th were about to advance from the river, having their right on the 19th and their left on the 77th, an Aide-de-Camp--I believe the Hon. Mr. Clifford--came down in haste from Sir George Brown, with the words "Cavalry! form square! form square!" and the right, accordingly, in some haste corresponding with the order, which was almost at the moment reiterated by Brigadier Buller, prepared to execute the movement, but the whole of the companies did not join in it, the men who were excluded, and an officer and some few of the Rifles, struggled to obtain admission into the square, which was for some moments in a very ineffective state, and scarcely ready to receive any determined charge of cavalry. The apprehensions, however, which were entertained by a few short-sighted people were unfounded. The enemy had made no demonstration with the cavalry. They had advanced a demi-battery of artillery towards the left flank of the 2nd Brigade, and supported the advance with a body of infantry in spiked helmets. Sir George Brown, whose sight was not good though he would not wear spectacles, and General Buller, whose vision was not good although he did wear spectacles, were deceived by the appearance of this force, and sent orders to form square. It was fortunate the Russian guns did not fire upon the 88th; just as they unlimbered Codrington's Brigade began to advance on the right, and the Rifles, part of the 88th, and the 77th, who, as they crossed the river, and endeavoured to re-form under the bank, were menaced by a column of Russians firing on the gunners, forced them to retire higher up the hill. Had the artillery held their ground, they could have inflicted great loss upon us, and seriously interfered with our advance on the right; but on this, as on other occasions, the Russians were too nervous for their guns, and withdrew them. In this general movement the 77th and 88th Regiments did not participate. There was not in the army a more gallant or better disciplined regiment than the 77th. Colonel Egerton was not only one of the bravest but one of the most intelligent, skilled, and thorough soldiers and officers in the whole service. In the trenches--at Inkerman--throughout the siege, the regiment showed of what noble material it was composed. The 88th had a fighting reputation, which they well vindicated at Inkerman, at the Quarries, and in many encounters with the enemy. It is astonishing, therefore, that the Light Division should have been in a vital moment deprived of the co-operation of these splendid soldiers, and should have been, hurled in confused masses against the enemy's bayonets and artillery, reduced by the suicidal incapacity of some one or other to four regiments. That there was no notion of keeping these regiments in reserve is shown by the fact that they were never advanced in support or used as a reserve when their comrades were involved in a most perilous and unequal struggle. The First Division advancing, and passing this portion of the Light Division, at once became exposed to fire, and received the shot which passed through the fragments of Codrington's Brigade; but as it was imperatively necessary that they should not be marched up in rear of regiments in a state of disorder, the Duke, by the advice of Sir Colin Campbell, ordered General Bentinck to move a little to his left, but ere the movement could be effected, portions of the Light Division came in contact with the centre of the line, and passing through its files to re-open in the rear, carried disorder into the centre battalion. It may be observed that this is a casualty to which extended line formations in support must always be liable, when the attacking lines in advance of them are obliged to fall back to re-form. Formations in column are of course less likely to be subjected to this inconvenience, and the broken troops can pour through the intervals between column and column with greater facility than they can pass round the flanks of lengthy and extended lines. The Coldstreams and the Grenadiers never for an instant lost their beautiful regularity and order, although they now fell fast under the enemy's fire, and several of the mounted officers lost their horses. Among these Major Macdonald was included, his horse was killed by a round shot, and he received a severe fall, but never for a moment lost his coolness and equanimity. [Sidenote: A MARCH OVER THE DEAD.] As the Light Division retreated behind the Guards to re-form, the Russian battalions on the flanks and behind the work fired on them, continuously, and at the same moment the guns which had been drawn out of the work to the high ground over it opened heavily. The Guards were struck in the centre by this iron shower. The fragments of Codrington's Brigade poured through them. In their front was a steel-bound wall of Russian infantry. Our own men were fast falling back, firing as they retired. After them came a glistening line of Russian bayonets, as if to clear the field. For a few seconds the Scots Fusiliers wavered and lost order; they were marching over dead and dying men. The Russians were within a few yards of them, but the officers rallied the men, and, conspicuous in their efforts, suffered heavily. The colour-bearers, Lieutenant Lindsay and Lieutenant Thistlewayte, with signal gallantry, extricated themselves from a perilous position, in which for the instant their men had left them--order was restored in the centre, and on the flanks the Grenadiers, under Colonel Hood, and Coldstreams were as steady and in as perfect order as though they were on parade. For a moment, it is said, the Duke thought of halting to dress his line, but Sir Colin Campbell, who was near at hand with his Highlanders, begged his Highness not to hesitate, but to push on at once at the enemy. The Russian artillery on the slopes above sent repeated volleys of grape, canister, round, and shell through their ranks, but at this moment, threatened on the flank by the French batteries, enfiladed by a 9-pounder and 24-pound howitzer of Turner's battery, which Lord Raglan had ordered up to a knoll on the opposite side of the river, on the slope between our attack and that of the French, the Russian guns were limbered up, and ceased their fire. Meantime General Sir De Lacy Evans had, in the most skilful and gallant manner, executed his instructions, and, with Pennefather's Brigade, had forced the Russian centre and the right centre. The Second Division advanced on the same alignement with Prince Napoleon's Division to the burning village of Bourliouk. Sir De Lacy Evans detached the 41st and the 49th Regiments, of Adams's Brigade and Turner's battery, by the right of the village, which the flames rendered impenetrable, and ordered them to force the passage. The ford in front was very deep, and the banks were bad and high, defended by a heavy fire; the regiments lost upwards of 40 men in the stream and on its banks. The General placed himself at the head of the remaining regiments, and led them by the left of the village towards the river; but, experienced in war, Sir De Lacy Evans availed himself of all means to carry the enemy's position with the smallest loss to his own men; he covered the advance of his troops by the fire of 18 pieces. Pennefather's Brigade, the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, was accompanied by Fitzmayer's battery; but the General, finding Dacre's battery and Wodehouse's battery, which belonged to the First and Light Divisions, stationed near, availed himself of the services volunteered by the officers in command of them to cover the advance of his men. The 95th Regiment, being on the extreme left of the Brigade, came upon the bridge of Bourliouk; the 55th Regiment, in the centre, had in front of them a deep ford and high banks; and the 30th Regiment were inconvenienced in their advance by the walls of the village, and by the cooking places cut in the high banks on the opposite side of the stream. On the right of the 30th Regiment came the 47th Regiment, and in the interval between these two regiments rode Sir De Lacy Evans. As soon as the Division emerged from the smoke and the houses of the village, the enemy directed on them an extremely severe fire--"such," says Sir De Lacy Evans, "as few, perhaps, of the most experienced soldiers have ever witnessed," till they came to the stream, which they passed under a storm of missiles which lashed the waters into bloody foam. The 95th, led very gallantly by Colonel Webber Smith, debouched from the bridge and narrow ford just as the 7th, under Colonel Yea, formed on the other side. They were exposed to the same tremendous fire; they advanced, with colours flying, towards the left of the Russian epaulement, which Codrington was assailing, and claim the credit of having been the temporary captors of a gun on the left of the works. The 55th and 30th, led by Colonel Warren and Colonel Hoey, exposed to the full fire of two batteries and of six battalions disposed on the sides of the ravines and of the slopes above them, behaved with conspicuous gallantry, but could make no impression on the solid masses of the enemy. In a short time the 95th lost 6 officers killed, the Colonel and Major and 9 officers wounded, and upwards of 170 men. The 55th had 128 casualties, 8 of which occurred to officers, and 3 of which were fatal; the 80th Regiment lost 150 officers and men. [Sidenote: DIFFICULTIES OF GAINING INTELLIGENCE DURING BATTLE.] But the steadiness of our infantry and the destructive effect of their musketry were shaking the confidence of the enemy, now broken and turned on their left by the French. The Light Division was obliged to relinquish its hold of the work it had taken; but the Guards were advancing to their support--the Highlanders were moving up on the left--and the fortune of the day was every moment inclining to the allies. The French had sent to Lord Raglan for assistance, some say twice--certainly once, before we advanced. Our attack was not to begin till they had turned the left, and it is likely that M. St. Arnaud arranged to send information of that fact to Lord Raglan. But our Commander-in-chief did not receive any such intelligence. He was annoyed, uneasy, and disappointed at the delay which occurred on his right. He sent Colonel Vico to ascertain the state of affairs, to communicate, if possible, with the French Generals. Meantime, the French Generals were, if we credit authorities, annoyed, uneasy, and disappointed by the slowness of the English. Prince Napoleon sent to Lord Raglan, French staff-officers came with the piteous appeal--_Milord, je vous prie! pour l'amour de Dieu! Venez aux Français! Nous sommes massacrés!_ At last Lord Raglan gave orders to advance, although he had not heard of the success of the French attack on which the advance was to depend. When the 1st and 3rd Divisions had deployed, and were moving towards the Alma, Lord Raglan, and his staff advanced, and skirting the village of Bourliouk to the right, passed down a narrow lane which led to the ford, by which part of Adams's Brigade had crossed to the other side. They proceeded round the right of Adams's Brigade, immediately between the French and Evans's extreme right, and _en route_, his lordship observed Turner's battery, and passed close to the 41st and 49th on the other side of the river, for whose disposition he gave orders to Brigadier Adams. In crossing the ford the staff were exposed to fire from the Russian guns on the high grounds opposite Bourliouk, and the infantry in support. Two of the staff-officers were hit--Lieutenant Leslie, Royal Horse Guards, who was acting as orderly officer to the Commander-in-chief, and Captain Weare, Deputy-Assistant Adjutant-General. Lord Raglan gave orders for Turner's battery to come up to enfilade the enemy's guns. The lane, which formed at the other side of the ford the continuation of that road by which the Commander-in-chief had passed round Bourliouk to the river, ran at the bottom of a sheltered ravine, which almost divided the Russian position, and formed a boundary between the English and the French attacks. The enemy had been driven out of this ravine by the French, and the lane was unoccupied, but here and there in its windings it was swept by guns. The ravine, as it ascended, opened out, and became shallower, and on the right it wound below a small table-land, or rather a flattened knoll, of which there were several at the edge of the general level of the plateau. On ascending this knoll, Lord Raglan saw, as he anticipated, that the Russian guns commanding the ford were on his left, in such a position that they could be enfiladed, and indeed, taken in reverse. He despatched repeated orders to Turner; but owing to the steepness of the lane, and to the loss of a gun horse in the river, there was difficulty and delay in getting the guns up, and when they did arrive the Guards and Highlanders were already advancing up the hill, and closing on the Russian columns. The guns[14] which came up were, I believe, a 24-pounder howitzer, and a 9-pounder, and as the tumbril attached to the former had not arrived, it was served with 9-pounder ammunition and round shot. The artillery officers and General Strangways dismounted and worked the guns, as the men had not yet come up; Lieutenant Walsham arrived with the rest of the battery, and the six guns opened--on what? One officer says, on the "artillery" of the Russians--that two shots forced a whole line of Russian guns to retire, and that the Russian General, "seeing he was taken in flank," limbered up. But surely he could have turned round some of his numerous guns, and could have fought Turner's two with heavier metal. In fact, it was something else besides this fire of two shots (one of which hit a tumbril) which determined the retreat of the Russian artillery. It was the advance of the First and Second Divisions. The Guards were half-way up the hill when these two guns opened, and the Russians limbered up when they saw they were turned on their left, and threatened on their right. The Russian artillery officer, after he retired, directed his guns against Turner's battery, and some riflemen were sent to cripple it, one of whom shot Lieutenant Walsham as he was in the act of loading. Lord Raglan saw the day was won by the Light Division, the Second Division, the Guards, and Highlanders; for, seeing the advance of the latter, he exclaimed, "Let us join the Guards!" and rode into the ravine to his left in their direction. But the enemy had not yet abandoned their position. A division of infantry in columns came from the rear of the hill, and marched straight upon the Brigade of Guards. The Guards dressed up, and advanced to meet them. Some shot struck the rear of the Russian columns, they began to melt away, and wavered; still they came on slowly, and began file-firing. One column moved towards the left flank of the Guards, facing round as if to meet the Highlanders, who were moving with rapidity up from the hollow in which they had been sheltered from the enemy's fire. The two other columns faced the Guards. The distance between them was rapidly diminishing, when suddenly the Brigade poured in a fire so destructive that it annihilated their front ranks, and left a ridge of killed and wounded men on the ground. The Highlanders almost at the same moment delivered a volley, sharp, deadly, and decisive. Pennefather's Brigade, on the right of the Guards, supported by Adams, appeared on the side of the slope. The enemy, after a vain attempt to shake off the panic occasioned by that rain of death, renewed their fire very feebly, and then, without waiting, turned as our men advanced with bayonets at the charge, over the brow of the hill to join the mass of the Russian army, who, divided into two bodies, were retreating with all possible speed. Our cavalry rode up to the crest of the hill, and looked after the enemy. They took a few prisoners, but they were ordered to let them go again. Lord Raglan expressed his intention of keeping his cavalry "in a bandbox," and was apprehensive of getting into serious difficulty with the enemy. The Battle of the Alma was won. The men halted on the battle-field, and as the Commander-in-chief, the Duke of Cambridge, Sir De Lacy Evans, and the other popular generals rode in front of the line, the soldiers shouted, and when Lord Raglan was in front of the Guards, the whole army burst into a tremendous cheer, which made one's heart leap--the effect of that cheer can never be forgotten by those who heard it. It was near five o'clock; the men had been eleven hours under arms, and had fought a battle, and the enemy were to be--"let alone." The Russians fired one gun as they retreated, and made some show of covering their rear with their cavalry. [Sidenote: TACTICS OF THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA.] Upon the conduct of the Battle of the Alma there has been much foreign criticism, and the results and deductions have been unfavourable to the Russian General, who permitted his left to be turned without any serious resistance, although he ought to have calculated on the effect of the operations by sea on that flank. In apparent opposition to this judgment there has been at the same time great praise awarded to the French for the gallantry with which they attacked that portion of the position. They deserve every laudation for the extraordinary activity, rapidity, and bravery with which they established themselves on the centre and left-centre, but on the extreme left they had no hard fighting. The English seem to have been awarded the meed of solidity and unshaken courage, but at the same time hints are thrown out that they did not move quite quickly enough, that therefore their losses were great, and their work after all not so hazardous and difficult as that of the French, inasmuch as the English attack took place only when the Russian left was turned. In effect, however, the right of the enemy presented less physical difficulties to the establishment of a hostile force on the flank, and it was there that the greatest number of artificial obstacles in the shape of guns, cavalry, and men, was accumulated. But was the plan of battle good? In the first place, we attacked the enemy in the position of his own selection, without the least attempt to manoeuvre or to turn him. It might have been difficult, situated as we were, without cavalry, and with masses of baggage, to have attempted any complex manoeuvres; but it has been asserted that by a flank march we could, by a temporary abandonment of our seaboard, have placed the enemy between two fires, and have destroyed his army in case of defeat. It has been suggested that early on the morning of the 20th the Allies should have moved obliquely from the bivouac on the Bouljanak, and, crossing the Alma to the east of the enemy's position, have obliged his left to make a harassing march, to get up and occupy new ground in a fresh alignement, have deprived him of his advantages, and have endangered his retreat to Bakshi Serai or Simpheropol, if he refused battle, and that in event of his defeat, which would have been pretty certain, considering how much weaker his new line would have been, he would have been driven towards the shore, exposed to the fire of our ships, so that his force would have been obliged to lay down their arms. Menschikoff's army utterly ruined, Sebastopol would have at once surrendered, disposed as it was to have done so with very little compression. Criticism is easy after the circumstances or conduct of which you judge have had their effect; but to this it may be remarked that criticism cannot, by its very nature, be prospective. Even civilians are as good judges as military men of the grand operations of war, although they may be ignorant of details, and of the modes by which those operations have been effected. Alexander, Cæsar, Pompey, Hannibal, may have had many club colonels in their day, who thought they made "fatal moves;" we know that in our own time there were many military men who "had no great opinion" of either General Wellesley or General Bonaparte; but the results carry with them the weight of an irreversible verdict, which is accepted by posterity long after the cliques and jealousies and animosities of the hour have passed away for ever. Now, without being a member of a clique, having no possible jealousies, and being free from the smallest animosities, I may inquire was there any generalship shown by any of the allied generals at the Alma? We have Lord Raglan, as brave, as calm, as noble, as any gentleman who ever owned England as his mother-land--trotting in front of his army, amid a shower of balls, "just as if he were riding down Rotten Row," with a kind nod for every one, leaving his generals and men to fight it out as best they could, riding across the stream through the French riflemen, not knowing where he was going to, or where the enemy were, till fate led him to a little knoll, from which he saw some of the Russian guns on his flank, whereupon he sent an order for guns, seemed surprised that they could not be dragged across a stream, and up a hill which presented difficulties to an unencumbered horseman--then, cantering over to join the Guards ere they made their charge, and finding it over while he was in a hollow of the ground. As to the mode in which the attack was carried on by us, there was immense gallantry, devotion, and courage, and, according to military men present, no small amount of disorder. The Light Division was strangely handled. Sir George Brown, whose sight was so indifferent that he had to get one of his officers to lead his horse across the river, seemed not to know where his division was, and permitted Brigadier Buller to march off with two regiments of his brigade, leaving the third to join Codrington's Brigade. The men got huddled together on the other side of the river under the ridge, and lay there seven or eight instead of two deep, so that when they rose and delivered fire, their front was small, and the effect diminished. Then they were led straight up at the guns in a confused mass; when they had got into the battery they were left without supports, so that the enemy forced them to relinquish their hold, and were enabled to recover the work. The Light Division had, it is true, drawn the teeth of the battery, but still the enemy were able to fire over the heads of the columns from the hill above. However, the Alma was won. Menschikoff was in retreat, and the world was all before us on the evening of the 20th of September. Whether our generals had any foresight of what that world was to be--what were to be the fruits of victory, or the chances of disaster--let the history of the war on some future day communicate to the world. The Russians were very much dissatisfied with the result of this battle. They put forth the rawness of the troops, their inferiority in numbers, and many other matters; they criticised severely the conduct of their generals during the action, and the disposition of the troops on the ground; but, after all, their position ought to have been impregnable, if defended by determined infantry. The force under the orders of Prince Menschikoff was composed as follows:-- [Sidenote: THE RUSSIAN FORCES.] Battalions. Guns. The 1st Brigade of the 14th Division of the 5th Army Corps, } consisting of regiment No. 27 Volhynia, and regiment No. } 8 16 28 Minsk, with No. 3 battery of position, and No. 3 light } battery } The 16th Division 6th Army Corps, consisting of the regiments } 31st Vladimir, 32nd Sudalski, 31st (Light) Uglilski, 32nd } 16 36 (Light) Kazan, with the 16th Brigade of Artillery, No. 1 and} No. 2 light batteries, and No. 2 battery of position } The 2nd Brigade of the 17th Division, with the regiment of } Moscow, the 17th Brigade of Artillery, No. 4 and No. 5 } 12 24 light batteries, and No. 3 battery of position } 4 Reserve battalions of the 13th 4 0 The rifle and sapper battalions of the 6th Corps 2 0 2 battalions of sailors, with 4 guns 2 4 ------------ 44 80 CAVALRY. Squadrons. Guns. 2nd Brigade of 6th Cavalry Division, 2 regiments, each of 8 } squadrons } 16 0 16 sotnias of Cossacks, or regiment of 4 squadrons 8 0 No. 12 light battery of horse artillery 0 8 No. 4 Cossack battery 0 8 ------------ Total--Infantry, between 33,000 and 34,000 24 16 Cavalry, about 3,500. The Russians have given the following account of their own position and of some incidents of the action:-- The centre of their position lay on the high slopes of the left bank of the river, opposite the village of Bourliouk; the left on the still higher and less accessible hills, with perpendicularly scarped sides, which rise from the river near the sea; the right wing on the gentle ascents into which this rising ground subsides about half a mile eastward of the village. The reserves, which were posted behind the centre, consisted of the regiments of Volhynia, Minsk, and Moscow, the two former of which subsequently took an active part in the siege, and were the principal workmen and combatants in constructing and occupying the famous "white works" on the right of our position before Sebastopol. On their right flank were two regiments of hussars and two field batteries; in the rear of the right wing was stationed a regiment of Riflemen. Oddly enough, the Russian General sent off a battalion of the Moscow regiment to occupy the village of Ulukul Akles, several miles in the rear of his left wing, as if to prevent a descent behind him from the sea. [Sidenote: A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.] The disposition of this force will be seen on reference to the plan which accompanies the description of the battle of the Alma. The right was commanded by Lieutenant-General Knetsinsky, of the 16th Division; the centre by Prince Gortschakoff I.; the left by Lieutenant-General Kiriakoff, Commander of the 17th Division; and Prince Menschikoff took the control of the whole, being generally on the left of the centre, near the telegraph station. When the Allies came in sight, the Rifle battalion, about 650 strong, crossed to the right bank of the river, and occupied the village of Bourliouk and the vineyards near it, and the regiments in front advanced their skirmishers to the left bank, and Menschikoff rode along the front from the right to the left of the line to animate the men, most of whom had been present at a mass to the Virgin early in the morning, when prayers were offered for her aid against the enemy. Our advance seemed to the Russians rather slow; but at last, at about 12.30, the Allies came within range, and a sharp fusilade commenced between the skirmishers and riflemen. About 12.20 the steamers outside began to fire on the Russian left, and forced the regiments of Minsk and Moscow to retire with loss, and killed some horses and men of the light battery stationed on their flank. Their shells struck down four officers of Menschikoff's staff later in the day, and did most effective service in shaking the confidence of the enemy, and in searching out their battalions so as to prevent their advance towards the seaboard. As the Allies advanced, the Cossacks, according to orders, set fire to the haystacks in the Tartar village, which soon caught, and poured out a mass of black smoke, mingled with showers of sparks. The guns of the Allies, from the right of the village, now began to play on the enemy, and caused so much loss in the four reserve battalions under General Oslonovich, that they, being young soldiers, began to retire of their own accord. At the same time the French gained the heights, driving back and destroying the 2nd battalion of the Moscow regiment, and holding their ground against the Minsk regiment, the 1st, 3rd, and 4th battalions of the Moscow regiment, and a numerous artillery, which arrived too late to wrest the heights from their grasp till the demonstration in the centre rendered their position certain and secure. General Kiriakoff, who commanded the left wing, seems to have been utterly bewildered, and to have acted with great imbecility, and want of decision and judgment. The Russians with whom I have conversed have assured me that he gave no orders, left every officer to do as he liked, and retired from the field, or at least disappeared from their view, very early in the fight. As the reserve battalions retired, the battalion of the Taioutine regiment, which was placed in a ravine in front of the river, withdrew as soon as it got under fire, and left a very important part of the position undefended. The Kazan and Ouglitsky regiments, defending the epaulement in which the guns were placed, suffered severely from the fire of the English riflemen, and the two battalions of the Borodino regiment, which advanced towards the river to fire on our men as they crossed the ford, were driven back with great slaughter by the continuous flight of Minié bullets. As Pennefather's brigade advanced, two battalions of the Vladimir regiment, deploying into columns of battalions, charged them with the bayonet, but were checked by our murderous fire, and only a few men were killed and wounded in the encounter between the foremost ranks, which were much broken and confused for a few moments. The advance of the French obliquely from the right, and the success of the English on the left, threatening to envelope the whole of the enemy, they began to retreat in tolerable order; but the English and French guns soon began to open a cross fire on them, and their march became less regular. A Russian officer, who has written an account of the action, relates that Prince Menschikoff, as he rode past his regiment, then marching off the ground as fast as it could under our fire, said, "It's a disgrace for a Russian soldier to retreat;" whereupon one of the officers exclaimed, "If you had ordered us, we would have stood our ground." It would appear that, on arriving at the heights of the Katcha, part of the Russian army halted for a short time, and took up their position in order of battle, in case the Allies followed. As to the propriety of such a movement on our part by a portion of our army, under the circumstances, there may be some difference of opinion. As to the pursuit of the enemy on the spot by all the allied forces there can be no diversity of sentiment; but as to the proposition which Lord Raglan's friends declare he made, to continue the pursuit with our 1,100 cavalry, some artillery, and no infantry, it seems scarcely possible that it was made in seriousness. The enemy, defeated though they were, mustered nearly 30,000 men, of whom 3,500 were cavalry, and they had with them 94 guns. In their rear there was a most formidable position, protected by a river of greater depth and with deeper banks than the Alma. It was getting dark--no one knew the country--the troops were exhausted by a day's marching and manoeuvring under a hot sun--and yet it is said that, under these circumstances, Lord Raglan proposed a pursuit by the portion of the French who had not been engaged, by the Turkish division, and by part of our cavalry, and a hypothetical two or three batteries. Most military men will, if that assertion be substantiated, probably think less of his lordship's military capacity than ever they did before. The grounds on which M. St. Arnaud is stated to have declined acceding to the wishes of Lord Raglan are these--that he could send no infantry, and that his artillery had exhausted their ammunition. Now, unquestionably St. Arnaud was quite as anxious as any one could be to complete his victory, and continue the pursuit of the enemy; and in his three despatches respecting the battle he laments repeatedly his inability, from want of cavalry, to turn the retreat of the Russians into a rout. It is also true that the artillery of the French had exhausted their ammunition; but let us calmly examine the means at the disposal of the two generals to effect an operation of a most difficult and serious kind, which is said to have been suggested by the one and rejected by the other. The English army present at the Alma, in round numbers as stated in the official returns, consisted of 27,000 men; the French, of 25,000; the Turks, of 6,000 men. Of the English were engaged with such loss as would incapacitate the regiments from action--the Guards, the 7th, 19th, 23rd, 30th, 33rd, 47th, 55th, 95th, one wing of 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. There remained in just as good order for marching as any of the French regiments--1st Battalion of the Royals, 4th, 79th, 44th, 21st, 1st Battalion Rifle Brigade, 50th, 49th, 77th, 88th, 20th, 28th, 38th, 42nd--14 Battalions--and the cavalry; and according to the French accounts all their divisions were more or less engaged, with the exception of part of Forey's. The Staff-officer admits we had 7,000 men who had not taken a part in the action; but then he adds that these 7,000 men were "not in fact more than sufficient for the immediate necessities of the camp." Now, as the French force was nearly equal to ours, the necessities of their camp would be nearly equal to ours also. He avers they had "12,000 men who had never been engaged." Be it so. But deduct 7,000 men required for "the immediate necessities of the camp," and you will have a disposable force of 5,000 men, who, with a force of Turks (supposed to have no camp at all, and therefore to have none of the English or French necessities for eating or drinking or camping), were, according to Lord Raglan's Staff-officer, to start off at four o'clock on a September evening to chase an army of 30,000 cavalry and infantry, and 94 guns! That is really the most preposterous attempt to vindicate Lord Raglan's generalship that has ever been given to the world. His lordship never says a word in his published despatches to corroborate those confidential communications, and it is to be hoped that they illustrate some of "the many opinions and motives ascribed to Lord Raglan which the Field-Marshal never entertained," to which the writer refers. Next day St. Arnaud wished to advance and follow the enemy, but Lord Raglan would not listen to it, as he had 3,000 wounded English and Russians to move. That is, if the 10,000 Turks and French, and a few field batteries, had come up with and beaten the Russians, Lord Raglan would have permitted them to pursue their career of victory without support, and to do as they pleased; and if they were beaten and allowed to fall back, he would leave their wounded in the hands of the enemy, or spend still more time in burying them. But the worst of all is that, after losing two days, the English wounded were nearly all on board ship by the afternoon of the 21st--in spite of the Marshal's protest we were obliged to leave upwards of 700 wounded Russians on the ground, with one surgeon and one servant to wait upon them. The enemy halted at the Katcha till after midnight, crossing it at Aranchi, and fell back towards Sebastopol, on the north side of which a portion of the troops arrived by 4 o'clock on the following afternoon. Their loss was, as stated in the official accounts, 1,762 killed, 2,315 wounded, 405 contused. Two generals prisoners. Generals Kvitzinsky, Schelkanoff, Goginoff, Kourtianoff, wounded. Every one of the enemy had a loaf of black bread, and a linen roll containing coarse broken biscuit or hard bread like oil cake. Though some of the troops had been at the Alma for a couple of days, no bones were found about the ground. The ground was in a most filthy state. After battle came removal of wounded and the burial of the dead. The Russian dead were all buried together in pits, and were carried down to their graves as they lay. Our parties on the 21st and 22nd buried 1,200 men. The British soldiers were buried in pits. Their firelocks, and the useful portions of their military equipment, were alone preserved. [Sidenote: HUMANE BARBARITY.] The quantity of firelocks, great coats, bearskin caps, shakos, helmets and flat forage caps, knapsacks (English and Russian), belts, bayonets, cartouch-boxes, cartridges, swords, exceeded belief; and round shot, fragments of shell smeared with blood and hair, grape and bullets, were under the foot and eye at every step. Our men broke the enemies' firelocks and rifles which lay on the ground. As many of them were loaded, the concussion set them off, so that dropping shot never ceased for about forty hours. The Russian musket was a good weapon to look at, but rather a bad one to use. The barrel, which was longer than ours, and was polished, was secured to the stock by brass straps, like the French. The lock was, however, tolerably good. The stock was of the old narrow Oriental pattern, and the wood of which it was made--white-grained and something like sycamore, broke easily. From the form of the heel of the stock, the "kick" of the musket must have been sharp with a good charge. Many had been originally flint-locked, but were changed to detonators by screwing in nipples and plugging up the touch-holes with steel screws. The cartridges were beautifully made and finished, the balls being strongly gummed in at the end, but the powder was coarse and unglazed, and looked like millet-seed; it was, however, clean in the hand, and burnt very smartly. The rifles were two-grooved, and projected a long conical ball. The ball was flat at the base, and had neither hollow cup nor pin; its weight must exceed that of our Minié ball. These rifles were made by J. P. Malherbe, of Liège. The bayonets were soft and bent easily. Some good swords belonging to officers were picked up, and weapons, probably belonging to drummers or bandsmen, exactly like the old Roman sword, very sharp and heavy. Some six or seven drums were left behind, but nearly all of them were broken--several by the shot which killed their owners. No ensign, eagle, standard, or colour of any kind was displayed by the enemy or found on the field. Our regiments marched with their colours, as a matter of course, and the enemy made the latter a special mark for the rifles. Thus it was so many ensigns, lieutenants, and sergeants fell. The sad duty of burying the dead was completed on the 22nd. The wounded were collected and sent on board ship in arabas and litters, and the surgeons with humane barbarity were employed night and day in saving life. In the Light Division there were nearly 1,000 cases for surgical attendance and operations, at which Drs. Alexander and Tice were busily employed. Dr. Gordon was active in the Second Division in the same work. There was more than an acre of Russian wounded when they were brought and disposed on the ground. Some of the prisoners told us they belonged to the army of Moldavia, and had only arrived in the Crimea twelve or fourteen days before the battle. If that were so, the expedition might have achieved enormous results at little cost, had it arrived three weeks earlier. All the Russian firelocks, knapsacks, bayonets, cartridge-boxes, &c., were collected together, near Lord Raglan's tent, and formed heaps about twenty yards long by ten yards broad. Our men were sent to the sea, three miles distant, on jolting arabas or tedious litters. The French had well-appointed covered hospital vans, to hold ten or twelve men, drawn by mules, and their wounded were sent in much greater comfort than our poor fellows. The beach was lined with boats carrying off the wounded. Commander Powell, of the _Vesuvius_, as beachmaster was indefatigable in his exertions. Some poor fellows died on their way to the sea. Not only the wounded but the sick were sent on board the fleet. As a sanatorium alone, the value of the floating batteries of our friends the sailors was beyond all price. The Russian officers who were wounded, and all prisoners of rank, were likewise sent on board. We had 1,000 sick on board, in addition to our wounded. The French return of 1,400 killed and wounded was understood to include those who died of cholera during the passage from Varna and the march to the Alma. Had a couple of thousand seamen and marines been landed, they could have done all that was required, have released us from two days' fearful duty, enabled us to follow the footsteps of our flying enemy, and to have completed his signal discomfiture, and have in all probability contributed materially to the issue of the campaign. Admiral Dundas, however, seemed to be in apprehension of the Russian fleet sallying out to attack us. Brigadier-General Tylden died in his tent early on the morning of the 23rd, of cholera. He was buried in the valley under the heights of Alma. He was succeeded by Lieut.-Colonel Alexander, R.E., who was not, however, promoted to the rank of Brigadier. Many men died of cholera in the night. My sleep was disturbed by the groans of the dying, and on getting up in the morning I found that the corpse of a Russian lay outside the tent in which I had been permitted to rest. He was not there when we retired to rest, so that the wretched creature, who had probably been wandering about without food upon the hills ever since the battle, must have crawled down towards our fires, and there expired. Late at night on the 22nd orders were sent round the divisions to be prepared for marching after daybreak. Early on the 23rd we left the blood-stained heights of the Alma--a name that will be ever memorable in history. Soon after dawn the French assembled drums and trumpets on the top of the highest of the hills they carried, and a wild flourish and roll, repeated again and again, and broken by peals of rejoicing from the bugles of the infantry, celebrated their victory ere they departed in search of the enemy. It was spirit-stirring and thrilling music, and its effect, as it swelled through the early morning over the valley, can never be forgotten. [Sidenote: LEFT ALONE WITH THE WOUNDED.] Our watch-fires were still burning languidly, as the sleepers roused themselves, and prepared to leave the scene of their triumphs. The fogs of the night crept slowly up the hill sides, and hung in uncertain folds around their summits, revealing here and there the gathering columns of our regiments in dark patches on the declivities, or showing the deep black-looking squares of the French battalions, already in motion towards the south. Dimly seen in the distance, the fleet was moving along slowly by the line of the coast, the long lines of smoke trailing back on their wake. But what was that grey mass on the plain, which seemed settled down upon it almost without life or motion? Now and then, indeed, an arm might be seen waved aloft, or a man raised himself for a moment, looked around, and then fell down again. Alas! that plain was covered with the wounded Russians. Nearly sixty long hours they passed in agony upon the ground, and with but little hope of help or succour more, we were compelled to leave them. Their wounds had been bound and dressed. Ere our troops marched, General Estcourt sent into the Tartar village up the valley, into which the inhabitants were just returning, and having procured the attendance of the head men, proceeded to explain that the wounded Russians would be confided to their charge, and that they were to feed and maintain them, and when they were well they were to be let go their ways. An English surgeon was left behind with these 750 men--Dr. Thomson, of the 44th Regiment. He was told his mission would be his protection in case the Cossacks came, and that he was to hoist a flag of truce should the enemy appear in sight; and then, provided with rum, biscuit, and salt meat, he was left with his charge, attended by a single servant. One of the Russian officers addressed the wounded, and explained the position in which they were placed; they promised to obey Dr. Thomson's orders, to protect him as far as they could, and to acquaint any Russian force which might arrive with the peculiar circumstances under which he was among them. It was nearly eight o'clock ere the tents of head-quarters were struck, and the march began. We heard from the fleet that the enemy had not only left the Katcha, but that they had even retired across the Belbek. Our course was directed upon the former stream, almost in continuation of our march of the 20th, before the battle. As we moved along, the unfinished stone building, intended by the Russians for a telegraph station, came into view. The French had cut upon the entablature the simple inscription--_La Bataille d'Alma, 20 Septembre, 1854_. A similar building was visible further on towards Sebastopol; on reaching the top of one of the hills on our way, we could see the white lighthouse of Chersonesus at the end of the promontory which juts out into the sea. The country through which we marched was undulating and barren. Amidst steep hillocks covered with thistles, and separated from each other at times by small patches of steppe, or by more undulating and less hillocky ground, wound the road to Sebastopol--a mere beaten track, marked with cart-wheels, hoofs, and the nails of gun-carriage wheels. We advanced uninterruptedly at an average rate of two and a quarter miles an hour, halting occasionally to rest the troops, and allow the baggage-wagons to come up. At three o'clock the beautiful valley of the Katcha came in sight, formed by a ridge of hills clad with verdure and with small forests of shrubs, through which here and there shone the white walls of villas and snug cottages. The country over which we marched slid down gradually to the level of the river, whose course was marked all along the base of the hills to the stream by lines of trees, and by the most luxurious vegetation, forming a strong contrast to the barren and bleak-looking tract on which our troops advanced. Lord Raglan and his staff rode on considerably in advance of the troops, to the great astonishment and indignation of a Prussian officer (Lieut. Wagman), who loudly declared such conduct was quite opposed to the rules of war. Fluellen himself could not have been more angry at such disregard of martial etiquette than the gallant gentleman in question, and certainly we did show marked contempt for the enemy, and the most superb disdain of his famed Cossacks. Lord Raglan, his aides, his generals of artillery and engineers and their staff, his quartermaster-general and his staff, his adjutant-general and his staff, Sir John Burgoyne and his staff, and all the staff-doctors, actually came within a few hundred yards of the shrubberies and plantations at the river, a mile in advance of even the cavalry, and were riding on towards it in the same _poco curante_ fashion, when Captain Chetwode and his troop of the 8th Hussars pushed on in the front to reconnoitre. The Katcha is a small and rapid rivulet, with banks like those of the Alma; its course marked by neat white cottages, the most delicious vineyards and gardens, but no inhabitants were visible. Wheeling over the bridge, we turned eastward towards the little village of Eskel, on the left bank. The first building on the road was the Imperial Post-house, with its sign-post of the double-headed eagle, and an illegible inscription. The usual wooden direction-post, with a black and red riband painted round it diagonally on a white ground, informed us we were on our way to Sebastopol, distant ten miles. The road now assumed the character of an English by-way in Devonshire or Hampshire. Low walls at either side were surmounted by fruit trees laden with apples, pears, peaches and apricots, all ripe and fit for use, and at their foot clustered grapes of the most delicate flavour. The first villa we came to was the residence of a physician. It had been destroyed by the Cossacks. A verandah, laden with clematis, roses, and honeysuckle in front, was filled with broken music-stools, work-tables, and lounging chairs. All the glasses of the windows were smashed. Everything around betokened the hasty flight of the inmates. Two or three side-saddles were lying on the grass outside the hall-door; a parasol lay near them, close to a Tartar saddle and a huge whip. The wine casks were broken and the contents spilt; the barley and corn of the granary were thrown about all over the ground; broken china and glass of fine manufacture were scattered over the pavement outside the kitchen;--and amid all the desolation and ruin of the place, a cat sat blandly at the threshold, winking her eyes in the sunshine at the new comers. Mirrors in fragments were lying on the floor; beds ripped open, the feathers littered the rooms a foot deep; chairs, sofas, fauteuils, bedsteads, bookcases, picture-frames, images of saints, women's needlework, chests of drawers, shoes, boots, books, bottles, physic jars, smashed or torn in pieces, lay in heaps in every room. The walls and doors were hacked with swords. The genius of destruction had been at work, and had revelled in mischief. The physician's account-book lay open on a broken table: he had been stopped in the very act of debiting a dose to some neighbour, and his entry remained unfinished. Beside his account-book lay a volume of "Madame de Sévigné's Letters" in French, and a Pharmacopoeia in Russian. A little bottle of prussic acid lay so invitingly near a box of bon-bons, that I knew it would be irresistible to the first hungry private who had a taste for almonds, and I accordingly poured out the contents to prevent the possible catastrophe. Our men and horses were soon revelling in grapes and corn; and we pushed on to Eskel, and established ourselves in a house which had belonged to a Russian officer of rank. [Sidenote: NEW QUARTERS.] Every house and villa in the place was in a similar state. The better the residence, the more complete the destruction. Grand pianos, and handsome pieces of furniture, covered with silk and damasked velvet, rent to pieces, were found in more than one house. One of the instruments retained enough of its vital organs to breathe out "God save the Queen" from its lacerated brass ribs, and it was made to do so accordingly, under the very eye of a rigid portrait of his Imperial Majesty the Czar, which hung on the wall above! These portraits of the autocrat were not uncommon in the houses--nearly as common as pictures of saints with gilt and silver glories around their heads. The houses, large and small, consisted of one story only. Each house stood apart, with a large patch of vineyard around it, and a garden of fruit trees, and was fenced in from the road by a stone wall and a line of poplars or elms. A porch covered with vines protected the entrance. The rooms were clean and scrupulously whitewashed. Large outhouses, with wine-presses, stables, &c., complete the farmer's establishment. A deserter came in, and was taken before Lord Raglan. He was, however, only a Tartar, but he gave such information respecting the feelings of the inhabitants towards us, that steps were at once taken to inform those who were hiding that if they returned to their homes, their lives and property would be protected. Some hour or so after we had arrived at Eskel, a number of bullet-headed personages, with sheepskin caps, and loose long coats and trousers, made their appearance, stealthily creeping into the houses, and eyeing the new occupants with shy curiosity. From the people who thus returned we heard that the Russians had arrived at the Katcha in dispirited condition the night of the battle of the Alma, and had taken up their position in the villages and in the neighbouring houses. At twelve o'clock the same night they continued their march. A part of the army went towards Bakschiserai. They were said to consist of about 20,000, and to be under the command of Menschikoff in person. The rest proceeded direct to Sebastopol, and entered the city in disorder. The evidences of their march were found along the road, in cartridges, shakos, caps, and articles of worn-out clothing. In the house which we occupied were abundant traces of the recent visit of a military man of rank: books on strategy, in Russian, lay on the floor, and a pair of handsome epaulets were found in the passage. Lord Raglan occupied a very pretty villa for the night, but most of the furniture had been destroyed by the Cossacks. Orders were given to prevent the soldiers destroying the vineyards or eating the fruit, but of course it was quite impossible to guard so extensive and tempting a region as the valley of the Katcha from thirsty and hungry men. There our soldiers fared on the richest of grapes and the choicest pears and apples; but they did not waste and spoil as the French did at Mamaschai, lower down the river. CHAPTER V. Move from the Katcha--The Belbek--The Flank March--What might have been done--A surprise--Skirmish with the Russians--Plunder--Balaklava--Mr. Upton made Prisoner--Sebastopol--Its Fortifications--Preparations for the Siege--The Cherson Light-house--Death of Marshal St. Arnaud--French and English Positions. On the 23rd, it was discovered that the enemy had sunk a line of vessels across the harbour in deep water, so as to form a submarine barrier against us. The ships thus sunk were the _Tre Sviatitel (Three Bishops)_, three-decker; _Sufail_, _Urail_, two-deckers; the frigates _Varna_ and _Med_, and the old two-decker _Bachmont_. This resolute and sagacious measure was advised by Korniloff, and adopted by Menschikoff. The head-quarters did not move from the Katcha till nearly noon on the 24th. The day was very hot, and the troops, standing under arms, or lying down under the sun while this long delay took place, were very much dissatisfied. The French received between 7,000 and 8,000 men, who landed on the night of the 23rd and the morning of the 24th, at the mouth of the Katcha. The Scots Greys, landed from the _Himalaya_, and the 57th Regiment, which had been all but disembarked at the mouth of the Alma, came round to the Katcha and joined the army. The country towards the Belbek is hilly and barren for a couple of miles after leaving the Katcha river. Then it becomes somewhat fresher and more level, and at length the river is approached by a gentle descent of meadow and greensward from the hills. The distance between the Katcha and the Belbek is about six miles. The valley of the Belbek is commanded by high hills on the left bank, but instead of being bare, like the summits of the hills over the Katcha and the Alma, they are covered with trees and brushwood. [Illustration PLAN OF THE FORTIFICATIONS OF SEBASTOPOL TO SEPT 1st 1854.] [Sidenote: A DISORDERLY MARCH.] As it had been ascertained by _reconnaissance_ that the enemy had batteries along the north-west of the harbour of Sebastopol, in conjunction with the Star Fort and Fort Constantine, which would cause loss in an attempt to invest the town on that face, it occurred to Sir John Burgoyne that a flank movement on Balaklava would turn and neutralize the batteries, secure a new base of operations (of which, we were in want, having abandoned that of the Katcha), and distract the enemy, who would find the weakest part of Sebastopol exposed to the fire of our batteries, and our attacks directed against a point where they had least reason to expect it, and which they might have imagined free from all assault. The whole army marched towards the south-east, on the Black River, and as they were obliged to pass through a thickly-wooded country, intersected by narrow lanes winding up and down the hills, the troops were in some disorder, and had the enemy possessed the smallest enterprise they might have inflicted severe loss and annoyance by a spirited attack on our flank. This operation they at one time contemplated, but they dreaded the result of a second defeat. At times, from the top of the hills, the town, with its white houses shining in the sun, could plainly be seen. All the afternoon the steamers effected a diversion by shelling the Star Fort and Fort Constantine, but at such a long range they could do but little execution; however, the fire had the effect of engaging the attention of the Russians. They did not make the smallest attempt to interrupt our progress. In the course of our march the baggage was sent too far to the left, and became involved in the line of the French and Turkish troops, who were marching on our flanks. Lord Raglan and his staff rode on (as was their wont) in advance, and reconnoitred Sebastopol. They were close to the north-east fort; but no shot was fired at them, notwithstanding that they were within range. The works which commanded the mouth of the Belbek were inconsiderable, and could easily have been silenced by the fleet. An eyewitness, who served in the Russian army, states that all the troops, as they arrived in at the south side on the 20th and 21st, crossed to the south-west, except the Taioutine regiment. Such a movement would make it appear that the Russians expected a descent upon the south side, or were prepared to hold that side against the north, in case the Allies seized upon the Sievernaya and the northern forts. The only preparation made for the defence of the Sievernaya on the 22nd was as follows:--The Taioutine regiment, four battalions; the four depôt battalions of the 13th Division, and one battalion of sailors, in all about 6,000 men, were placed to garrison the work, which was in a very bad state and badly armed. They received orders to retire by a subterranean passage 4,000 feet long to the sea-side, in case the enemy should attack with vigour. On the 23rd, finding they were not pressed or pursued, the Russians pushed twelve battalions, two field batteries, and a regiment of cavalry, to the Belbek, and at one time seemed to have contemplated a demonstration against our flank. This, however, they abandoned; and on the 24th they turned their attention to the defence of the bridge across the Tchernaya, at Inkerman, on which they brought to bear four field and four siege guns, and the troops which had been on the Belbek, and the 16th Division, the cavalry part of the 14th Division, &c., moved across the Tchernaya by the Traktir bridge, and ascended to Mackenzie's farm, whence on the morning of the 25th they descended to Otoukoi, on the Belbek, and marched to Bakschiserai to await the course of events, being joined there by Prince Gortschakoff, with the rest of the Russian army of the Alma. The troops left in Sebastopol, exclusive of the equipages of the fleet, were four battalions of the reserve of the 13th Division, which had suffered severely at the Alma, four depôt battalions of the 13th Division, and third battalion of the Taioutine regiment, in all nine weak battalions. All the Russian officers with whom I have conversed--all the testimony I have heard or read, coincide on these two points--first, that if on the 25th we had moved to Bakschiserai in pursuit of the Russians, we should have found their army in a state of the most complete demoralisation, and might have forced the great majority of them to surrender as prisoners of war in a sort of _cul de sac_, from which but few could have escaped. Secondly, that had we advanced directly against Sebastopol, the town would have surrendered after some slight show of resistance to save the honour of the officers. The deduction from these propositions is that the flank march was the certain precursor of a long siege, of bloody battles and great losses; was an evidence of diffidence, and at the same time of boldness which, though favoured by fortune in its execution, was scarcely justifiable in a military sense, and was an abandonment of the original character of the expedition. And here I may be permitted to remark, that the statement in the letters (of a Staff-officer) "from Head-quarters," page 224, to the effect that Lord Lyons could not have disapproved of the flank march because he was not present when Sir John Burgoyne proposed it, and that his manner, when he received Lord Raglan at Balaklava, "proved he highly admired" that movement, is calculated to lead to very erroneous impressions in the minds of those who attach any weight to the assertions of that officer. Lord Lyons, when he heard of the flank march, expressed his disapproval of it, and when he met Lord Raglan, he (as I heard from his own lips) told his lordship that he conceived the flank march to be a departure from the spirit in which the expedition was undertaken, and said, "This is strategy, but we are in no condition for strategical operation. We came here for a coup-de-main, but this is strategy!" The effects of that march are now matters beyond argument, and we can only weigh probable results against events--a very difficult equation. Whatever may be the opinions of civilians or military men respecting the flank march, it is certain that to Sir John Burgoyne belongs the credit of originating the idea at the conference which took place between the generals on the Belbek. [Sidenote: A DANGEROUS EXAMPLE.] On the day of our march from the Katcha I was struck down by fever, fell from my pony into the stream where he was drinking, and was placed by one of the staff surgeons in a jolting araba carrying a part of the baggage of the Light Division, with poor Hughes of the 23rd Regiment, one of the finest men in the British army, who died in the course of the winter. The sun was exceedingly powerful, and when from the top of a wooded hill we saw the delicious valley of the Belbek studded with little snow-white cottages, with stately villas, with cosy snug-looking hamlets buried in trees, and fringed with a continuous line of the most gloriously green vineyards, and the noblest orchards of fruit-trees, there was a murmur of delight throughout the army, the men, precipitating themselves down the steep slopes of the hill-sides, soon swarmed in every garden, and clustered in destructive swarms around every bush. Their halt was, however, a short one. The word was given to push over the stream, and its bright waters were soon denied by the tramp of many feet. Just as the araba in which I lay was passing by a beautiful little chateau, said to belong to a Russian general, I saw a stream of soldiers issue from it, laden with incongruous, but at the same time the richest, spoils; others were engaged inside, breaking the glasses, throwing mirrors, pictures, and furniture out of the open frames. I learned from an officer who was standing by that the soldiers had not done the smallest mischief till they saw a staff-officer take a bronze statuette out of the house and ride away with it, whereupon the cry arose, "Let us plunder too if our officer sets the example." I could not help thinking what would have been the fate of that officer if he had served under our great Duke. At the other side of the valley of the Belbek the hill-sides are exceedingly steep, and were covered with dwarf wood and undergrowth of bushes. It was with difficulty the waggons were urged up the rugged and narrow paths. Lord Raglan occupied one of the plundered villas, near the only bridge the Russians had left across the stream. There was very great confusion in getting the men into their places on this wooded and steep ridge of hills intersected with ravines, and it was long after sunset ere the men finally settled down at their bivouac fires. They had not eaten their scrambling and very heterogeneous suppers, and laid down to rest more than a few hours, when (about 1.30 in the morning) the report of a gun on the hills towards our right woke up the allied armies. The bugles at once sounded, the men stood to their arms, but all was silent. It appeared that the French vedettes saw some Cossacks in their front, and fell back on a picket who were bivouacing by a large fire, when the enemy opened upon them at a long range, either from some of the earthworks of the north side or from field-pieces. The shot whizzed high over head, and one of them passed over the English head-quarters, but as the vedettes reported all quiet in front soon afterwards, the troops piled arms and lay down to sleep again. Cholera was much on the increase, and many fell sick or died during the night. On Monday morning, the 25th, our troops were under arms at 5.30 A.M.; at seven Lord Raglan, Sir John Burgoyne, and other staff officers proceeded to the French head-quarters, to decide on the course to be pursued in the forthcoming attack on Sebastopol. Marshal St. Arnaud was very unwell, but if M. de Bazancourt is to be credited, he was able to write very unjust entries in his journal, and to speak in a tone of egotistical confidence which his situation rendered painful, and which but for that would have been ridiculous. He says, under the head of the 25th, "The English ought to start first, and do not move till nine o'clock." He must have known that till after nine o'clock it was not decided what course the troops were to take. Again, he speaks of himself as the sole leader, at a time when he had all but resigned the command. "Je les battrai," &c., on the very day when he was obliged to be carried from his tent in Prince Menschikoff's carriage. At the conferences, the French proposed to force the Inkerman bridge across the Tchernaya, and to make a push at the town. Sir John Burgoyne proposed that we should cross the stream by the bridge, at a place called Traktir, or "Restaurant," near Tchorguna, and by his representations carried the majority of those present with him, as he adduced strong reasons for seizing Balaklava, Kamiesch, and Kazatch, which were as much appreciated by our allies as by the English. It was therefore decided that the armies should continue their march on the ridge between the Belbek and the Tchernaya. Our march was by different routes, the artillery proceeding by a difficult road, which allowed only one horseman to ride by the side of each gun. The Duke of Cambridge's baggage was actually within gunshot of Sebastopol for a quarter of an hour. As Lord Raglan was riding on in front of his staff he found himself, on emerging from a wooded road on the open space in front, in the immediate presence of a body of Russian infantry, which turned out to be the baggage guard of a large detachment of the Russian army marching from Sebastopol to Bakschiserai. They were not more than a few hundred yards distant. Lord Raglan turned his horse, and quietly cantered back to the rear of the first division of Artillery. The cavalry, consisting of a portion of the 11th and 8th Hussars, were quickly got in front--the guns were unlimbered and opened on the retreating mass of Russians; the 2nd battalion of Rifles in skirmishing order threw in a volley, the cavalry executed a charge, and the Russians broke and fled, leaving behind them an enormous quantity of baggage of every description. The enemy were pursued two or three miles on the road to Bakschiserai, but they fled so precipitately the cavalry could not come up with them. The troops were halted and allowed to take what they liked. They broke open the carts and tumbled out the contents on the road; but the pillage was conducted with regularity, and the officers presided over it to see that there was no squabbling, and that no man took more than his share. Immense quantities of wearing apparel, of boots, shirts, coats, dressing cases, valuable ornaments, and some jewellery were found in the baggage carts, as well as a military chest containing some money (there are people who say it held 3000_l._). A Russian artillery officer was found in one of the carriages, in a very jovial mood. Plenty of champagne was discovered among the baggage, and served to cheer the captors during their cold bivouac that night. A number of handsome hussar jackets, richly laced with silver, and made of fine light-blue cloth, which had never been worn, were also taken, and sold by the soldiers for sums varying from 20_s._ to 30_s._ a-piece. Fine large winter cloaks of cloth, lined with rich furs, were found in abundance. [Sidenote: A LAND-LOCKED BAY.] This plunder put the soldiers in good humour, and they marched the whole day, leaving Sebastopol on their right, till they arrived at the little hamlet of Traktir, on the Tchernaya or Black River, just before sunset, and halted for the night. As the baggage was separated from the bulk of the army by the distance of some miles, Lord Raglan was fain to put up in a miserable lodge for the night, while the bulk of his staff slept on the ground in a ditch outside it. Not the smallest attempt was made by the enemy to interrupt or annoy us during this very remarkable march, which could at any time have been greatly harassed by the least activity on the part of the Russians. Continuing our advance early next morning, we crossed the Tchernaya, and proceeded across the plains to Balaklava. He was a bold mariner who first ventured in here, and keen-eyed too. I never was more astonished in my life than when on the morning of Tuesday, Sept. 26th, I halted on the top of one of the numerous hills of which this portion of the Crimea is composed, and looking down saw under my feet a little pond, closely compressed by the sides of high rocky mountains; on it floated some six or seven English ships, for which exit seemed quite hopeless. The bay is like a highland tarn, and it is long ere the eye admits that it is some half mile in length from the sea, and varies from 250 to 120 yards in breadth. The shores are so steep and precipitous that they shut out the expanse of the harbour, and make it appear much smaller than it really is. Towards the sea the cliffs close up and completely overlap the narrow channel which leads to the haven, so that it is quite invisible. On the south-east of the poor village, which struggles for existence between the base of the rocky hills and the margin of the sea, are the extensive ruins of a Genoese fort, built some 200 feet above the level of the sea. It must have once been a large and important position, and its curtains, bastions, towers, and walls, all destroyed and crumbling in decay though they are, evince the spirit and enterprise of the hardy seamen who penetrated these classic recesses so long ago. There may be doubts whether the Genoese built it, but there can be none that it is very old, and superior in workmanship to the edifices of the Turks or Tartars. The staff advanced first on the town, and were proceeding to enter it, when, to their surprise, from the old forts above came four spirts of smoke in rapid succession, and down came four shells into the ground close to them; but by this time the _Agamemnon_, outside the rocks, was heard. The Rifles and some of the Light Division opened fire, and the fort hung out a flag of truce. The Commandant had only sixty men, and they were all made prisoners. On being asked why he fired from a position which he must have known to be untenable, he replied that he did so in order that he might be summoned, and that he felt bound to fire till required to surrender. Lord Raglan entered about twelve o'clock in the day. As he approached the inhabitants came out to meet him, bearing trays laden with fruit and flowers. Some of them bore loaves of bread cut up in pieces, and placed on dishes covered with salt, in token of goodwill and submission. Towards evening, the Agamemnon glided in between the rocks in the narrow harbour, and anchored opposite the house of the General, whom Sir E. Lyons speedily visited. The fleet and army were thus once more united, and Lord Raglan had secured his base of operations. Our cavalry in the afternoon took Mr. Upton, son of the English engineer who constructed so many useful works at Sebastopol. He was captured on his farm, and was taken before Lord Raglan, but refused to give any information respecting the Russians, as he said he could not reconcile it to his notions of honour to injure a Government in whose military service he had been. All the hills around were barren rock; towards the land they became more fertile, and for a mile towards Sebastopol and Simpheropol were studded with pleasant-looking white villas and farmhouses, principally inhabited by Russian officials from Sebastopol. The lighthouse of Cape Cherson fell into our hands, and was lighted up by English sailors. The Russians had left it in darkness, but a party of blue-jackets dashed at it on the 26th of September, and compelled the Russian lighthouse-keeper to illuminate it. Jack was in great delight at this. The _Firebrand_ and _Sanspareil_ landed 1000 sailors from the fleet on the 1st of October. They were placed under canvas at the head of the Bay of Balaklava. One thousand marines garrisoned the heights above the town, and the First Division, liberated by their presence, moved on in advance, and supported the Fourth Division. The Turks encamped at the rear and to the right of our Third Division. The _Australian_, _Sidney_, and _Gertrude_, with the heavy artillery and siege train, came in on the 27th, and proceeded to disembark their heavy guns at a pier which was repaired by the 3rd company of Sappers. The 4th and 2nd Divisions were pushed on towards the south-west side of Sebastopol, and encamped on ridges about two miles from the city, separated from each other by a ravine, which commences near Balaklava and runs nearly to the head of the creek of Sebastopol. The city was quite visible below. Across the north of the harbour, near the most easterly of the creeks, was placed a two-decker, painted so as to look like a three-decker, with springs on her cable, and her broadside turned towards our position. On the northern side a large circular work, with three tiers of guns--Fort Constantine--was visible, and more inland there was another large fortification, called the "Star Fort." On the near side was a very large fortification, with curtains, running inland, a semi-circular bastion, and some rudimentary earthworks--all outside the town. Lord Raglan and staff rode out and made a reconnaissance. A frigate, anchored inside the two-decker, near the end of the creek, amused herself by firing round shot and shell, but did no damage. The French landed their guns at Kamiesch and Khazatchel. The cholera, which never left us, made many victims. Colonel Beckwith (1st battalion Rifles), Captain Cox (Grenadier Guards), Colonel Hoey (30th Regiment), Dr. Mackay, Lieutenant Grant (79th), the Rev. Mr. Mockler, and others, were among the number. [Sidenote: RAVAGES OF CHOLERA.] On Friday, September 29, Marshal St. Arnaud, who had been obliged to resign his command to General Canrobert on the march, was carried from his quarters in Balaklava on board the _Berthollet_ in a dying state, and expired at sea ere she reached the Bosphorus. On the 30th, all our heavy guns were parked. On the 1st of October, there was a general rest throughout the army. The enemy the whole of that day amused themselves firing shot and shell over the heads of our artillery, and General Cathcart was obliged to move his quarters, as the Russians found out his range and made beautiful practice at them. However, he left his flagstaff, which seemed of much attraction to them, in the same place, and they continued to hammer away at it as usual. The Second Division moved up on the left of our position on the 8th of October, and the Light Division took ground on the extreme right. Lieutenant-Colonel Dickson obtained the command of Captain Patton's battery of artillery, vacated by the decease of the latter-named officer by cholera. During the first three weeks of our stay in the Crimea we lost as many of cholera as perished on the Alma. We heard strange things from the deserters who began to join us. They said that thirty Russian ladies went out of Sebastopol to see the battle of the Alma, as though they were going to a play or a picnic. They were quite assured of the success of the Russian troops, and great was their alarm and dismay when they found themselves obliged to leave the telegraph house on the hill, and to fly for their lives in their carriages. There is no doubt but that our enemies were perfectly confident of victory. Forty pieces of heavy artillery were sent up on the 4th of October to the park, and twelve tons of gunpowder were safely deposited in the mill on the road towards Sebastopol. As the French had very little ground left on which to operate on our left, the 2nd Division moved from its position, crossed the ravine on its right, and took up ground near the 4th Division. The French immediately afterwards sent up a portion of their troops to occupy the vacant ground. Dr. Thomson, of the 44th, and Mr. Reade, Assistant-Surgeon Staff, died of cholera on the 5th of October, in Balaklava. The town was in a revolting state. Lord Raglan ordered it to be cleansed, but there was no one to obey the order, and consequently no one attended to it. BOOK III. THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SIEGE--THE FIRST BOMBARDMENT--ITS FAILURE--THE BATTLE OF BALAKLAVA--CAVALRY CHARGE--THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN--ITS CONSEQUENCES. CHAPTER I. English Head-Quarters--Investment of Sebastopol--Russian Batteries open fire--The Greeks expelled from Balaklava--First Sortie--Plan of the Works--The Turks--Review of the Campaign--Impediments--"Right" and "Left" Attacks--Officers in Command--Opening of the Siege--First Bombardment--Its Results--The "Valley of Death"--Hard Pounding--Privations--Russian Movements--Conflagrations--A Stratagem--Returns of Killed and Wounded--Diminution of our Numbers--Russian Tactics. Lord Raglan and Staff established head-quarters in a snug farmhouse, surrounded by vineyards and extensive out-offices, about four and a half miles from Balaklava, on the 5th of October. From the rising ground, about a mile and a half distant from head-quarters, in front, the town of Sebastopol was plainly visible. The Russians were occupied throwing up works and fortifying the exposed portions of the town with the greatest energy. The investment of the place on the south side was, as far as possible, during the night of the 7th, completed. Our lines were to be pushed on the right and closed in towards the north, so as to prevent supplies or reinforcements passing out or in on this side of the Black River. This measure was absolutely necessary to enable our engineers to draw the lines or measure the ground. The Russians continued to work all the week at the White Fort, and cast up strong earthworks in front of it, and also on the extreme left, facing the French. They fired shell and shot, at intervals of ten minutes, into the camps of the Second and Light Divisions. Sir George Brown had to move his quarters more to the rear. [Sidenote: EFFECTS OF MARTIAL MUSIC.] The silence and gloom of our camp, as compared with the activity and bustle of that of the French, were very striking. No drum, no bugle-call, no music of any kind, was ever heard within our precincts, while our neighbours close by kept up incessant rolls, fanfaronnades, and flourishes, relieved every evening by the fine performances of their military bands. The fact was, many of our instruments had been placed in store, and the regimental bands were broken up and disorganized, the men being devoted to the performance of the duties for which the ambulance corps was formed. I think, judging from one's own feelings, and from the expressions of those around, that the want of music in camp was productive of graver consequences than appeared likely to occur at first blush from such a cause. Every military man knows how regiments, when fatigued on the march, cheer up at the strains of their band, and dress up, keep step, and walk on with animation and vigour when it is playing. At camp, I always observed with pleasure the attentive auditory who gathered every evening at the first taps of the drum to listen to the music. At Aladyn and Devno the men used to wander off to the lines of the 77th, because it had the best band in the division; and when the bands were silenced because of the prevalence of cholera, out of a humane regard for the feelings of the sick, the soldiers were wont to get up singing parties in their tents in lieu of their ordinary entertainment. It seemed to be an error to deprive them of a cheering and wholesome influence at the very time they needed it most. The military band was not meant alone for the delectation of garrison towns, or for the pleasure of the officers in quarters, and the men were fairly entitled to its inspiration during the long and weary march in the enemy's country, and in the monotony of a standing camp ere the beginning of a siege. Soon after daybreak on the morning of the 10th, the Russian batteries opened a heavy fire on the right of our position, but the distance was too great for accuracy. On the same day four battalions of French, numbering 2400 men, broke ground at nine o'clock P.M., and before daybreak they had finished a ditch, parapet, and banquette, 1200 metres long, at a distance of 900 metres from the enemy's line; and so little did the Russians suspect the operation, that they never fired a gun to disturb them. Each man worked and kept guard at one of the covering parties in turn till daybreak, and by that time each man had finished his half metre of work, so that the 1,200 metres were completed. From this position a considerable portion of the enemy's defences on their right was quite under control, and the French could command the heaviest fort on that side. From the top of the ditch seventy-six guns could be counted in the embrasures of this work, which was called the Bastion du Mât. The French had got forty-six guns ready to mount when the embrasures should be made and faced with gabions and fascines, and the platforms were ready. Their present line was from 200 to 300 yards nearer to the enemy's lines than ours; but the superior weight of our siege guns more than compensated for the difference of distance. On the previous night the British, who had already thrown up some detached batteries, broke ground before Sebastopol on the left. Soon after dark, 800 men were marched out silently under the charge and direction of Captain Chapman, R.E., who has the construction of the works and engineering department of the left attack under his control. About 1200 yards of trench were made, though the greatest difficulty was experienced in working, owing to the rocky nature of the ground. The cover was tolerably good. The Russians never ceased firing, but attempted nothing more, and those who were hoping for a sortie were disappointed. As an earthwork for a battery had been thrown up the previous day, within fire of the enemy's guns, their attention was particularly directed to our movements, and throughout the day they kept up a tremendous fire on the high grounds in front of the Light and Second Divisions. The Russians, who usually ceased firing at sunset, were on the alert all night, and continued their fire against the whole line of our approaches almost uninterruptedly. Every instant the darkness was broken by a flash which had all the effect of summer lightning--then came darkness again, and in a few seconds a fainter flash denoted the bursting of a shell. The silence in the English Camp afforded a strange contrast to the constant roar of the Russian batteries, to the music and trumpet calls and lively noises of the encampment of our allies. After nightfall the batteries on the Russian centre opened so fiercely that it was expected they were covering a sortie, and the camp was on the alert in consequence. Lord Raglan, accompanied by Quartermaster-General Airey and several officers, started at ten o'clock, and rode along the lines, minutely inspecting the state and position of the regiments and works. They returned at half-past one o'clock in the morning. The casualties on the night of the 10th were, one man, 68th, died of wounds, legs taken off; one man, 57th, killed by cannon-shot; another man, 57th, arm shot off; Lieutenant Rotherham, 20th, slightly wounded in the leg by a stone which had been "started" by a cannon-shot. Colonel Waddy, Captain Gray, and Lieutenant Mangles, 50th, were wounded by a shell on the evening of the 11th. It was rumoured that the Russians would attack Balaklava, while the Greeks were to aid them by setting fire to the town. The information on this point was so positive, that the authorities resorted to the extreme measure of ordering the Greeks, men, women, and children, to leave the town, and the order was rigidly carried into effect before evening. An exception was made in favour of the Tartar families, who were all permitted to remain. The Greeks were consoled in their flight by a good deal of plunder in the shape of clothes which had been left with them to wash. [Sidenote: THE TERRORS OF A RINGING CHEER.] Capt. Gordon, R.E., commenced our right attack soon after dark. Four hundred men were furnished from the Second and Light Divisions on the works, and strong covering parties were sent out in front and in rear to protect them. The working party was divided into four companies of 100 men each, and they worked on during the night with such good will, that before morning No. 1 party had completed 160 yards; No. 2, 78 yards; No. 3, 95 yards; No. 4, 30 yards--in all 363 yards of trench ready for conversion into batteries. These trenches were covered very perfectly. It was intended that a party of similar strength should be employed on the left and centre; but, owing to one of those accidents which unavoidably occur in night work, the sappers and miners missed their way, and got in advance towards the lines of the enemy. They were perceived by an advanced post, which opened fire on them at short distance, and, wonderful to relate, missed them all. The flashes, however, showed our men that strong battalions of Russian infantry were moving silently towards our works, and the alarm was given to the division in the rear. At twenty-five minutes past one a furious cannonade was opened by the enemy on our lines, as they had then ascertained that we had discovered their approach. The Second and Light Divisions turned out, and our field guns attached to them opened fire on the enemy, who were advancing under the fire of their batteries. Owing to some misunderstanding, the covering parties received orders to retire, and fell back on their lines--all but one company of riflemen, under the command of Lieutenant Godfrey, who maintained the ground with tenacity, and fired into the columns of the enemy with effect. The Russians pushed on field-pieces to support their assault. The batteries behind them were livid with incessant flashes, and the roar of shot and shell filled the air, mingled with the constant "ping-pinging" of rifle and musket-balls. All the camps "roused out." The French on our left got under arms, and the rattle of drums and the shrill blast of trumpets were heard amid the roar of cannon and small arms. For nearly half-an-hour this din lasted, till all of a sudden a ringing cheer was audible on our right, rising through the turmoil. It was the cheer of the 88th, as they were ordered to charge down the hill on their unseen enemy. It had its effect, for the Russians, already pounded by our guns and shaken by the fire of our infantry, as well as by the aspect of the whole hill-side lined with our battalions, turned and fled under the shelter of their guns. Their loss was not known; ours was very trifling. The sortie was completely foiled, and not an inch of our lines was injured, while the four-gun battery (the main object of their attack) was never closely approached at all. The alarm over, every one returned quietly to tent or bivouac. In order to understand this description of the works, it will be necessary to refer to the plan which accompanies this. It affords a good idea of the appearance presented by the lines and works on the eve of the first bombardment. At the distance of about 700 sagenes (a sagene is seven feet), from the south extremity of the Careening Bay, was placed a round tower, around which the Russians had thrown up extensive entrenchments, armed with heavy guns. There was a standing camp of cavalry and infantry on a rising ground, on the summit of which this tower was placed, and probably 10,000 or 12,000 men were encamped there. This round tower was provided with guns, which, equally with those in the earthworks below, threw shot and shell right over our advanced posts and working parties, and sometimes pitched them over the hills in our front into the camps below. At the distance of 1200 yards from this round tower, in a direction nearly due south-south-east, our first batteries were to be formed, and the earthworks had been thrown up there, inclining with the slope of the hill towards the end of the Dockyard Creek, from which they were distant 930 yards. The guns of works were intended to command the Dockyard Creek, the ships placed in it, and the part of the town and its defences on the west and south of the creek. Our left attack extended up towards the slope of the ravine which divided the French from the British attacks, and which ran south-east from the end of the Dockyard Creek up to our headquarters at Khutor. Dominating both of these entrenchments, for most of their course, was a heavy battery of eight Lancaster and ten-inch naval guns, placed at a distance of 2500 yards from the enemy's lines. The extreme of the French right was about two and a half miles from the extreme of the British left attack. South of the Cemetery, and inclining up towards Quarantine Bay and the fresh-water wells, were the French lines, which were beautifully made and covered. The fire of the Russian batteries thrown up from the circular position at the end of the western wall towards the barracks, near the end of the Dockyard Harbour, was incessantly directed on them, and shells sometimes burst in the lines; but as a general rule they struck the hill in front, bounded over, and burst in the rear. Our left attack crept round towards Inkerman, and commanded the place from the influx of the Tchernaya into the head of the bay or harbour of Sebastopol, to the hills near the round tower already threatened by our right attack. The French commanded the place from the sea to the ravine at the end of the Dockyard Harbour, and when their guns were mounted, it was hoped that all the forts, intrenchments, buildings, earthworks, barracks, batteries, and shipping would be destroyed. The front of both armies united, and the line of offensive operations covered by them, extended from the sea to the Tchernaya for seven and a half or eight miles. From our extreme right front to Balaklava our lines extended for about the same distance, and the position of the army had been made so strong on the eastern, south-eastern, flank and rear, as to set all the efforts of the Russians to drive us from it utterly at defiance. In the first place, the road from Kadikoi to Kamara, and the western passes of the mountains, had been scarped in three places so effectually that it would have been difficult for infantry, and therefore impossible for artillery, to get along it to attack us. A heavy gun had, however, been placed in position on the heights to command this road, and to sweep the three scarps effectually. On the heights over the east side of Balaklava, were pitched the tents of about 1000 marines from the various ships of the fleet, and several 24 pound and 32 pound howitzers had been dragged up into position on the same elevation. At Kadikoi, towards the north-west, was situated a sailors' camp of about 800 men, with heavy guns in support, and with a temporary park for artillery and ship-guns below them. From Kadikoi towards Traktir the ground was mountainous, or rather it was exceedingly hilly, the heights having a tumular appearance, and the ridges being intersected by wide valleys, through a series of which passed on one side Prince Woronzoff's road, the road to Inkerman, and thence to Sebastopol, by a long _détour_ over the Bakschiserai road, and that to Traktir. [Sidenote: SUSPICIONS OF PORK IN DISGUISE.] On five of these tumular ridges overlooking the road to Balaklava, a party of 2000 Turks were busily engaged casting up earthworks for redoubts, under the direction of Captain Wagman, a Prussian engineer officer, who was under the orders of Sir John Burgoyne. In each of these forts were placed two heavy guns and 250 Turks. These poor fellows worked most willingly and indefatigably, though they had been exposed to the greatest privations. For some mysterious reason or other the Turkish government sent instead of the veterans who fought under Omar Pasha, a body of soldiers of only two years' service, the latest levies of the Porte, many belonging to the non-belligerent class of barbers, tailors, and small shopkeepers. Still they were patient, hardy, and strong--how patient I am ashamed to say. I was told, on the best authority, that these men were landed without the smallest care for their sustenance, except that some Marseilles biscuits were sent on shore for their use. These were soon exhausted--the men had nothing else. From the Alma up to the 10th of October, the whole force had only two biscuits each! The rest of their food they had to get by the roadside as best they might, and in an inhospitable and desolated country they could not get their only solace, tobacco; still they marched and worked day after day, picking up their subsistence by the way as best they might, and these proud Osmanli were actually seen walking about our camps, looking for fragments of rejected biscuit. But their sorrows were turned to joy, for the British people fed them, and such diet they never had before since Mahomet enrolled his first army of the faithful. They delighted in their coffee, sugar, rice, and biscuits, but many of the True Believers were much perturbed in spirit by the aspect of our salt beef, which they believed might be pork in disguise, and they subjected it to strange tests ere it was incorporated with Ottoman flesh and blood. Eighteen days had elapsed since our army, by a brilliant and daring forced march on Balaklava, obtained its magnificent position on the heights which envelope Sebastopol on the south side from the sea to the Tchernaya; the delay was probably unavoidable. Any officer who has been present at great operations of this nature will understand what it is for an army to land in narrow and widely separated creeks all its munitions of war--its shells, its cannon-shot, its heavy guns, mortars, its powder, its gun-carriages, its platforms, its fascines, gabions, sandbags, its trenching tools, and all the various _matériel_ requisite for the siege of extensive and formidable lines of fortifications and batteries. But few ships could come in at a time to Balaklava or Kamiesch; in the former there was only one small ordnance wharf, and yet it was there that every British cannon had to be landed. The nature of our descent on the Crimea rendered it quite impossible for us to carry our siege train along with us, as is the wont of armies invading a neighbouring country only separated from their own by some imaginary line. We had to send all our _matériel_ round by sea, and then land it as best we could. But when once it was landed the difficulties of getting it up to places where it was required seemed really to commence. All these enormous masses of metal had to be dragged by men, aided by such inadequate horse-power as was at our disposal, over a steep and hilly country, on wretched broken roads, to a distance of eight miles, and one must have witnessed the toil and labour of hauling up a Lancaster or ten-inch gun under such circumstances to form a notion of the length of time requisite to bring it to its station. It will, however, serve to give some idea of the severity of this work to state one fact--that on the 10th no less than thirty-three ammunition horses were found dead, or in such a condition as to render it necessary to kill them, after the duty of the day before. It follows from all these considerations that a great siege operation cannot be commenced in a few days when an army is compelled to bring up its guns. Again, the nature of the ground around Sebastopol offered great impediments to the performance of the necessary work of trenching, throwing up parapets, and forming earthworks. The surface of the soil was stony and hard, and after it had been removed the labourer came to strata of rock and petrous masses of volcanic formation, which defied the best tools to make any impression on them, and our tools were far from being the best. The result was that the earth for gabions and for sand-bags had to be carried from a distance in baskets, and in some instances enough of it could not be scraped together for the most trifling parapets. This impediment was experienced to a greater extent by the British than by the French. The latter had better ground to work upon, and they found fine beds of clay beneath the first coating of stones and earth, which were of essential service to them in forming their works. The officers commanding the batteries on the right attack were Lieutenant-Colonel Dickson, Captain D'Aguilar, and Captain Strange. The officers commanding the batteries of the left attack were Major Young, Major Freese, and Major Irving. The whole of the siege-train was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Gambier. Our left attack consisted of four batteries and 36 guns; our right attack of 20 guns in battery. There were also two Lancaster batteries and a four-gun battery of 68-pounders on our right. The French had 46 guns. In all 117 guns to 130 guns of the Russians. The night was one of great anxiety, and early in the morning we all turned out to see the firing. On 17th October the bombardment began. It commenced by signal at 6.30 A.M.; for thirty minutes previous the Russians fired furiously on all the batteries. The cannonade on both sides was most violent for nearly two hours. At eight o'clock it was apparent that the French batteries in their extreme right attack, overpowered by the fire and enfiladed by the guns of the Russians, were very much weakened; their fire slackened minute after minute. At 8.30 the fire slackened on both sides for a few minutes; but recommenced with immense energy, the whole town and the line of works being enveloped in smoke. [Sidenote: TERRIFIC CANNONADES.] At 8.40 the French magazine in the extreme right battery of twelve guns blew up with a tremendous explosion, killing and wounding 100 men. The Russians cheered, fired with renewed vigour, and crushed the French fire completely, so that they were not able to fire more than a gun at intervals, and at ten o'clock they were nearly silenced on that side. At 10.30 the fire slackened on both sides, but the Allies and Russians re-opened vigorously at 10.45. Our practice was splendid, but our works were cut up by the fire from the Redan and from the works round a circular martello tower on our extreme right. At 12.45 the French line-of-battle ships ran up in most magnificent style and engaged the batteries on the sea side. The scene was indescribable, the Russians replying vigorously to the attacks by sea and land, though suffering greatly. At 1.25 another magazine in the French batteries blew up. The cannonade was tremendous. Our guns demolished the Round Tower but could not silence the works around it. At 1.40 a great explosion took place in the centre of Sebastopol amid much cheering from our men, but the fire was not abated. The Lancaster guns made bad practice, and one of them burst. At 2.55 a terrific explosion of a powder magazine took place in the Russian Redan Fort. The Russians, however, returned to their guns, and still fired from the re-entering angle of their works. The cannonade was continuous from the ships and from our batteries, but the smoke did not permit us to discern whether the British fleet was engaged. At 3.30 a loose powder store inside our naval battery was blown up by a Russian shell, but did no damage. The enemy's earthworks were much injured by our fire, the Redan nearly silenced, and the fire of the Round Tower entrenchments diminished, though the inner works were still vigorous. At 3.35 the magazine inside the works of the Round Fort was blown up by our shot. At four the ships outside were ripping up the forts and stone-works and town by tremendous broadsides. Only the French flag was visible, the English fleet being on the opposite side of the harbour. Orders were given to spare the town and buildings as much as possible. From four to 5.30 the cannonade from our batteries was very warm, the Russians replying, though our fire had evidently established its superiority over theirs, the ships pouring in broadside after broadside on Forts Nicholas and Constantine at close ranges. Towards dusk the fire slackened greatly, and at night it ceased altogether, the Russians for the first time being silent. The French lost about 200 men, principally by the explosions; our loss was very small--not exceeding 100 killed and wounded from the commencement of the siege. The fire was resumed on the morning of the 18th, soon after daybreak. The French on that occasion were unable to support us, their batteries being silenced. During the night the Russians remounted their guns and brought up fresh ones, and established a great superiority of fire and weight of metal. On the 18th, early in the morning, a vedette was seen "circling left" most energetically;--and here, in a parenthesis, I must explain that when a vedette "circles left," the proceeding signifies that the enemy's infantry are approaching, while to "circle right" is indicative of the approach of cavalry. On this signal was immediately heard the roll-call to "boot and saddle;" the Scots Greys and a troop of Horse Artillery assembled with the remaining cavalry on the plain; the 93rd got under arms, and the batteries on the heights were immediately manned. The distant pickets were seen to advance, and a dragoon dashed over the plain with the intelligence that the enemy was advancing quickly. Then cavalry and infantry moved upon the plain, remaining in rear of the eminences from which the movements of the vedettes had been observed. This state of things continued for an hour, when, from the hills, about 3000 yards in front, the Turks opened fire from their advanced entrenchments. The Moskows then halted in their onward course, and in the evening lighted their watch-fires about 2000 yards in front of our vedettes, the blaze showing bright and high in the darkness. Of course we were on the alert all night, and before the day broke were particularly attentive to our front. If the Russians had intended to attack us at that time, they could not have had a more favourable morning, a low dense white fog covering the whole of the plain. The sun rose, and the mist disappeared, when it was found the Russians had vanished also. The next day, the 19th, we naturally expected would be a quiet one, and that we should not be annoyed by having to remain at our arms for our final work. Not a bit of it; we had just laden ourselves with haversacks to forage among the merchant shipping in the harbour, when a vedette was seen to "circle right" most industriously. "Boot and saddle" again resounded through the cavalry camps, and another day was passed like its predecessor, the enemy finally once more retiring, this time without advancing near enough for a shot from the Turks. The enemy scarcely fired during the night of the 18th. Our batteries were equally silent. The French on their side opened a few guns on their right attack, at which they worked all night to get them into position; but they did not succeed in firing many rounds before the great preponderance of the enemy's metal made itself felt, and their works were damaged seriously; in fact, their lines, though nearer to the enemy's batteries than our own in some instances, were not sufficiently close for the light brass guns with which they were armed. [Sidenote: FEATS OF HEROISM.] At daybreak on the 19th the firing continued as usual from both sides. The Russians, having spent the night in repairing the batteries, were nearly in the same position as ourselves, and, unaided or at least unassisted to the full extent we had reason to expect by the French, we were just able to hold our own during the day. Some smart affairs of skirmishers and sharpshooters took place in front. Our riflemen annoyed the Russian gunners greatly, and prevented the tirailleurs from showing near our batteries. On one occasion the Russian riflemen and our own men came close upon each other in a quarry before the town. Our men had exhausted all their ammunition; but as soon as they saw the Russians, they seized the blocks of stone which were lying about, and opened a vigorous volley on the enemy. The latter either had empty pouches, or were so much surprised that they forgot to load, for they resorted to the same missiles. A short fight ensued, which ended in our favour, and the Russians retreated, pelted vigorously as long as the men could pursue them. The coolness of a young artillery officer, named Maxwell, who took some ammunition to the batteries through a tremendous fire along a road so exposed to the enemy's fire that it has been called "The Valley of Death," was highly spoken of on all sides. The blue-jackets were delighted with Captain Peel, who animated the men by the exhibition of the best qualities of an officer, though his courage was sometimes marked by an excess that bordered on rashness. When the Union Jack in the sailors' battery was shot away, he seized the broken staff, and leaping up on the earthworks, waved the old bit of bunting again and again amid a storm of shot, which fortunately left him untouched. Our ammunition began to run short, but supplies were expected every moment. Either from a want of cartridges, or from the difficulty of getting powder down to the works, our 12-gun battery was silent for some time. _The_ Admiral (Sir E. Lyons), on his little grey pony, was to be seen hovering about our lines indefatigably. The French fire slackened very much towards one o'clock, the enemy pitching shells right into their lines and enfilading part of their new works. Hour after hour one continuous boom of cannon was alone audible, and the smoke screened all else from view. At a quarter past three there was an explosion of powder in the tower opposite to our right attack. The Flagstaff Fort seemed much knocked about by the French. The Redan and Round Tower earthworks fired nearly as well as ever. As it was very desirable to destroy the ships anchored in the harbour below us, and to fire the dockyard buildings, our rockets were brought into play, and, though rather erratic in their flight, they did some mischief, but not so much as was expected. Wherever they fell the people could be seen flying up the streets when the smoke cleared. At three o'clock P.M. the town was on fire; but after the smoke had excited our hopes for some time, it thinned away and went out altogether. They kept smartly at work from three guns in the Round Tower works, and from some four or five in the Redan, on our batteries. Two 68-pounders were mounted during the night of the 19th in our batteries, and the firing, which nearly ceased after dark, was renewed by daybreak. We were all getting tired of this continual "pound-pounding," which made a great deal of noise, wasted much powder, and did very little damage. Our amateurs were quite disappointed and tired out. Rome was not built in a day, nor could Sebastopol be taken in a week. In fact, we had run away with the notion that it was a kind of pasteboard city, which would tumble down at the sound of our cannon as the walls of Jericho fell at the blast of Joshua's trumpet. The news that Sebastopol had fallen, which we received _viâ_ England, excited indignation and astonishment. The army was enraged, as they felt the verity, whenever it might be realized, must fall short of the effect of that splendid figment. They thought that the laurels of the Alma would be withered in the blaze of popular delight at the imaginary capture. People at home must have known very little about us or our position. I was amused at seeing in a journal a letter from an "Old Indian," on the manufacture of campaign bread _more Indico_, in which he advised us to use salt! milk! and butter! in the preparation of what must be most delicious food. Salt was a luxury which was very rarely to be had, except in conjunction with porky fibre; and as to milk and butter, the very taste of them was forgotten. Lord Raglan was very glad to get a little cold pig and ration rum and water the night before we entered Balaklava. However, the hardest lot of all was reserved for our poor horses. All hay rations for baggagers were rigidly refused; they only received a few pounds of indifferent barley. There was not a blade of grass to be had--the whole of these _plateaux_ and hills were covered with thistles only, and where the other covering of the earth went I know not. The hay ration for a charger was restricted to 6lb. daily. Under these circumstances horseflesh was cheap, and friendly presents were being continually offered by one man to another of "a deuced good pony," which were seldom accepted. The next day, the 20th, I had a foraging expedition, and returned with a goose, butter, preserved milk, &c.--a very successful foray, and a full havresack. We were just beginning our meal of commissariat beef and pork, tempered with the contents of the aforesaid havresack, when away went the vedette again, first circling right and then reversing as suddenly to the left. Again sounded trumpet, bugle, and drum through the plain, and masses again moved into position upon it. So we remained till dark, a night attack on the Turkish position in our front being anticipated, and so we again stood all ready for some hours, during which the only amusement was in the hands of the Turks, who fired a round or two; darkness found us similarly occupied. At 2.50 P.M. a fire broke out behind the Redan. At 3.15 P.M. a fire of less magnitude was visible to the left of the Redan, further in towards the centre of the town. Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar was wounded in the trenches. His wound was, however, not at all serious. Our loss was three killed and thirty-two or thirty-three wounded. On the 21st a battery was finished before Inkerman, and two 18-pounders were mounted in it, in order to silence the heavy ship gun which annoyed the Second Division. The steamer _Vladimir_ came up to the head of the harbour and opened fire on the right attack. She threw her shell with beautiful accuracy, and killed two men and wounded twenty others before we could reply effectually. A large traverse was erected to resist her fire, and she hauled off. Twenty-two guns were placed in a condition to open in this attack by the exertions of the men under Major Tylden, who directed it. [Sidenote: RUSSIAN STRATAGEM.] Lord Dunkellin, Captain Coldstream Guards, eldest son of the Marquis of Clanricarde, was taken prisoner on the 22nd. He was out with a working party of his regiment, which had got a little out of their way, when a number of men were observed through the dawning light in front of them. "There are the Russians," exclaimed one of the men. "Nonsense, they're our fellows," said his lordship, and off he went towards them, asking in a high tone as he got near, "Who is in command of this party?" His men saw him no more, but he was afterwards exchanged for the Russian Artillery officer captured at Mackenzie's farm. The Russians opened a very heavy cannonade on us in the morning; they always did so on Sundays. Divine Service was performed with a continued bass of cannon rolling through the responses and liturgy. The Russians made a stealthy sortie during the night, and advanced close to the French pickets. When challenged, they replied, "Inglis, Inglis," which passed muster with our allies as _bonâ fide_ English; and before they knew where they were, the Russians had got into their batteries and spiked five mortars. They were speedily repulsed; but this misadventure mortified our brave allies exceedingly. The return of killed and wounded for the 22nd, during the greater part of which a heavy fire was directed upon our trenches, and battery attacks right and left, showed the excellent cover of our works and their great solidity. We only lost one man killed in the Light Division, and two men in the Siege Train; of wounded we had one in the First Division, two in the Second Division, two in the Third Division, six in the Fourth Division, five in the Light Division, and ten in the Siege Train. A request made to us by the French that we would direct our fire on the Barrack Battery, which annoyed them excessively, was so well attended to, that before evening we had knocked it to pieces and silenced it. But sickness continued, and the diminution of our numbers every day was enough to cause serious anxiety. Out of 35,600 men borne on the strength of the army, there were not at this period more than 16,500 rank and file fit for service. In a fortnight upwards of 700 men were sent as invalids to Balaklava. There was a steady drain of some forty or fifty men a-day going out from us, which was not dried up by the numbers of the returned invalids. Even the twenty or thirty a-day wounded and disabled, when multiplied by the number of the days we had been here, became a serious item in the aggregate. We were badly off for spare gun carriages and wheels, for ammunition and forage. Whilst our siege works were languishing and the hour of assault appeared more distant, the enemy were concentrating on our flank and rear, and preparing for a great attempt to raise the siege. CHAPTER II. Criticisms on the British Cavalry--The Light Cavalry--Rear of our position--Endangered by the Russians--Redoubts defended by Turks--93rd Highlanders--The position--Advance of the Russians--Retreat of the Turks--Marshalling of the forces--The Cossacks stopped by the Highlanders--Charge of the Heavy Cavalry--Captain Nolan's Order--The Charge resolved upon--The Advance--Splendid spectacle--Fearful struggle--Retreat of the Russians--Our loss--Sortie on the 26th of October. If the exhibition of the most brilliant valour, and of a daring which would have reflected lustre on the best days of chivalry, could afford full consolation for the affair of the 25th of October, we had no reason to regret the loss we sustained. In the following account I describe, to the best of my power, what occurred under my own eyes, and I state the facts which I heard from men whose veracity was unimpeachable. A certain feeling existed in some quarters that our cavalry had not been properly handled since they landed in the Crimea, and that they had lost golden opportunities from the indecision and excessive caution of their leaders. It was said that our cavalry ought to have been manoeuvred at Bouljanak in one way or in another, according to the fancy of the critic. It was affirmed, too, that the Light Cavalry were utterly useless in the performance of one of their most important duties--the collection of supplies for the army--that they were "above their business, and too fine gentlemen for their work;" that our horse should have pushed the flying enemy after the battle of the Alma; and, above all, that at Mackenzie's farm first, and at the gorge near Kamara on the 7th October, they had been improperly restrained from charging, and had failed in gaining great successes, which would have entitled them to a full share of the laurels of the campaign, owing solely to the timidity of the officer in command. The existence of this feeling was known to many of our cavalry, and they were indignant and exasperated that the faintest shade of suspicion should rest upon any of their corps. With the justice of these aspersions they had nothing to do, and perhaps the prominent thought in their minds was that they would give such an example of courage to the world, if the chance offered itself, as would shame their detractors for ever. [Sidenote: CHARACTER OF RUSSIAN LANDSCAPE.] It has been already mentioned that several battalions of Russian infantry crossed the Tchernaya, and threatened the rear of our position and our communication with Balaklava. Their bands could be heard playing at night by the travellers along the Balaklava road to the camp, but they "showed" but little during the day, and kept among the gorges and mountain passes through which the roads to Inkerman, Simpheropol, and the south-east of the Crimea wind towards the interior. The position we occupied was supposed by most people to be very strong. Our lines were formed by natural mountain slopes in the rear, along which the French had made entrenchments. Below these entrenchments, and very nearly in a right line across the valley beneath, were four conical hillocks, one rising above the other as they reached from our lines; the farthest, which joined the chain of mountains opposite to our ridges being named Canrobert's Hill, from the meeting there of that general with Lord Raglan after the march to Balaklava. On the top of each of these hills the Turks had thrown up redoubts, each defended by 250 men, and armed with two or three heavy ship guns--lent by us to them, with one artilleryman in each redoubt to look after them. These hills crossed the valley of Balaklava at the distance of about two and a half miles from the town. Supposing the spectator, then, to take his stand on one of the heights forming the rear of our camp before Sebastopol, he would have seen the town of Balaklava, with its scanty shipping, its narrow strip of water, and its old forts, on his right hand; immediately below he would have beheld the valley and plain of coarse meadow land, occupied by our cavalry tents, and stretching from the base of the ridge on which he stood to the foot of the formidable heights at the other side; he would have seen the French trenches lined with Zouaves a few feet beneath, and distant from him, on the slope of the hill; a Turkish redoubt lower down, then another in the valley; then, in a line with it, some angular earthworks; then, in succession, the other two redoubts up to Canrobert's Hill. At the distance of two or two and a half miles across the valley was an abrupt rocky mountain range covered with scanty brushwood here and there, or rising into barren pinnacles and _plateaux_ of rock. In outline and appearance this portion of the landscape was wonderfully like the Trosachs. A patch of blue sea was caught in between the overhanging cliffs of Balaklava as they closed in the entrance to the harbour on the right. The camp of the Marines, pitched on the hill sides more than 1000 feet above the level of the sea, was opposite to the spectator as his back was turned to Sebastopol and his right side towards Balaklava. On the road leading up the valley, close to the entrance of the town and beneath these hills, was the encampment of the 93rd Highlanders. The cavalry lines were nearer to him below, and were some way in advance of the Highlanders, but nearer to the town than the Turkish redoubts. The valley was crossed here and there by small waves of land. On the left the hills and rocky mountain ranges gradually closed in towards the course of the Tchernaya, till, at three or four miles' distance from Balaklava, the valley was swallowed up in a mountain gorge and deep ravines, above which rose tier after tier of desolate whitish rock, garnished now and then by bits of scanty herbage, and spreading away towards the east and south, where they attained the Alpine dimensions of the Tschatir Dagh. It was very easy for an enemy at the Belbek, or in command of the road of Mackenzie's farm, Inkerman, Simpheropol, or Bakschiserai, to debouch through these gorges at any time upon this plain from the neck of the valley, or to march from Sebastopol by the Tchernaya, and to advance along it towards Balaklava, till checked by the Turkish redoubts on the southern side, or by the fire from the French works on the northern--_i.e._, the side which, in relation to the valley at Balaklava, formed the rear of our position. It was evident enough that Menschikoff and Gortschakoff had been feeling their way along this route for several days past, and very probably at night the Cossacks had crept up close to our pickets, which were not always as watchful as might be desired, and had observed the weakness of a position far too extended for our army to defend, and occupied by their despised enemy, the Turks. At half-past seven o'clock on the eventful morning of the 25th, an orderly came galloping in to the head-quarters camp from Sir Colin Campbell with the news, that at dawn a strong corps of Russian horse, supported by guns and battalions of infantry, had marched into the valley, had nearly dispossessed the Turks of the redoubt No. 1 (that on Canrobert's Hill, which was farthest from our lines), and they had opened fire on the redoubts Nos. 2, 3, and 4. Lord Lucan, who was in one of the redoubts when they were discovered, brought up his guns and some of his heavy cavalry, but they were obliged to retire owing to the superior weight of the enemy's metal. Orders were despatched to Sir George Cathcart and the Duke of Cambridge, to put the Fourth and the First in motion; and intelligence of the advance of the Russians was furnished to General Canrobert. Immediately the General commanded General Bosquet to get the Third Division under arms, and sent artillery and 200 Chasseurs d'Afrique to assist us. Sir Colin Campbell, who was in command of Balaklava, had drawn up the 93rd Highlanders a little in front of the road to the town, at the first news of the advance of the enemy. The Marines on the heights got under arms; the seamen's batteries and Marines' batteries, on the heights close to the town, were manned, and the French artillerymen and the Zouaves prepared for action along their lines. Lord Lucan's men had not had time to water their horses; they had not broken their fast from the evening of the day before, and had barely saddled at the first blast of the trumpet, when they were drawn up on the slope behind the redoubts in front of their camp, to operate on the enemy's squadrons. When the Russians advanced, the Turks fired a few rounds, got frightened at the advance of their supports, "bolted," and fled with an agility quite at variance with common-place notions of Oriental deportment on the battle-field. [Sidenote: PICTURESQUE SITUATIONS OF THE ARMIES.] Soon after eight o'clock, Lord Raglan and his staff turned out and cantered towards the rear of our position. The booming of artillery, the spattering roll of musketry, were heard rising from the valley, drowning the roar of the siege guns before Sebastopol. As I rode in the direction of the firing, over the undulating plain that stretches away towards Balaklava, on a level with the summit of the ridges above it, I observed a French light infantry regiment (the 27th, I think) advancing from our right towards the ridge near the telegraph-house, which was already lined by companies of French infantry. Mounted officers scampered along its broken outline in every direction. General Bosquet followed with his staff and a small escort of Hussars at a gallop. Never did the painter's eye rest on a more beautiful scene than I beheld from the ridge. The fleecy vapours still hung around the mountain tops, and mingled with the ascending volumes of smoke; the patch of sea sparkled freshly in the rays of the morning sun, but its light was eclipsed by the flashes which gleamed from the masses of armed men. Looking to the left towards the gorge, we beheld six masses of Russian infantry, which had just debouched from the mountain passes near the Tchernaya, and were advancing with solemn stateliness up the valley. Immediately in their front was a line of artillery. Two batteries of light guns were already a mile in advance of them, and were playing with energy on the redoubts, from which feeble puffs of smoke came at long intervals. Behind these guns, in front of the infantry, were bodies of cavalry. They were three on each flank, moving down _en échelon_ towards us, and the valley was lit up with the blaze of their sabres, and lance points, and gay accoutrements. In their front, and extending along the intervals between each battery of guns, were clouds of mounted skirmishers, wheeling and whirling in the front of their march like autumn leaves tossed by the wind. The Zouaves close to us were lying like tigers at the spring, with ready rifles in hand, hidden chin deep by the earthworks which ran along the line of these ridges on our rear; but the quick-eyed Russians were manoeuvring on the other side of the valley, and did not expose their columns to attack. Below the Zouaves we could see the Turkish gunners in the redoubts, all in confusion as the shells burst over them. Just as I came up, the Russians had carried No. 1 redoubt, the farthest and most elevated of all, and their horsemen were chasing the Turks across the interval which lay between it and redoubt No. 2. At that moment the cavalry, under Lord Lucan, were formed--the Light Brigade, under Lord Cardigan, in advance; the Heavy Brigade, under Brigadier-General Scarlett, in reserve, drawn up in front of their encampment, and were concealed from the view of the enemy by a slight "wave" in the plain. Considerably to the rear of their right, the 93rd Highlanders were in front of the approach to Balaklava. Above and behind them, on the heights, the Marines were visible through the glass, drawn up under arms, and the gunners could be seen ready in the earthworks, in which were placed the ships' heavy guns. The 93rd had originally been advanced somewhat more into the plain, but the instant the Russians got possession of the first redoubt they opened fire on them from our own guns, which inflicted some injury, and Sir Colin Campbell "retired" his men to a better position. Meantime the enemy advanced his cavalry rapidly. The Turks in redoubt No. 2 fled in scattered groups towards redoubt No. 3, and Balaklava; but the horse-hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, and sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating herd. The yells of the pursuers and pursued were plainly audible. As the Lancers and Light Cavalry of the Russians advanced they gathered up their skirmishers. The shifting trails of men, which played all over the valley like moonlight on the water, contracted, gathered up, and the little _peloton_ in a few moments became a solid column. Up came their guns, in rushed their gunners to the abandoned redoubt, and the guns of No. 2 soon played upon the dispirited defenders of No. 3 redoubt. Two or three shots in return and all was silent. The Turks swarmed over the earthworks, and ran in confusion towards the town, firing at the enemy as they ran. Again the solid column of cavalry opened like a fan, and resolved itself into a "long spray" of skirmishers. It lapped the flying Turks, steel flashed in the air, and down went the Moslem on the plain. In vain the naval guns on the heights fired on the Russian cavalry; the distance was too great. In vain the Turkish gunners in the batteries along the French entrenchments endeavoured to protect their flying countrymen; their shot flew wide and short of the swarming masses. The Turks betook themselves towards the Highlanders, where they checked their flight and formed on the flanks. As the Russian cavalry on the left of their line crowned the hill across the valley, they perceived the Highlanders drawn up at the distance of some half a mile. They halted, and squadron after squadron came up from the rear. The Russians drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line charged towards Balaklava. The ground flew beneath their horses' feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dashed on towards that _thin red line tipped with steel_. The Turks fired a volley at eight hundred yards and ran. As the Russians came within six hundred yards, down went that line of steel in front, and out rang a rolling volley of Minié musketry. The distance was too great; the Russians were not checked, but swept onwards, here and there knocked over by the shot of our batteries; but ere they came within two hundred and fifty yards, another volley flashed from the rifles. The Russians wheeled about, and fled faster than they came. "Bravo, Highlanders! well done!" shouted the excited spectators. But events thickened; the Highlanders and their splendid front were soon forgotten--men scarcely had a moment to think of this fact, that the 93rd never altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen. "No," said Sir Colin Campbell, "I did not think it worth while to form them even four deep!" Then they moved _en échelon_, in two bodies, with another in reserve. The cavalry who had been pursuing the Turks on the right were coming up to the ridge beneath us, which concealed our cavalry from view. The Heavy Brigade in advance was drawn up in two lines. The first line consisted of the Scots Greys, and of their old companions in glory, the Enniskillens; the second, of the 4th Royal Irish, of the 5th Dragoon Guards, and of the 1st Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade was on their left, in two lines also. [Sidenote: A GALLANT CHARGE.] Lord Raglan sent orders to Lord Lucan to cover the approaches, and his heavy horse were just moving from their position near the vineyard and orchard, when he saw a body of the enemy's cavalry coming after him over the ridge. Lord Lucan rode after his cavalry, wheeled them round, and ordered them to advance against the enemy. The Russians--evidently _corps d'élite_--their light blue jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing at an easy gallop towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several squadrons of grey-coated dragoons moved up quickly to support them as they reached the summit. The instant they came in sight, the trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warning blast which told us all that in another moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort, and groups of officers, the Zouaves, French generals and officers, and bodies of French infantry on the height, were spectators of the scene as though they were looking on the stage from the boxes of a theatre. Every one dismounted, and not a word was said. The Russians advanced down the hill at a slow canter, which they changed to a trot, and at last nearly halted. The trumpets rang out again through the valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners went right at the centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was only a few hundred yards; it was scarce enough to let the horses "gather way," nor had the men quite space sufficient for the full play of their sword arms. The Russian line brought forward each wing as our cavalry advanced, and threatened to annihilate them as they passed on. Turning a little to the left, so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys rushed on with a cheer that thrilled to every heart--the wild shout of the Enniskilleners rose through the air at the same instant. As lightning flashes through a cloud, the Greys and Enniskilleners pierced through the dark masses of Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was a clash of steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, and then the Greys and the redcoats disappeared in the midst of the shaken and quivering column. The first line of Russians, which had been smashed by and had fled off at one flank and towards the centre, were coming back to swallow up our handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer courage Enniskillener and Scot were winning their way right through the enemy's squadrons, and already grey horses and red coats appeared at the rear mass, when the 4th Dragoon Guards, riding at the right flank of the Russians, and the 5th Dragoon Guards, following close after the Enniskilleners, rushed at the enemy and put them to utter rout. A cheer burst from every lip--in the enthusiasm, officers and men took off their caps and shouted with delight; and thus keeping up the scenic character of their position, they clapped their hands again and again. Lord Raglan at once despatched Lieutenant Curzon, aide-de-camp, to convey his congratulations to Brigadier-General Scarlett, and to say "Well done!" The Russian cavalry, followed by our shot, retired in confusion, leaving the ground, covered with horses and men. At ten o'clock the Guards and Highlanders of the First Division were seen moving towards the plains from their camp. The Duke of Cambridge came up to Lord Raglan for orders, and his lordship, ready to give the honour of the day to Sir Colin Campbell, who commanded at Balaklava, told his Royal Highness to place himself under the direction of the Brigadier. At forty minutes after ten, the Fourth Division also took up their position in advance of Balaklava. The cavalry were then on the left front of our position, facing the enemy; the Light Cavalry Brigade _en échelon_ in reserve, with guns, on the right; the 4th Royal Irish, the 5th Dragoon Guards, and Greys on the left of the brigade, the Enniskillens and 1st Royals on the right. The Fourth Division took up ground in the centre; the Guards and Highlanders filed off towards the extreme right, and faced the redoubts, from which the Russians opened on them with artillery, which was silenced by the rifle skirmishers under Lieutenant Godfrey. At fifty minutes after ten, General Canrobert, attended by his staff, and Brigadier-General Rose, rode up to Lord Raglan, and the staffs of the two Generals and their escorts mingled in praise of the magnificent charge of our cavalry, while the chiefs apart conversed over the operations of the day, which promised to be one of battle. At fifty-five minutes after ten, a body of cavalry, the Chasseurs d'Afrique, passed down to the plain, and were loudly cheered by our men. They took up ground in advance of the ridges on our left. Soon after occurred the glorious catastrophe. The Quartermaster-General, Brigadier Airey, thinking that the Light Cavalry had not gone far enough in front, gave an order in writing to Captain Nolan, 15th Hussars, to take to Lord Lucan. A braver soldier than Captain Nolan the army did not possess. He was known for his entire devotion to his profession, and for his excellent work on our drill and system of remount and breaking horses. He entertained the most exalted opinions respecting the capabilities of the English horse soldier. The British Hussar and Dragoon could break square, take batteries, ride over columns, and pierce any other cavalry, as if they were made of straw. He thought they had missed even such chances as had been offered to them--that in fact, they were in some measure disgraced. A matchless horseman and a first-rate swordsman he held in contempt, I am afraid even grape and canister. He rode off with his orders to Lord Lucan. When Lord Lucan received the order from Captain Nolan, and had read it, he asked, we are told, "Where are we to advance to?" Captain Nolan pointed with his finger in the direction of the Russians, and according to the statements made after his death, said "There are the enemy, and there are the guns," or words to that effect. [Sidenote: THE CHARGE OF BALAKLAVA.] Lord Raglan had only in the morning ordered Lord Lucan to move from the position he had taken near the centre redoubt to "the left of the second line of redoubts occupied by the Turks." Seeing that the 93rd and invalids were cut off from the cavalry, Lord Raglan sent another order to Lord Lucan to send his heavy horse towards Balaklava, and that officer was executing it just as the Russian horse came over the ridge. The Heavy Cavalry charge then took place, and afterwards the men dismounted on the scene. After an interval of half an hour, Lord Raglan again sent an order to Lord Lucan--"Cavalry to advance and take advantage of any opportunity to recover the heights. They will be supported by infantry, which has been ordered to advance upon two fronts." Lord Raglan's reading of this order was, that the infantry had been ordered to advance on two fronts. It does not appear that the infantry had received orders to advance; the Duke of Cambridge and Sir G. Cathcart stated they were not in receipt of such instruction. Lord Lucan advanced his cavalry to the ridge, close to No. 5 redoubt, and while there received from Captain Nolan an order which as follows:--"Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns; troops of Horse Artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your left. Immediate." Lord Lucan gave the order to Lord Cardigan to advance upon the guns, conceiving that his orders compelled him to do so. The noble Earl saw the fearful odds against him. It is a maxim of war, that "cavalry never act without a support." "Infantry should be close at hand when cavalry carry guns, as the effect is only instantaneous," and should always be placed on the flank of a line of cavalry. The only support our light cavalry had was the heavy cavalry at a great distance behind them, the infantry and guns being far in the rear. There were no squadrons in column. There was a plain to charge over, before the enemy's guns could be reached, of a mile and a half in length. At ten minutes past eleven our Light Cavalry Brigade advanced. The whole Brigade scarcely made one effective regiment, according to the numbers of continental armies; and yet it was more than we could spare. They swept proudly past, glittering in the morning sun in all the pride and splendour of war. They advanced in two lines, quickened their pace as they closed towards the enemy. At the distance of 1,200 yards the whole line of the enemy belched forth, from thirty iron mouths, a flood of smoke and flame. The flight was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the plain. In diminished ranks, with a halo of steel above their heads, and with a cheer which was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into the smoke of the batteries; but ere they were lost from view the plain was strewed with their bodies. [Illustration: PLAN OF BALAKLAVA _SHEWING THE_ CAVALRY ACTION OF OCT 25th 1854. Table of Killed & Wounded +-----------------+------------------++------------------+---------+-+ | | OFFICERS || MEN | HORSES | | | | Killed | Wounded || Killed | Wounded | Killed | | | | | || | | | | | { British | 13 27 || 142 | 197 | 361 | | | { | | || | | | | |Allies { French | 2 | 4 || 21 | 33 | 79 | | | { | | || | | | | | { Turkish | 3 | 7 || 285 | -- | | | +--------+---------++--------+---------+---------+ | | Total | 18 | 38 || 678 | 450 | | | +--------+---------++------------------+---------+ | | | | Russian 700 Killed & Wounded | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ Total Numbers on the Field +-------------------+--------++--------+-+ | | MEN || GUNS | | | | || | | | { British | 9,900 || 24 | | | { | || | | |Allies { French | 4,800 || 12 | | | { | || | | | { Turkish | 400 || 8 | | | | || | | | Russians | 18,500 || 40 | | | +--------++--------+ | | Total | 33,600 || 84 | | | +--------++--------+ | +----------------------------------------+ Through the clouds of smoke we could see their sabres flashing as they rode between the guns, cutting down the gunners as they stood. We saw them riding through, returning, after breaking through a column of Russians, and scattering them like chaff, when the flank fire of the batteries on the hill swept them down. Wounded men and dismounted troopers flying towards us told the sad tale. At the very moment a regiment of Lancers was hurled upon their flank. Colonel Shewell, of the 8th Hussars, whose attention was drawn to them by Lieutenant Phillips, saw the danger, and rode his few men straight at them. It was as much as our Heavy Cavalry Brigade could do to cover the retreat of the miserable remnants of that band of heroes as they returned to the place they had so lately quitted in all the pride of life. At thirty-five minutes past eleven not a British soldier, except the dead and dying, was left in front of these Muscovite guns. The Heavy Cavalry, in columns of squadrons, moved slowly backwards, covering the retreat of the broken men. The ground was left covered with our men and with hundreds of Russians, and we could see the Cossacks busy searching the dead. Our infantry made a forward movement towards the redoubts after the cavalry came in, and the Russian infantry in advance slowly retired towards the gorge; at the same time the French cavalry pushed forward on their right, and held them in check, pushing out a line of skirmishers, and forcing them to withdraw their guns. Captain Nolan was killed by the first shot fired, as he rode in advance of the first line. Lord Cardigan received a lance thrust through his clothes. While the affair was going on, the French cavalry made a most brilliant charge at the battery on our left, and cut down the gunners; but they could not get off the guns, and had to retreat with the loss of two captains and fifty men killed and wounded out of their little force of 200 Chasseurs. The Russians from the redoubt continued to harass us, and the First Division were ordered to lie down in two lines. The Fourth Division, covered by the rising ground, and two regiments of French infantry which had arrived in the valley, followed by artillery, moved onwards to operate on the Russian right, already threatened by the French cavalry. The Russians threw out skirmishers to meet the French skirmishers, and the French contented themselves with keeping their position. At eleven A.M., the Russians, feeling alarmed at our steady advance and at the symptoms of our intention to turn or cut off their right, retired from No. 1 redoubt, which was taken possession of by the allies. At fifteen minutes past eleven they abandoned redoubt No. 2, blowing up the magazine; and, as we still continued to advance, they blew up and abandoned No. 3 at forty-five minutes past eleven; but, to our great regret, we could not prevent their taking off seven out of nine guns in the works. At forty-eight minutes past eleven, the Russian infantry began to retire, a portion crept up the hills behind the 1st redoubt, which still belonged to them. The artillery on the right of the First Division fired shot and rockets at the 1st redoubt, but could not do much good, nor could the heavy guns of the batteries near the town carry so far as to annoy the Russians. At twelve o'clock the greater portion of the French and English moved on, and an accession to the artillery was made by two French batteries, pushed on towards the front of our left. The First Division remained still in line along the route to Balaklava. From twelve to fifteen minutes passed, not a shot was fired on either side, but the Russians gathered up their forces towards the heights over the gorge, and, still keeping their cavalry on the plain, manoeuvred in front on our right. [Sidenote: A HARMLESS ATTACK.] At twenty-eight minutes after twelve the allies again got into motion, with the exception of the First Division, which moved _en échelon_ towards the opposite hills, keeping their right wing well before Balaklava. At forty minutes after twelve, Captain Calthorpe was sent by Lord Raglan with orders which altered the disposition of our front, for the French, at one P.M. showed further up on our left. As our object was solely to keep Balaklava, we had no desire to bring on a general engagement; and as the Russians would not advance, but kept their cavalry in front of the approach to the mountain passes, it became evident the action was over. The cannonade, which began again at a quarter-past twelve, and continued with very little effect, ceased altogether at a quarter-past one. The two armies retained their respective positions. Lord Raglan continued on the hill-side all day, watching the enemy. It was dark ere he returned to his quarters. With the last gleam of day we could see the sheen of the enemy's lances in their old position in the valley; and their infantry gradually crowned the heights on their left, and occupied the road to the village which is beyond Balaklava to the southward. Our Guards were moving back, as I passed them, and the tired French and English were replaced by a French division, which marched down to the valley at five o'clock. We had 13 officers killed or taken, 162 men killed or taken; 27 officers wounded, 224 men wounded. Total killed, wounded, and missing, 426. Horses, killed or missing, 394; horses wounded, 126; total, 520. In the night when our guns were taken into Sebastopol, there was joy throughout the city, and it was announced that the Russians had gained a great victory. A salvo of artillery was fired, and at nine o'clock P.M. a tremendous cannonade was opened against our lines by the enemy. It did no injury. At one P.M. on the 26th, about 4,000 men made an attack on our right flank, but were repulsed by Sir De Lacy Evans's Division, with the loss of 500 men killed and wounded. As I was engaged in my tent and did not see the action, I think it right to give the dispatches which relate this brilliant affair. "_Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans to Lord Raglan._ "2nd Division, Heights of the Tchernaya, Oct. 27, 1854. IND "MY LORD, "Yesterday the enemy attacked this division with several columns of infantry supported by artillery. Their cavalry did not come to the front. Their masses, covered by large bodies of skirmishers, advanced with much apparent confidence. The division immediately formed line in advance of our camp, the left under Major-General Pennefather, the right under Brigadier-General Adams. Lieutenant-Colonel Fitzmayer and the Captains of batteries (Turner and Yates) promptly posted their guns and opened fire upon the enemy. "Immediately on the cannonade being heard, the Duke of Cambridge brought up to our support the brigade of Guards under Major-General Bentinck, with a battery under Lieutenant-Colonel Dacres. His Royal Highness took post in advance of our right to secure that flank, and rendered me throughout the most effective and important assistance. General Bosquet, with similar promptitude and from a greater distance, approached our position with five French battalions. Sir G. Cathcart hastened to us with a regiment of Rifles, and Sir G. Brown pushed forward two guns in co-operation by our left. "The enemy came on at first rapidly, assisted by their guns on the Mound Hill. Our pickets, then chiefly of the 49th and 30th Regiments, resisted them with remarkable determination and firmness. Lieutenant Conolly, of the 49th, greatly distinguished himself, as did Captain Bayley, of the 30th, and Captain Atcherley, all of whom, I regret to say, were severely wounded. Serjeant Sullivan also displayed at this point great bravery. "In the meantime our eighteen guns in position, including those of the First Division, were served with the utmost energy. In half an hour they forced the enemy's artillery to abandon the field. Our batteries were then directed with equal accuracy and vigour-upon the enemy's columns, which (exposed also to the close fire of our advanced infancy) soon fell into complete disorder and flight. They were then literally chased by the 30th and 95th Regiments over the ridges and down towards the head of the bay. So eager was the pursuit, that it was with difficulty Major-General Pennefather eventually effected the recall of our men. These regiments and the pickets were led gallantly by Major Mauleverer, Major Champion, Major Eman and Major Hume. They were similarly pursued further towards our right by four companies of the 41st, led gallantly by Lieutenant-Colonel the Honourable P. Herbert, A.Q.M.G. The 47th also contributed. The 55th were held in reserve. "Above 80 prisoners fell into our hands, and about 130 of the enemy's dead were left within or near our position. It is computed that their total loss could scarcely be less than 600. "Our loss, I am sorry to say, has been above 80, of whom 12 killed, 5 officers wounded. I am happy to say, hopes are entertained that Lieutenant Conolly will recover, but his wound is dangerous. "I will have the honour of transmitting to your Lordship a list of officers, non-commissioned officers, and privates, whose conduct attracted special notice. That of the pickets excited general admiration. "To Major-General Pennefather and Brigadier-General Adams I was, as usual, greatly indebted. To Lieutenant-Colonel Dacres, Lieutenant-Colonel Fitzmayer, Captains Turner, Yates, Woodhouse, and Hamley, and the whole of the Royal Artillery, we are under the greatest obligation. [Sidenote: THE GENERAL'S DESPATCH.] "Lieutenant-Colonel Herbert, A.Q.M.G., rendered the division, as he always does, highly distinguished and energetic services. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilbraham, A.A.G., while serving most actively, I regret to say, had a very severe fall from his horse. I beg leave also to recommend to your Lordship's favourable consideration the excellent services of Captains Glasbrook and Thompson, of the Quartermaster-General's Department, the Brigade-Majors Captains Armstrong and Thackwell, and my personal staff, Captains Allix, Gubbins, and the Honourable W. Boyle. "I have, &c. "DE LACY EVANS, Lieutenant-General." "_Lord Raglan to the Duke of Newcastle._ "Before Sebastopol, Oct. 28, 1854. IND "MY LORD DUKE, "I have nothing particular to report to your Grace respecting the operations of the siege since I wrote to you on the 23rd instant. The fire has been somewhat less constant, and our casualties have been fewer, though I regret to say that Captain Childers, a very promising officer of the Royal Artillery, was killed on the evening of the 23rd, and I have just heard that Major Dalton, of the 49th, of whom Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans entertained a very high opinion, was killed in the trenches last night. "The enemy moved out of Sebastopol on the 26th with a large force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, amounting, it is said, to 6,000 or 7,000 men, and attacked the left of the Second Division, commanded by Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans, who speedily and energetically repulsed them, assisted by one of the batteries of the First Division and some guns of the Light Division, and supported by a brigade of Guards, and by several regiments of the Fourth Division, and in rear by the French Division, commanded by General Bosquet, who was most eager in his desire to give him every aid. "I have the honour to transmit a copy of Sir De Lacy Evans's report, which I am sure your Grace will read with the highest satisfaction, and I beg to recommend the officers whom he particularly mentions to your protection. "Captain Bayley of the 30th, and Captain Atcherley of the same regiment, and Lieutenant Conolly of the 49th, all of whom are severely wounded, appear to have greatly distinguished themselves. "I cannot speak in too high terms of the manner in which Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans met this very serious attack. I had not the good fortune to witness it myself, being occupied in front of Balaklava at the time it commenced, and having only reached his position as the affair ceased, but I am certain I speak the sentiments of all who witnessed the operation in saying that nothing could have been better managed, and that the greatest credit is due to the Lieutenant-General, whose services and conduct I have before had to bring under your Grace's notice. "I inclose the return of the losses the army has sustained since the 22nd. "I have, &c. "RAGLAN." On the 28th of October our cavalry abandoned their old camp. They took up ground on the hills on the road to Balaklava, close to the rear of the French centre. We thus abandoned the lower road to the enemy. CHAPTER III. Relative Position of the rival Forces at the end of October--"Whistling Dick"--Sir De Lacy Evans's Accident--No Bono Johnnies--French Batteries again open Fire--A Weak Point--First Surprise--Commencement of the Battle of Inkerman--Heroic Defence--Death of Sir George Cathcart--Sir George Brown wounded--Fearful Odds--The Guards--Casualties--The Sandbag Battery--Superiority of the Minié Rifle--Advance of the French--Complete Rout of the enemy--Inkerman won. The end of October. All waiting for the French. I am not sure but that the French were waiting for us to "_écraser_" some of the obnoxious batteries which played upon their works from ugly enfilading positions. [Sidenote: A TRICK OF "WHISTLING DICK."] The Quarantine Fort was opposed to them on their extreme left. Then came a long, high, loopholed wall or curtain extending in front of the town from the back of the Quarantine Fort to the Flagstaff Battery. The Russians had thrown up a very deep and broad ditch in front of this wall, and the French artillery had made no impression on the stonework at the back. The Flagstaff Battery, however, and all the houses near it, were in ruin; but the earthworks in front of it, armed with at least twenty-six heavy guns, were untouched, and kept up a harassing fire on the French working parties, particularly at certain periods of the day, and at the interval between nine and eleven o'clock at night, when they thought the men were being relieved in the trenches. Inside the Road Battery we could see the Russians throwing up a new work, armed with six heavy ships' guns. They had also erected new batteries behind the Redan and behind the Round Tower. The latter was a mass of crumbled stone, but two guns kept obstinately blazing away at our 21-gun battery from the angle of the earthwork around it, and the Redan had not been silenced, though the embrasures and angles of the work were much damaged. The heavy frigate which had been "dodging" our batteries so cleverly again gave us a taste of her quality in the right attack. She escaped from the position in which she lay before where we had placed two 24-pounders for her, and came out again on the 29th in a great passion, firing regular broadsides at our battery and sweeping the hill up to it completely. Occasionally she varied this amusement with a round or two from 13-inch mortars. These shells did our works and guns much damage: but the sailors, who were principally treated to these agreeable missiles, got quite accustomed to them. "Bill," cries one fellow to another, "look out, here comes 'Whistling Dick!'" The 13-inch shell has been thus baptized by them in consequence of the noise it makes. They look up, and their keen, quick eyes discern the globe of iron as it describes its curve aloft. Long ere "Whistling Dick" has reached the ground the blue-jackets are snug in their various hiding-places; but all the power of man could not keep them from peeping out now and then to see if the fusee is still burning. One of them approached a shell which he thought had "gone out;" it burst just as he got close to it, and the concussion dashed him to the ground. He got up, and in his rage, shaking his fist at the spot where the shell had been, he exclaimed, "You ---- deceitful beggar, there's a trick to play me!" Sir De Lacy Evans met with an accident on the 29th, which compelled him to resign the command to Brigadier-General Pennefather. His horse fell with him as he was going at a sharp trot; and the shock so weakened him that he was obliged to go on board the _Simoom_. The Turks, or, as they were called, the "Bono Johnnies," except by the sailors, who called them "_No_ bono Johnnies," were employed in working in the trenches. The first night in Captain Chapman's attack they worked till ten o'clock at night, when a Russian shell came over. They ran away, carrying a portion of our working and covering parties; they were re-formed and worked till eleven o'clock, when they declared it was "the will of Heaven they should labour no more that night," and, as they had exerted themselves, it was considered advisable to let them go. They were decimated by dysentery and diarrhoea, and died in swarms. They had no medical officers, and our surgeons were not sufficient in number for our army. Nothing could exceed their kindness to their own sick. It was common to see strings of them on the road to Balaklava carrying men on their backs down to the miserable shed which served them as a hospital, or rather as a "dead-house." A deserter from the Russian cavalry on the 30th said the Russians were without tents or cover; their fare was scanty and miserable, and their sufferings great. The French batteries opened on the 1st of November. For an hour they fired with vivacity and effect; one battery which enfiladed them on the right was plied with energy, but the remainder, with the exception of the Flagstaff redoubt, were silent. The Russians had about 240 guns in their new works, reckoning those which had been subject to our fire. The French had 64 guns in position, most of them brass twenty-fours, the others thirty-twos and forty-eights, some ship's eighty-fours not mounted. The French might be seen like patches of moss on the rocks, and the incessant puffs of smoke with constant "pop!" rose along our front from morning to night. The earthworks around the town of Balaklava began to assume a formidable aspect. Trenches ran across the plains and joined the mounds to each other, so as to afford lines of defence. On the right of the approach the Highlanders, in three camps, were placed close to the town, with a sailors' battery of two heavy guns above. Higher up, on a very elevated hill-side, the Marines and Riflemen were encamped. There were four batteries bearing on this approach. The battery on the extreme right, on the road leading over the hills from Yalta, contained two 32-pounder howitzers; the second battery on the right, facing the valley, contained five guns; and the fourth battery, nearest Balaklava, contained eight brass howitzers, four 12, two 32, and two 24-pounders. The left approach was commanded by the heights held by the French infantry over the valley, and by the Turkish works in front. A formidable redoubt, under the command of Captain Powell, R.N., overlooked the approaches, armed with heavy ship's guns. The Turks had cut up the ground so that it almost resembled a chess-board when viewed from one of the hills. They constructed ditches over valleys which led nowhere, and fortified passes conducting to abstruse little _culs-de-sac_ in the hill sides. From the road to Balaklava on the 3rd, we could see the Russians engaged in "hutting" themselves for the winter, and on the 3rd of November I made a little reconnaissance of my own in their direction. Their advanced posts were just lighting bivouac fires for the night. A solitary English dragoon, with the last rays of the setting sun glittering on his helmet, was perched on the only redoubt in our possession, watching the motions of the enemy. Two Cossacks on similar duty on the second redoubt were leaning on their lances, while their horses browsed the scanty herbage at the distance of about 500 yards from our dragoon sentry. Two hundred yards in their rear were two Cossack pickets of twenty or thirty men each. A stronger body was stationed in loose order some four or five hundred yards further back. Six _pelotons_ of cavalry came next, with field batteries in the intervals. Behind each _peloton_ were six strong columns of cavalry in reserve, and behind the intervals six battalions of grey-coated Russian infantry lay on their arms. They maintained this attitude day and night, it was said, and occasionally gave us an alert by pushing up the valley. On looking more closely into their position through the glass, it could be seen that they had fortified the high table-land on their right with an earthwork of quadrilateral form, in which I counted sixteen embrasures. [Sidenote: COVERT ATTACK BY THE RUSSIANS.] In their rear was the gorge of the Black River, closed up by towering rocks and mountain precipices. On their left a succession of slabs (so to speak) of table-land, each higher than the other, and attaining an elevation of 1,200 feet. The little village of Kamara, perched on the side of one of these slabs, commanded a view of our position, and was no doubt the head-quarters of the army in the valley. The Russians were stationed along these heights, and had pushed their lines to the sea on the high-peaked mountain chain to the south-east of our Marines. As the valley was connected with Sebastopol by the Inkerman road, they had thus drawn a _cordon militaire_ around our position on the land side, and we were besieged in our camp, having, however, our excellent friend, the sea, open on the west. On the 4th November the fire on the place and the return continued. The Russians fired about sixty guns per hour, and we replied. The French burrowed and turned up the earth vigorously. A quantity of 10-inch shot were landed, but, unfortunately, we had no 10-inch guns for them. Two guns were added to the batteries of the right attack, which now contained twenty-three pieces of artillery. Whenever I looked at the enemy's earthworks I thought of the Woolwich butt. What good had we done by all this expenditure of shot, and shell, and powder? a few guns, when we first came, might have saved incredible toil and labour because they would have rendered it all but impossible for the Russians to cast up entrenchments and works before the open entrance to Sebastopol. Whilst we were yet in hopes of taking the place, and of retiring to the Bosphorus for winter quarters, the enemy, animated by the presence of two of the Imperial Grand Dukes, made a vigorous attempt to inflict on the allies a terrible punishment for their audacity in setting foot on the territory of the Czar. The Battle of Inkerman was at hand. It had rained almost incessantly for the greater part of the night of November 4th, and the early morning gave no promise of any cessation of the heavy showers. As dawn broke the fog and drifting rain were so thick that one could scarcely see two yards. At four o'clock A.M. the bells of the churches in Sebastopol were heard ringing drearily through the cold night air, but the occurrence excited no particular attention. About three o'clock A.M., a man of the 23rd regiment on outlying picket heard the sound of wheels in the valley, but supposed it arose from carts or arabas going into Sebastopol by the Inkerman road. After the battle he mentioned the circumstance to Major Bunbury, who rebuked him for neglecting to report it. No one suspected that masses of Russians were then creeping up the rugged heights over the Valley of Inkerman against the undefended flank of the Second Division, and were bringing into position an overwhelming artillery, ready to play upon their tents at the first glimpse of day. Sir De Lacy Evans had long been aware of the insecurity of his position, and had repeatedly pointed it out. It was the only ground where we were exposed to surprise. Ravines and curves in the hill lead up to the crest against which our right flank was resting, without guns, intrenchments, abattis, or defence of any kind. Every one admitted the truth of the representations, but indolence, or a false sense of security led to indifference and procrastination. A battery was thrown up of sandbags on the slope of the hill, but Sir De Lacy Evans, thinking that two guns without any works to support them would only invite attack, caused them to be removed as soon as they had silenced the Light-house Battery, which had been firing on his camp. The action of the 26th of October might be considered as a _reconnaissance en force_. They were waiting for reinforcements to assault the position where it was vulnerable, speculating on the effects of a surprise of a sleeping camp on a winter's morning. Although the arrangements of Sir De Lacy Evans on repulsing the sortie were, as Lord Raglan declared, "so perfect that they could not fail to insure success," it was evident that a larger force would have forced him to retire from his ground, or to fight a battle in defence of it. No effort was made to intrench the lines, to cast up a single shovel of earth, to cut down the brushwood, or form an abattis. It was thought "not to be necessary." Heavy responsibility rests on those whose neglect enabled the enemy to attack where we were least prepared for it, and whose indifference led them to despise precautions which might have saved many lives, and trebled the loss of the enemy. We had nothing to rejoice over, and almost everything to deplore, in the battle of Inkerman. We defeated the enemy indeed, but did not advance one step nearer Sebastopol. We abashed, humiliated, and utterly routed an enemy strong in numbers, in fanaticism, and in dogged courage, but we suffered a fearful loss when we were not in a position to part with one man. It was a little after five o'clock in the morning, when Codrington, in accordance with his usual habit, visited the outlying pickets of his brigade. It was reported that "all was well" along the line. The General entered into conversation with Captain Pretyman, of the 33rd Regiment, who was on duty, and in the course of it some one remarked it would not be surprising if the Russians availed themselves of the gloom to make an attack. The Brigadier, an excellent officer, turned his pony round vigilant, and had only ridden a few yards, when a sharp rattle of musketry was heard down the hill on the left of his pickets, and where the pickets of the Second Division were stationed. Codrington at once turned in the direction of the firing, and in a few moments galloped back to camp to turn out his division. The Russians were advancing in force. The pickets of the Second Division had scarcely made out the infantry clambering up the steep hill through a drizzling rain before they were forced to retreat by a close sharp musketry, and driven up the hill, contesting every step, and firing as long as they had a round of ammunition. Their grey greatcoats rendered them almost invisible even when close at hand. The pickets of the Light Division were soon assailed and obliged to fall back. About the time of the advance on our right flank took place a demonstration against Balaklava, but the enemy contented themselves with drawing up their cavalry in order of battle, supported by field artillery, at the neck of the valley, in readiness to sweep over the heights and cut off our retreat, should the assault on our right be successful. A steamer with very heavy guns was sent up by night to the head of the creek at Inkerman, and threw enormous shells over the hill. [Sidenote: A CHEERING PROSPECT.] Everything that could be done to bind victory to their eagles was done by the Russian Generals. The presence of the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael, who told them that the Czar had issued orders that every Frenchman and Englishman was to be driven into the sea ere the year closed, cheered the common soldiers, who regard the son of the Emperor as an emanation of the Divine presence. Abundance of a coarser and more material stimulant was found in their flasks; and the priests "blessed" them ere they went forth, and assured them of the aid and protection of the Most High. A mass was said. The joys of Heaven were offered those who might fall in the holy fight, and the favours of the Emperor were promised to those who might survive the bullets of the enemy. The men in camp had just began to struggle with the rain in endeavouring to light their fires, when the alarm was sounded. Pennefather, to whom Sir De Lacy Evans had given up for the time the command of the Second Division, got the troops under arms. Adams's brigade, consisting of the 41st, 47th, and 49th Regiments, was pushed on to the brow of the hill to check the advance of the enemy by the road from the valley. Pennefather's brigade, consisting of the 30th, 55th, and 95th Regiments, was posted on their flank. The regiments met a tremendous fire from guns posted on the high grounds. Sir George Cathcart led such portions of the 20th, 21st, 46th, 57th, 63rd, and 68th Regiments as were not employed in the trenches, to the right of the ground occupied by the Second Division. It was intended that Torrens's brigade should move in support of Goldie's, but the enemy were in such strength that the whole force of the division, which consisted of only 2,200 men, was needed to repel them. Codrington, with part of the 7th, 23rd, and 33rd, sought to cover the extreme of our right attack, and the sloping ground towards Sebastopol; Buller's brigade was brought up to support the Second Division on the left; Jeffrey's with the 88th, being pushed forward in the bushwood on the ridge of one of the principal ravines. As soon as Brown brought up his division, they were under fire from an unseen enemy. The Third Division, under Sir R. England, was in reserve. Part of the 50th, under Wilton, and 1st Battalion Royals, under Bell, were slightly engaged ere the day was over. The Duke of Cambridge turned out the Guards under Bentinck, and advanced on the right of the Second Division to the summit of the hill overlooking the valley of the Tchernaya. Between the left and the right of the Second Division there was a ravine, which lost itself on the plateau, close to the road to Sebastopol. This road was not protected; only a few scarps were made in it, and the pickets at night were only a short distance in advance. A low breastwork crossed this road at the plateau by the tents of the Second Division. On arriving at the edge of the plateau on the right ravine, the Duke of Cambridge saw two columns coming up the steep ground covered with brushwood. The enemy were already in the Sandbag Redoubt, but His Royal Highness at once led the Guards to the charge. It has been doubted whether any enemy ever stood in conflicts with the bayonet, but here the bayonet was employed in a fight of the most obstinate character. We had been prone to believe that no foe could withstand the British soldier; but at Inkerman, not only were desperate encounters maintained with the bayonet, but we were obliged to resist the Russian infantry again and again, as they charged us. It was six o'clock before the Head-Quarter camp was roused by the musketry, and by the report of field guns. Soon after seven o'clock A.M. Lord Raglan rode towards the scene, followed by his staff. As they approached, the steady, unceasing roll told that the engagement was serious. When a break in the fog enabled the Russian gunners to see the camp of the Second Division, the tents were sent into the air or set on fire. Gambier was ordered to get up two 18-pounders to reply to a fire which our light guns were utterly inadequate to meet. As he was exerting himself in his duty, Gambier was severely but not dangerously wounded. His place was taken by Lieutenant-Colonel Dickson, and the fire of those two pieces had the most marked effect in deciding the fate of the day. Our Generals could not see where to go. They could not tell where the enemy were. In darkness and rain they had to lead our lines through thick bushes and thorny brakes, which broke our ranks. Every pace was marked by a man down, wounded by an enemy whose position was only indicated by the rattle of musketry and the rush of ball. [Sidenote: A BRAVE MAN KILLED.] Cathcart, advancing from the centre of our position, came to the hill where the Guards were engaged, and, after a few words with the Duke, led the 63rd Regiment down on the right of the Guards into a ravine filled with brushwood, towards the valley of the Tchernaya. He perceived, as he did so, that the Russians had gained possession of the hill in rear of his men, but his stout heart never failed him for a moment. A deadly volley was poured into our scattered companies. Sir George cheered and led them back up the hill, and Cathcart fell from his horse close to the Russian columns. He rode at the head of the leading company, encouraging them. A cry arose that ammunition was failing. "Have you not got your bayonets?" As he lead on his men, another body of the enemy had gained the top of the hill behind them on the right, but it was impossible to tell whether they were friends or foes. The 63rd halted and fired. They were met by a fierce volley. Seymour, who was wounded, got down from his horse to aid his chief, but the enemy rushed down on them, and when our men had driven them back, they lay dead side by side. The 63rd suffered fearfully. They were surrounded, and won their desperate way up the hill with the loss of nearly 500 men. Sir George Cathcart's body was recovered with a bullet wound in the head and three bayonet wounds in the body. In this attack where the Russians fought with the greatest ferocity, and bayoneted the wounded, Colonel Swyny, 63rd, Major Wynne, 68th, Lieutenant Dowling, 20th, and other officers, met their death. Goldie, who was engaged with his brigade on the left of the Inkerman road, received the wounds of which he afterwards died about the same time. The fight had not long commenced before it was evident that the Russians had received orders to fire at all mounted officers. The regiments did not take their colours into the battle, but the officers, nevertheless, were picked off, and it did not require the colour to indicate their presence. The conflict on the right was equally uncertain and equally bloody. The 88th in front were surrounded; but four companies of the 77th, under Major Straton, charged the Russians, and relieved their comrades. Further to the right, a fierce contest took place between the Guards and dense columns of Russians. The Guards twice charged them and drove the enemy out of the Sandbag Battery, when they perceived that the Russians had out-flanked them. They were out of ammunition. They had no reserve, and they were fighting against an enemy who stoutly contested every inch of ground, when another Russian column appeared in their rear. They had lost fourteen officers; one-half of their number were on the ground. The Guards retired. They were reinforced by a wing of the 20th under Major Crofton. Meanwhile the Second Division, in the centre of the line, was hardly pressed. The 41st Regiment was exposed to a terrible fire. The 95th only mustered sixty-four men when paraded at two o'clock, and the whole Division when assembled by Major Eman in rear of their camp after the fight was over numbered only 300 men. At half-past nine o'clock, as Lord Raglan and his staff were on a knoll, a shell came and exploded on Captain Somerset's horse; a portion tore off the leather of Somerset's overalls. Gordon's horse was killed, and it then carried away General Strangeway's leg; it hung by a shred of flesh and bit of cloth from the skin. The old General never moved a muscle. He said in a quiet voice, "Will any one be kind enough to lift me off my horse?" He was laid on the ground, and at last carried to the rear. He had not strength to undergo an operation, and died in two hours. At one time the Russians succeeded in getting up close to the guns of Captain Wodehouse's and Captain Turner's batteries in the gloom of the morning. Uncertain whether they were friends or foes, our artillerymen hesitated to fire. The Russians charged, bore down all resistance, drove away or bayoneted the gunners, and succeeded in spiking four of the guns. The rolling of musketry, the pounding of the guns were deafening. The Russians, as they charged up the heights, yelled like demons. The regiments of the Fourth Division and the Marines, armed with the old and much-belauded Brown Bess, could do nothing against the Muscovite infantry, but the Minié smote them like the hand of the Destroying Angel. The disproportion of numbers was, however, too great--our men were exhausted--but at last came help. At last the French appeared on our right. It was after nine o'clock when the French streamed over the brow of the hill on our right--Chasseurs d'Orleans, Tirailleurs, Indigènes, Zouaves, Infantry of the Line, and Artillery--and fell upon the flank of the Russians. On visiting the spot it was curious to observe how men of all arms--English, French, and Russians--lay together, showing that the ground must have been occupied by different bodies of troops. The French were speedily engaged, for the Russians had plenty of men for all comers. Their reserves in the valley and along the road to Sebastopol received the shattered columns which were driven down the hill, allowed them to re-form and attack again, or furnished fresh regiments to assault the Allies again and again. This reserve seems to have consisted of three large bodies--probably of 5,000 men each. The attacking force could not have been less than 20,000 men, and it is a very low estimate indeed of the strength of the Russians to place it at from 45,000 to 50,000 men of all arms. Some say there were from 55,000 to 60,000 men engaged on the side of the enemy; but I think that number excessive, and there certainly was not ground enough for them to show front upon. Captain Burnett, R. N., states that he saw fresh bodies of Russians marching up to the attack on three successive occasions, and that their artillery was relieved no less than four times. The Minié rifle did our work, and Lord Hardinge is entitled to the best thanks of the country for his perseverance in arming this expedition as far as he could with every rifle that could be got, notwithstanding the dislike with which the weapon was received by many experienced soldiers. Three battalions of the Chasseurs d'Orleans rushed by, the light of battle on their faces. Their trumpets sounded above the din of battle, and when we watched their eager dash on the flank of the enemy we knew the day was safe. They were followed by a battalion of Chasseurs Indigènes. At twelve o'clock they were driven pell-mell down the hill towards the valley, where pursuit was impossible, as the roads were commanded by artillery. The day, which cleared up about eleven, again became obscured. Rain and fog set in, and we could not pursue. We formed in front of our lines, the enemy, covering his retreat by horse on the slopes, near the Careening Bay, and by artillery fire, fell back upon the works, and across the Inkerman Bridge. Our cavalry, the remnant of the Light Brigade, were moved into a position where it was hoped they might be of service, but they were too few to attempt anything, and lost several horses and men. Cornet Cleveland, was struck by a piece of shell and expired. General Canrobert, who was wounded in the early part of the day, directed the French, ably seconded by General Bosquet, whose devotion was noble. Nearly all his escort were killed, wounded, or unhorsed. The Russians, during the action, made a sortie on the French, and traversed two parallels before they were driven back; as they retired they fired mines inside the Flagstaff Fort, afraid that the French would enter pell-mell after them. The last attempt of the Russians took place at about thirty-five minutes past twelve. At forty minutes past one Dickson's two guns had smashed up the last battery of their artillery which attempted to stand, and they limbered up, leaving five tumbrils and one gun-carriage on the field. [Sidenote: SURVEY OF THE BATTLE-FIELD.] CHAPTER IV. The Battle-field--Review of the Struggle--The Dead and the Dying--Harrowing Scene--Firing on Burying Parties--The French at Inkerman--Number of the Russians--Losses--"Hair-breadth Scapes"--Brutal Conduct of the Russians--How the Victory was won--Use of Revolvers--Want of Ammunition. I went carefully over the position on the 6th, and as I examined it, I was amazed at the noble tenacity of our men. The tents of the Second Division were pitched on the verge of the plateau which we occupied, and from the right flank of the camp the ground rises gently for two or three hundred yards to a ridge covered with scrubby brushwood, so thick that it was sometimes difficult to force a horse through it. The bushes grew in tufts, and were about four feet high. On gaining the ridge you saw below you the valley of the Tchernaya, a green tranquil slip of meadow, with a few white houses dotting it at intervals, some farm enclosures, and tufts of green trees. From the ridge the hill-side descended rapidly in a slope of at least 600 feet. The brushwood was very thick upon it, and at times almost impervious. At the base of this slope the road wound to Inkerman, and thence to Sebastopol. The sluggish stream stole quietly through it towards the head of the harbour, which was shut out from view by the projections of the ridge to the north. At the distance of a quarter of a mile across the valley the sides of the mountains opposite to the ridge of the plateau on which our camp stood rose abruptly in sheer walls of rock, slab after slab, to the height of several hundred feet. A road wound among those massive precipices up to the ruins of Inkerman--a city of the dead and gone and unknown--where houses, and pillared mansions, and temples, were hewn out of the face of the solid rock by a generation whose very name the most daring antiquaries have not guessed at. This road passed along the heights, and dipped into the valley of Inkerman, at the neck of the harbour. The Russians planted guns along it to cover the retreat of their troops, and at night the lights of their fires were seen glimmering through the window and door places from the chambers carved out from the sides of the precipice. Looking down from the ridge, these ruins were, of course, to one's left hand. To the right the eye followed the sweep of the valley till it was closed in from view by the walls of the ridge, and by the mountains which hemmed in the valley of Balaklava, and one could just catch, on the side of the ridge, the corner of the nearest French earthwork, thrown up to defend our rear, and cover the position towards Balaklava. Below, to the right of the ridge, at the distance of 200 feet from the top towards the valley, was the Sandbag, or two-gun battery, intended for two guns, which had been withdrawn a few days before, after silencing a Russian battery at Inkerman, because Sir De Lacy Evans conceived that they would only invite attack, and would certainly be taken, unconnected as they would have been with any line of defence. On the left hand, overlooking this battery, was a road from Balaklava right across our camp through the Second Division's tents on their front, which ran over the ridge and joined the upper road to Inkerman. Some of the Russian columns had climbed up by the ground along this road; others had ascended on the left, in front and to the right of the Sandbag Battery. Litter-bearers, French and English, dotted the hillside, hunting through the bushes for the dead or dying, toiling painfully up with a burden for the grave, or some object for the doctor's care. Our men had acquired a shocking facility in their diagnosis. A body was before you; there was a shout, "Come here, boys, I see a Russian!" (or "a Frenchman," or "one of our fellows!") One of the party advances, raises the eyelid, peers into the eye, shrugs his shoulders, says "He's dead, he'll wait," and moves back to the litter; some pull the feet, and arrive at equally correct conclusions by that process. The dead were generally stripped of all but their coats. The camp followers and blackguards from Balaklava, and seamen from the ships, anxious for trophies, carried off all they could take from the field. Parties of men busy at work. Groups along the hill-side forty or fifty yards apart. You find them around a yawning trench, thirty feet in length by twenty feet in breadth, and six feet in depth. At the bottom lie packed with exceeding art some thirty or forty corpses. The grave-diggers stand chatting, waiting for arrivals to complete the number. They speculate on the appearance of the body which is being borne towards them. "It's Corporal----, of the--th, I think," says one. "No! it's my rear rank man, I can see his red hair plain enough," and so on. They discuss the merits or demerits of dead sergeants or comrades. "Well, he was a hard man: many's the time I was belled through him!" or "Poor Mick! he had fifteen years' service--a better fellow never stepped." At last the number in the trench is completed. The bodies are packed as closely as possible. Some have still upraised arms, in the attitude of taking aim; their legs stick up through the mould; others are bent and twisted like fantoccini. Inch after inch the earth rises upon them, and they are left "alone in their glory." No, not alone; for the hopes and affections of hundreds of human hearts lie buried with them! For about one mile and a half in length by half a mile in depth the hill-side offered such sights as these. Upwards of 2,000 Russians were buried there. [Sidenote: WATCHING A TREACHEROUS ENEMY.] As I was standing at the Sandbag Battery, talking to some officers of the Guards, who were describing their terrible losses, Colonel Cunynghame and Lieutenant-Colonel Wilbraham of the Quarter-Master-General's staff rode up to superintend the burial operations. The instant their cocked hats were seen above the ridge a burst of smoke from the head of the harbour, and a shell right over us, crashed into the hill-side, where our men were burying the Russian dead! Colonel Cunynghame told me Lord Raglan had sent in a flag of truce that morning to inform the Russians that the parties on the hill-side were burying the dead. As he was speaking a second shell came close and broke up our party. It is quite evident that the society of two officers in cocked hats, on horseback, is not the safest in the world. We all three retired. During the battle of Inkerman the French were drawn up in three bodies of about 2,000 men each on the ridge of the hills over Balaklava, watching the movements of the Russian cavalry in the plain below. As I came up the enemy were visible, drawn out into six divisions, with the artillery and infantry ready to act, and horses saddled and bridled. It was evident they were waiting for the signal to dash up the hills in our rear and sabre our flying regiments. They had a long time to wait! The French lines below us were lined by Zouaves; the gunners in the redoubts, with matches lighted, were prepared to send their iron messengers through the ranks of the horse the moment they came within range. Behind the French 5,000 "Bono Johnnies" were drawn up in columns as a reserve, and several Turkish regiments were also stationed under the heights on the right, in a position to act in support should their services be required. The French were on their march from the sea to our assistance, and the black lines of their regiments streaked the grey plain as they marched double-quick towards the scene of action. The Chasseurs d'Afrique on their grey Arabs swept about the slopes of the hills to watch an opportunity for a dash. Our own cavalry were drawn up by their encampments, the Heavy Brigade on the left, the Light Brigade in the centre of our position. The latter were out of fire for some time, but an advance to the right exposed them to shot and shell. Mr. Cleveland received a mortal wound, and several men and horses were injured later in the day. The Heavy Cavalry were employed in protecting our left and rear. The column on the extreme Russian right, which came on our position at the nearest point to Sebastopol, was mainly resisted by the Fourth Division and the Marines. The Russian centre was opposed by the Second Division and the Light Division. The Guards were opposed to the third or left column of the Russians. The Fourth Division in a short time lost all its generals--Cathcart, Goldie and Torrens--killed or mortally wounded, and 700, or more than one quarter of its strength, put _hors de combat_. The Second Division came out of action with six field officers and twelve captains; Major Farrer, of the 47th Regiment, was senior, and took command of the Division. Sir De Lacy Evans was unwell on board ship when the fight began, but he managed to ride up to the front, and I saw him on the battle-field in the thick of the fight. Captain Allix, one of his aides-de-camp, was killed; Captain Gubbins, another, was wounded. The Brigade of the Guards lost fourteen officers killed; the wonder is that any escaped the murderous fire. The Alma did not present anything like the scene round the Sandbag Battery. Upwards of 1,200 dead and dying Russians laid behind and around and in front of it, and many a tall English Grenadier was there amid the frequent corpses of Chasseur and Zouave. At one time, while the Duke was rallying his men, a body of Russians came at him. Mr. Wilson, surgeon, 7th Hussars, attached to the brigade, perceived the danger of his Royal Highness, and with great gallantry assembled a few Guardsmen, led them to the charge, and dispersed the Russians. The Duke's horse was killed. At the close of the day he called Mr. Wilson in front and thanked him for having saved his life. [Sidenote: AN INTERESTING COLLOQUY.] BOOK IV. PREPARATIONS FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN--THE HURRICANE--THE CONDITION OF THE ARMY--THE TRENCHES IN WINTER--BALAKLAVA--THE COMMISSARIAT AND MEDICAL STAFF. CHAPTER I. Formation of the Russian Army--Difficulties explained--Appearance of the Men--Liège Muskets--Bayonets--Killing the Wounded--Glories of Inkerman--Commissary Filder's merits--Hardships of the Campaign--Officers in rags--Hurricane of the 14th of November--A mighty and strong Wind--Tents dislodged--A Medical Officer in difficulty--Horrors of the Scene--Sleet and Snow--Officers in distress--Bad news from Balaklava--A Lull. From a deserter at Head-Quarters I gleaned some particulars respecting the formation of the Russian army. It had long been a puzzle to ignorant people like ourselves why the Russian soldiers had numbers on their shoulder-straps different from those on their buttons or on their caps. In recording my observations of the appointments of the men killed at the Alma, I remarked that certain "regiments" were present, judging by the shoulder straps. It will appear that these numbers referred not to regiments, but to divisions. So let our Pole, one of the few who came in after Inkerman, speak for himself through an interpreter:-- "What does the number on the strap on your shoulder indicate?" "It is No. 16. It shows that I belong to the 16th Division of the army." "Who commands it?" "I don't know--a General." "What does the number 31 on your buttons mean?" "It means that I belong to Regt. 31 of the 16th Division." "What does the number 7 on your cap, with P after it, mean?" "It indicates that I belong to the 7th rota of my polk." "What does a rota mean?" "It means a company of 250 men." "How many rotas are in a polk?" "There are sixteen rotas in each polk." "And how many polks are in a division?" "There are four polks in a division." "If that is so, why have you 31 on your buttons?" (A pause, a stupid look.)--"I don't know." Finding our friend was getting into that helpless state of confusion into which the first glimpses of decimal fractions are wont to plunge the youthful arithmetician, we left him. Now let us combine our information, and see what, according to this Polish authority, a Russian division consists of. It stands thus:-- 1 Rota = 250 men. 16 Rotas = 1 polk = 4,000 " 4 Polks = 1 division = 16,000 " One Division of infantry. The men resembled those we met at the Alma, and were clad in the same way. We saw no infantry with helmets, however, and our soldiers were disappointed to find the Russians had, in most cases, come out without their knapsacks. Their persons were very cleanly, and the whiteness of their faces and of their feet were remarkable. Few of them had socks, and the marauders had removed their boots whenever they were worth taking. Our soldiers and sailors, as well as the French, looked out with avidity for a good pair of Russian boots, and were quite adepts in fitting themselves to a nicety by their simple mode of measurement--viz., placing their feet against those of the dead men. Many had medals, "the campaign of 1848-49 in Hungary and Transylvania." They were generally carried inside tin cases about their persons. Officers and men wore the same long grey coats, the former being alone distinguishable by the stripe of gold lace on the shoulder. Their uniform coats, of dark green with white facings and red and yellow trimmings, were put on underneath the great coat. A considerable number of the Liège double-grooved rifles were found on the field. Many of the muskets bore the date of 1841, and had been altered into detonators. I remember a juvenile superstition in my sparrow-killing days, that such guns "shot stronger" than either flint or detonator, _pur sang_. Every part of the arm was branded most carefully. The word "BAK" occurs on each separate part of it. The Imperial eagle was on the brass heelplate, and on the lock "[Cyrillic: TULA] (Tula), 1841." The bayonets were long, but not well steeled. They bent if rudely handled or struck with force against the ground. The long and polished gun-barrels were made of soft, but tough iron. They could be bent to an acute angle without splitting. From the trigger-guard of each musket a thong depended, fastened to a cap of stout leather, to put over the nipple in wet weather. This seemed a simple and useful expedient. The devotion of the men to their officers was remarkable. How else was it that we seldom found either dead or wounded officers on the ground? It was again asserted--and I fear with truth--that the wounded Russians killed many of our men as they passed. For this reason our soldiers smashed the stock and bent the barrels. Some carried rifles, and heavy, thick swords with a saw-back, which they sold to the captains and sailors of merchantmen. Medals, ribands, the small brass crucifixes, and pictures of saints, and charms found upon the dead, were also in great request. [Sidenote: THE COMMISSARIAT.] If it is considered that the soldiers who met these furious columns of the Czar were the remnants of three British divisions, which scarcely numbered 8,500 men; that they were hungry and wet, and half-famished; that they belonged to a force which was generally "out of bed" four nights out of seven; enfeebled by sickness, by severe toil; that among them were men who had previously lain out for forty-eight hours in the trenches at a stretch--it will be readily admitted that never was a more brilliant contest maintained by our army. Up to the beginning of this winter Commissary Filder deserved credit for his exertions in supplying our army. No army, I believe, was ever so well fed under such very exceptional circumstances. From Balaklava alone came our daily bread; no man had up to this time been without his pound of biscuit, his pound and a half or a pound of beef or mutton, his quota of coffee, tea, rice, and sugar, his gill of excellent rum, for any one day, excepting through his own neglect. We drew our hay, our corn, our beef, our mutton, our biscuits, spirits, and necessaries of all kinds from beyond sea. Eupatoria supplied us with cattle and sheep to a moderate extent; but the commissariat of the army depended on sea carriage. Nevertheless, large as were our advantages in the excellence and regularity of the supply of food, the officers and men had to undergo great privations. The oldest soldiers never witnessed a campaign in which Generals were obliged to live in tents in winter, and officers who passed their youth in the Peninsular war, and had seen a good deal of fighting in various parts of the world, were unanimous in declaring that they never knew of a war in which the officers were exposed to such hardships. They landed without anything, marched beside their men, slept by them, fought by them, and died by them. They laid down at night in the clothes which they wore during the day; many delicately-nurtured youths never changed shirts or shoes for weeks together. "Rank and fashion," under such circumstances, fell a prey to parasitical invasion--an evil to which the other incidents of roughing it are of little moment. The officers were in rags. Guardsmen, who were "the best style of men" in the Parks, turned out in coats and trousers and boots all seams and patches, mended with more vigour than neatness, and our smartest cavalry men were models of ingenious sewing and stitching. The men could not grumble at old coats, boots, or shoes when they saw their officers no better off than themselves. We had "soldiering with the gilding off," and many a young gentleman would be cured of his love of arms if he could but have had one day's experience. Fortunate it is for us that we have youth on which we can rely, and that there are in England men "who delight in war," who will be ever ready to incur privation and danger at her summons. As to young ladies suffering from "scarlet fever,"--who are thinking of heroes and warriors, singing of "crowning conquerors' brows with flowers," and wishing for "Arab steeds and falchions bright"--if they could but for one instant have stood beside me, and gazed into one of the pits where some thirty "clods of the valley," decked with scarlet and blue, with lace and broidery, were lying side by side, staring up at heaven with their sightless orbs, as they were about to be consigned to the worm, they would have joined in prayer for the advent of that day--if come it ever may--when war shall be no more, and when the shedding of blood shall cease. After Inkerman there was a period of collapse in the army. The siege languished. Our strength was wasting away--men's spirits failed--the future looked dark and uncertain. It happened that we had a forewarning of what might be expected. On Friday, the 10th of November, just four days ere the fatal catastrophe which caused such disasters occurred, I was on board the _Jason_ Captain Lane, which happened to be lying outside, and as it came on to blow, I could not return to the shore or get to the camp that evening. The ship was a noble steamer, well manned and ably commanded, but ere midnight I would have given a good deal to have been on land; for the gale setting right into the bay, raised a high wild sea, which rushed up the precipices in masses of water and foam, astonishing by their force and fury; and the strain on the cable was so great that the captain had to ease it off by steaming gently a-head against the wind. The luckless _Prince_, which had lost two anchors and cables on bringing up a day or two before, was riding near the _Agamemnon_, and adopted the same expedient; and, of the numerous vessels outside, and which in so short a time afterwards were dashed into fragments against those cruel rocks, the aspect of which was calculated to thrill the heart of the boldest seaman with horror, there were few which did not drag their anchors and draw towards the iron coast which lowered with death on its brow upon us. Guns of distress boomed through the storm, and flashes of musketry pointed out for a moment a helpless transport which seemed tossing in the very centre of the creaming foam of those stupendous breakers, the like of which I never beheld, except once, when I saw the Atlantic running riot against the cliffs of Moher. But the gale soon moderated--for that once--and wind and sea went down long before morning. However, Sir Edmund Lyons evidently did not like his berth, for the _Agamemnon_ went round to Kamiesch on Sunday morning, and ordered the _Firebrand_, which was lying outside, to go up to the fleet at the Katcha. As to the _Prince_, and the luckless transports, they were allowed, nay, ordered, to stand outside till the hurricane rushed upon them. On the 14th of November came a new calamity--the hurricane. I had been in a listless state between waking and sleeping, listening to the pelting of the rain against the fluttering canvas of the tent, or dodging the streams of water which flowed underneath it, saturating blankets, and collecting on the mackintosh sheet in pools, when gradually I became aware that the sound of the rain and the noise of its heavy beating on the earth had been swallowed up by the roar of the wind, and by the flapping of tents outside. Presently the sides of the canvas, tucked in under big stones, began to rise, permitting the wind to enter and drive sheets of rain right into one's face; the pegs indicated painful indecision and want of firmness of purpose. The glimpses afforded of the state of affairs outside were little calculated to produce a spirit of resignation to the fate which threatened our frail shelter. The ground had lost solidity. Mud--nothing but mud--flying before the wind and drifting as though it were rain, covered the face of the earth. The storm-fiend was coming, terrible and strong as when he smote the bark of the Ancient Mariner. The pole of the tent bent like a salmon-rod; the canvas tugged at the ropes, the pegs yielded. A startling crack! I looked at my companions, who seemed determined to shut out all sound by piling as many clothes as they could over their heads. A roar of wind again, the pole bent till the "crack" was heard again. "Get up, Smith! Up with you; Eber! the tent is coming down!" The Doctor rose from beneath his _tumulus_ of clothes. Now, if there was anything in which the Doctor put confidence more than another, it was his tent-pole; he believed that no power of Æolus could ever shake it. There was normally a bend in the middle of it, but he used to argue, on sound anatomical, mathematical, and physical principles, that the bend was an improvement. He looked on the pole, as he looked at all things, blandly, put his hand out, and shook it. "Why, man," said he, reproachfully, "it's all right--_that_ pole would stand for ever," and then he crouched and burrowed under his bed-clothes. Scarcely had he given that last convulsive heave of the blankets which indicates perfect comfort, when a harsh screaming sound, increasing in vehemence as it approached, struck us with horror. As it neared us, we heard the snapping of tent-poles and the sharp crack of timber. On it came, "a mighty and a strong wind." It struck our tent! The pole broke off short in the middle, as if it were glass; in an instant we were half stifled by the folds of the wet canvas, which beat us about the head with fury. Breathless and half blind, I struggled for the exit, and crept out into the mud. Such a sight met the eye! The whole head-quarters' camp was beaten flat to the earth, and the unhappy occupants of tents were rushing in all directions in chase of their effects, or holding on by the walls, as they strove to make their way to the roofless barns and stables. [Sidenote: A MIMIC VOLCANO.] Three marquees stood the blast--General Estcourt, Sir John Burgoyne, and Major Pakenham's. The General had built a cunning wall of stones around his marquee, but ere noon it had fallen before the wind; the Major's shared the same fate still earlier in the day. Next to our tent was the marquee of Captain de Morel, aide-de-camp to Adjutant-General Estcourt, fluttering on the ground, and, as I looked, the canvas was animated by some internal convulsion--a mimic volcano appeared to be opening, its folds assumed fantastic shapes, tossing wildly in the storm. The phenomenon was accounted for by the apparition of the owner fighting his way against the wind, which was bent on tearing his scanty covering from his person; at last he succeeded in making a bolt of it and squattered through the mud to the huts. Dr. Hall's tent was levelled, the principal medical officer of the British army might be seen in an unusual state of perturbation and nudity, seeking for his garments. Brigadier Estcourt, with mien for once disturbed, held on, as sailors say, "like grim Death to a backstay," by one of the shrouds of his marquee. Captain Chetwode was tearing through the rain and dirt like a maniac after a cap, which he fancied was his own, and which he found, after a desperate run, to be his sergeant's. The air was filled with blankets, hats, great coats, little coats, and even tables and chairs! Mackintoshes, quilts, india-rubber tubs, bedclothes, sheets of tent-canvas went whirling like leaves in the gale towards Sebastopol. The barns and commissariat sheds were laid bare at once. The shingle roofs of the outhouses were torn away and scattered over the camp; a portion of the roof of Lord Raglan's house was carried off to join them. Large arabas, or waggons, close to us were overturned; men and horses were rolled over and over; the ambulance waggons were turned topsy-turvy; a large table in Captain Chetwode's was whirled round and round till the leaf flew off, and came to mother earth deprived of a leg and seriously injured. The Marines and Rifles on the cliffs over Balaklava lost everything; the storm hurled them across the bay, and the men had to cling to the earth with all their might to avoid the same fate. Looking over towards the hill occupied by the Second Division, we saw the ridges, the plains, and undulating tracts between the ravines, so lately smiling in the autumn sun, with row after row of neat white tents, bare and desolate, as black as ink. Right in front the camp of the Chasseurs d'Afrique presented an appearance of equal desolation. Their little _tentes d'abri_ were involved in the common ruin. One-half of our cavalry horses broke loose. The French swarmed in all directions, seeking for protection against the blast. Our men, more sullen and resolute, stood in front of their levelled tents, or collected in groups before their late camps. Woe to the Russians had they come on that day, for, fiercer than the storm and stronger than all its rage, the British soldier would have met and beaten their battalions. The cry was, all throughout this dreadful day, "Let us get at the town; better far that we should have a rush at the batteries and be done with it, than stand here to be beaten by a storm." [Sidenote: FLYING FROM THE STORM.] Let the reader imagine the bleakest common in all England, the wettest bog in all Ireland, or the dreariest muir in all Scotland, overhung by leaden skies, and lashed by a tornado of sleet, snow, and rain--a few broken stone walls and roofless huts dotting it here and there, roads turned into torrents of mud and water, and then let him think of the condition of men and horses in such a spot on a November morning, suddenly deprived of their frail covering, and exposed to bitter cold, with empty stomachs, without the remotest prospect of obtaining food or shelter. Think of the men in the trenches, the covering parties, the patrols, and outlying pickets and sentries, who had passed the night in storm and darkness, and who returned to their camp only to find fires out and tents gone. These were men on whose vigilance the safety of our position depended, and many of whom had been for eight or ten hours in the rain and cold, who dared not turn their backs for a moment, who could not blink their eyes. These are trials which demand the exercise of the soldier's highest qualities. A benighted sportsman caught in a storm thinks he is much to be pitied, as, fagged, drenched and hungry, he plods along the hillside, and stumbles about in the dark towards some uncertain light; but he has no enemy worse than the wind and rain to face, and in the first hut he reaches repose and comfort await him. Our officers and soldiers, after a day like this, had to descend to the trenches again at night, look out for a crafty foe, to labour in the mire and ditches of the works; what fortitude and high courage to do all this without a murmur, and to bear such privations and hardships with unflinching resolution! But meantime--for one's own experience gives the best idea of the suffering of others--our tent was down; one by one we struggled out into the mud, and left behind us all our little household gods, to fly to the lee of a stone wall, behind which were cowering French and British of all arms and conditions. Major Blane was staggering from the ruins of his marquee, under a press of greatcoat, bearing up for the shelter of Pakenham's hut. The hospital tents were all down, the sick had to share the fate of the robust. On turning towards the ridge on which the imposing wooden structures of the French were erected, a few scattered planks alone met the eye. The wounded of the 5th November, who to the number of several hundred were in these buildings, had to bear the inclemency of the weather as well as they could. Several succumbed to its effects. The guard tents were down, the occupants huddled together under the side of a barn, their arms covered with mud, lying where they had been thrown from the "pile" by wind. The officers had fled to the commissariat stores near Lord Raglan's, and there found partial shelter. Inside, overturned carts, dead horses, and groups of shivering men--not a tent left standing. Mr. Cookesley had to take refuge, and was no doubt glad to find it, amid salt pork and rum puncheons. With chattering teeth and shivering limbs each man looked at his neighbour. Lord Raglan's house, with the smoke streaming from the chimneys, and its white walls standing out freshly against the black sky, was the "cynosure of neighbouring eyes." Lord Lucan, meditative as Marius amid the ruins of Carthage, was sitting up to his knees in mud, amid the wreck of his establishment. Lord Cardigan was sick on board his yacht in the harbour of Balaklava. Sir George Brown was lying wounded on board the _Agamemnon_, off Kamiesch Bay; Sir De Lacy Evans, sick and shaken, was on board the _Sanspareil_, in Balaklava; General Bentinck, wounded, was on board the _Caradoc_. The Duke of Cambridge was passing a terrible time of it in the _Retribution_, in all the horrors of that dreadful scene, off Balaklava. Pennefather, England, Campbell, Adams, Buller--in fact all the generals and officers--were as badly off as the meanest private. The only persons near us whose tents weathered the gale were Mr. Romaine, Deputy Judge-Advocate-General; Lieutenant-Colonel Dickson, Artillery; and Captain Woodford. The first had pitched his tent cunningly within the four walls of an outhouse, and secured it by guys and subtle devices of stonework. They were hospitable spots, those tents--oases in the desert of wretchedness; many a poor half-frozen wanderer was indebted almost for life to the shelter they afforded. While reading this, pray never lose sight of the fact, as you sit over your snug coal-fires at home, that fuel was nearly all gone, and that there were savage fights among the various domestics, even in fine weather, for a bit of shaving or a fragment of brushwood. Never forget that the storm raged from half-past six o'clock till late in the day, with the fury of Azraël, vexing and buffeting every living thing, and tearing to pieces all things inanimate. Now and then a cruel gleam of sunshine shot out of a rift in the walls of clouds and rendered the misery of the scene more striking. Gathered up under the old wall, we could not but think with anxious hearts of our fleet of transports off Balaklava and the Katcha. Alas! we had too much reason for our anxiety. Towards ten o'clock matters were looking more hopeless and cheerless than ever, when a welcome invitation came through the storm to go over to the shelter of Romaine's tent. Our first duty was to aid the owner in securing the pole with "a fish" of stout spars. Then we aided in passing out a stay from the top of the pole to the wall in front. A cup of warm tea was set before each of us, provided by some inscrutable chemistry, and with excellent ration biscuit and some butter, a delicious meal, as much needed as it was unexpected, was made by my friends and myself, embittered only by the ever-recurring reflection, "God help us, what will become of the poor fellows in the trenches?" And there we sat, thinking and talking of the soldiers and of the fleet hour after hour, while the wind and rain blew and fell with the full sense of the calamity with which Providence was pleased to visit us. Towards twelve o'clock the wind, which had been blowing from the south-west, chopped round more to the west, and became colder. Sleet fell first, and then a snow-storm, which clothed the desolate landscape in white, till the tramp of men seamed it with trails of black mud. The mountain ranges assumed their winter garb. French soldiers flocked about head-quarters, and displayed their stock of sorrows to us. Their tents were all down and blown away--no chance of recovering them; their bread was "_tout mouillé et gâté_," their rations gone to the dogs. The African soldiers seemed particularly miserable. Several of them were found dead next morning outside our cavalry camp. Two men in the 7th Fusileers, one man in the 33rd, and one man of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, were found dead, "starved to death" by the cold. About forty horses died, and many never recovered. [Sidenote: A REFUGE FROM THE STORM.] At two o'clock the wind went down a little, and the intervals between the blasts of the gale became more frequent and longer. We took advantage of one of these halcyon moments to trudge to the wreck of my tent, and having borrowed another pole, with the aid of a few men we got it up muddy and wet; but it was evident that no dependence could be placed upon it; the floor was a puddle, and the bed and clothes dripping. Towards evening there were many tents re-pitched along the lines of our camps, though they were but sorry resting-places. It was quite out of the question to sleep in them. What was to be done? There was close at hand the barn used as a stable for the horses of the 8th Hussars, and Eber Macraghten and I waded across the sea of nastiness which lay between us and it, tacked against several gusts, fouled one or two soldiers in a different course, grappled with walls and angles of outhouses, nearly foundered in big horse-holes, bore sharply up round a corner, and anchored at last in the stable. What a scene it was! The officers of the escort were crouching over some embers; along the walls were packed some thirty or forty horses and ponies, shivering with cold, and kicking and biting with spite and bad humour. The Hussars, in their long cloaks, stood looking on the flakes of snow, which drifted in at the doorway or through the extensive apertures in the shingle roof. Soldiers of different regiments crowded about the warm corners, and Frenchmen of all arms, and a few Turks, joined in the brotherhood of misery, lighted their pipes at the scanty fire, and sat close for mutual comfort. The wind blew savagely through the roof, and through chinks in the mud walls and window-holes. The building was a mere shell, as dark as pitch, and smelt as it ought to do--an honest, unmistakeable stable--improved by a dense pack of moist and mouldy soldiers. And yet it seemed to us a palace! Life and joy were inside, though melancholy Frenchmen would insist on being pathetic over their own miseries--and, indeed, they were many and great--and after a time the eye made out the figures of men huddled up in blankets, lying along the wall. They were the sick, who had been in the hospital marquee, and who now lay moaning and sighing in the cold; but our men were kind to them, as they are always to the distressed, and not a pang of pain did they feel which care or consideration could dissipate. A staff officer, Colonel Wetherall, dripping with rain, came in to see if he could get any shelter for draughts of the 33rd and 41st Regiments, which had just been landed at Kamiesch, but he soon ascertained the hopelessness of his mission so far as our quarters were concerned. The men were packed into another shed, "like herrings in a barrel." Having told us, "There is terrible news from Balaklava--seven vessels lost, and a number on shore at the Katcha," and thus made us more gloomy than ever, the officer went on his way, as well as he could, to look after his draughts. In the course of an hour an orderly was sent off to Balaklava with dispatches from head-quarters; but, after being absent for three-quarters of an hour, the man returned, fatigued and beaten, to say he could not get his horse to face the storm. In fact, it would have been all but impossible for man or beast to have made headway through the hurricane. We sat in the dark till night set in--not a soul could stir out. Nothing could be heard but the howling of the wind, the yelping of wild dogs driven into the enclosures, and the shrill neighings of terrified horses. At length a candle-end was stuck into a horn lantern, to keep it from the wind--a bit of ration pork and some rashers of ham, done over the wood fire, furnished an excellent dinner, which was followed by a glass or horn of hot water and rum--then a pipe, and as it was cold and comfortless, we got to bed--a heap of hay on the stable floor, covered with our clothes, and thrown close to the heels of a playful grey mare, who had strong antipathies to her neighbours, a mule and an Arab horse, and spent the night in attempting to kick in their ribs. Amid smells, and with incidents impossible to describe or allude to more nearly, we went to sleep in spite of a dispute between an Irish sergeant of Hussars and a Yorkshire corporal of Dragoons as to the comparative merits of light and heavy cavalry, with digressions respecting the capacity of English and Irish horseflesh, which, by the last we heard of them, seemed likely to be decided by a trial of physical strength on the part of the disputants. Throughout the day there had been very little firing from the Russian batteries--towards evening all was silent except the storm. In the middle of the night, however, we were all awoke by one of the most tremendous cannonades we had ever heard, and, after a time, the report of a rolling fire of musketry was borne upon the wind. Looking eagerly in the direction of the sound, we saw the flashes of the cannon through the chinks in the roof, each distinct by itself, just as a flash of lightning is seen in all its length and breadth through a crevice in a window shutter. It was a sortie on the French lines. The cannonade lasted for half-an-hour, and gradually waxed fainter. In the morning we heard that the Russians had been received with an energy which quickly made them fly to the cover of their guns. CHAPTER II. A change for the better--Visit to Balaklava--Devastation--Affair of Pickets--Newspaper Correspondents in the Crimea--Difficulties they had to encounter--False Hopes--A smart affair--Death of Lieutenant Tryon--Flattering Testimonies--Want of Generals--Attack on Oupatoria--Affair between the Chasseurs de Vincennes and the Russian Riflemen--The Ovens--A Deserter's Story--Movements of the Russians--A Reconnaissance--Suffering caused by hard work and scarcity of supplies--Warnings--Cholera--Dreadful Scenes amongst the Turks in Balaklava. [Sidenote: BALAKLAVA AFTER THE STORM.] With the morning of the 15th of November, came a bright cold sky, and our men, though ankle deep in mud cheered up when they beheld the sun once more. The peaks of the hills and mountain sides were covered with snow. As rumours of great disasters reached us from Balaklava, I after breakfasting in my stable, made my way there as well as I could. The roads were mere quagmires. Another day's rain would have rendered them utterly impassable, and only for swimming or navigation. Dead horses and cattle were scattered all over the country, and here and there a sad little procession, charged with the burden of some inanimate body, might be seen wending its way slowly towards the hospital marquees, which had been again pitched. In coming by the French lines I observed that the whole of the troops were turned out, and were moving about and wheeling in column to keep their blood warm. They had just been mustered, and it was gratifying to learn that the rumours respecting lost men were greatly exaggerated. Our men were engaged in trenching and clearing away mud. The Russians in the valley were very active, and judging from the state of the ground and the number of loose horses, they must have been very miserable also. Turning down by Captain Powell's battery, where the sailors were getting their arms in order, I worked through ammunition mules and straggling artillery-wagons towards the town. Balaklava was below--its waters thronged with shipping--not a ripple on their surface. It was almost impossible to believe that but twelve hours before ships were dragging their anchors, drifting, running aground,, and smashing each other to pieces in that placid loch. The whitewashed houses in the distance were as clean-looking as ever, and the old ruined fortress on the crags above frowned upon the sea, and reared its walls and towers aloft, uninjured by the storm. On approaching the town, however, the signs of the tempest of the day before grew and increased at every step. At the narrow neck of the harbour, high and dry, three large boats were lying, driven inland several yards; the shores were lined with trusses of compressed hay which had floated out of the wrecks outside the harbour, and pieces of timber, beams of wood, masts and spars, formed natural rafts, which were stranded on the beach or floated about among the shipping. The old tree which stood near the guard-house at the entrance to the town was torn up, and in its fall had crushed the house into ruin. The soldiers of the guard were doing their best to make themselves comfortable within the walls. The fall of this tree, which had seen many winters, coupled with the fact that the verandahs and balconies of the houses and a row of very fine acacia trees on the beach were blown down, corroborate the statement so generally made by the inhabitants, that they had never seen or heard of such a hurricane in their life time, although there was a tradition among some that once in thirty or forty years such visitations occurred along this coast. The _City of London_, Captain Cargill, was the only vessel which succeeded in getting out to sea and gaining a good offing during the hurricane of the 14th, and the Captain told me, in all his experience (and as an old Aberdeen master, he has passed some anxious hours at sea) he never knew so violent a gale. There was an affair of pickets during the night of the 15th between the French and the Russians, in which a few men were wounded on both sides, and which was finished by the retreat of the Russians to their main body. This took place in the valley of Balaklava, and its most disagreeable result (to those not engaged) was to waken up and keep awake every person in the town for a couple of hours. During this winter newspaper correspondents in the Crimea were placed in a rather difficult position. In common with generals and chiefs, and men-at-arms, they wrote home accounts of all we were doing to take Sebastopol, and they joined in the prophetic cries of the leaders of the host, that the fall of the city of the Czar--the centre and navel of his power in those remote regions--would not be deferred for many hours after our batteries had opened upon its defences. In all the inspiration of this universal hope, these poor wretches, who clung to the mantles of the military and engineering Elijahs, did not hesitate to communicate to the world, through the columns of the English press, all they knew of the grand operations which were to eventuate in the speedy fall of this doomed city. They cheered the heart of England with details of the vast armaments prepared against its towers and forts--of the position occupied by her troops--the imbecility of the enemy's fire--of the range of the guns so soon to be silenced--of the stations of our troops on commanding sites; and they described with all their power the grandiose operations which were being taken for the reduction of such a formidable place of arms. They believed, in common with the leaders, whose inspiration and whose faith were breathed through the ranks of our soldiers, that the allied forces were to reduce Sebastopol long ere the lines they penned could meet the expectant gaze of our fellow-countrymen at home; and they stated, under that faith and in accordance with those inspirations, that the operations of war of our armies were undertaken with reference to certain points and with certain hopes of results, the knowledge of which could not have proved of the smallest service to the enemy once beaten out of their stronghold. Contrary to these hopes and inspirations, in direct opposition to our prophecies and to our belief, Sebastopol held out against the Allies; and the intelligence conveyed in newspapers which we all thought we should have read in the club-rooms of Sebastopol, was conveyed to the generals of an army which defended its walls, and were given to the leaders of an enemy whom we had considered would be impuissant and defeated, while they were still powerful and unconquered. The enemy knew that we had lost many men from sickness; that we had so many guns here and so many guns there, that our head-quarters were in one place, our principal powder magazines in another, that the camp of such a division had been annoyed by their fire, and that the tents of another had escaped injury from their shot, but it must be recollected that when these details were written it was confidently declared that, ere the news of the actual preliminaries of the siege could reach England, the Allies would have entered Sebastopol, that their batteries would have silenced the fire of their enemy, that the quarters of their generals would have been within the _enceinte_ of the town, that our magazines would have been transferred to its storehouses, and that our divisions would have encamped within its walls. [Sidenote: MISERABLE STATE OF OUR ARMY.] How much knowledge of this sort the enemy gleaned through their spies, or by actual observation, it is not needful to inquire; but undoubtedly, without any largely speculative conjecture, it may be inferred that much of the information conveyed to them, or said to have been conveyed to them, by the English press, could have been ascertained through those very ordinary channels of communication, the eye and ear, long ere our letters had been forwarded to Sebastopol, and translated from English _in usum superiorum_. However, it is quite evident that it was not advisable to acquaint the enemy with our proceeding and movements during a siege which promised to assume the proportions and to emulate the length of those operations of a similar character in which hosts of men conveyed by formidable armadas from distant shores, set down to beleaguer some devoted fortress. Although it might be dangerous to communicate facts likely to be of service to the Russians, it was certainly hazardous to conceal the truth from the English people. They must have known, sooner or later, that the siege towards the end of November had been for many days practically suspended, that our batteries were used up and silent, and that our army was much exhausted by the effects of excessive labour and watching, to which they have been so incessantly exposed. The Russians knew this soon enough, for a silent battery--to hazard a bull--speaks for itself. The relaxation of our fire was self-evident, but our army, though weakened by sickness, was still equal to hold their position, and to inflict the most signal chastisement upon any assailants who might venture to attack it. In fact, I believe nothing would have so animated our men, deprived as they were of cheering words and of the presence and exhortations of their generals and destitute of all stimulating influences beyond those of their undaunted spirits and glorious courage, as the prospect of meeting the Russians outside their intrenchments. Rain kept pouring down, the wind howled over the staggering tents--the trenches were turned into dikes--in the tents the water was sometimes a foot deep--our men had neither warm nor waterproof clothing--they were out for twelve hours at a time in the trenches--they were plunged into the inevitable miseries of a winter campaign. These were hard truths, which sooner or later must have come to the ears of the people of England. It was right they should know that the beggar who wandered the streets of London led the life of a prince compared with the British soldiers who were fighting for their country, and who, we were complacently assured by the home authorities, were the best appointed army in Europe. They were fed, indeed, but they had no shelter. The tents, so long exposed to the blaze of a Bulgarian sun, and drenched by torrents of rain, let the wet through "like sieves." On the night of the 20th of November, three companies of the Rifle Brigade (1st battalion), under Lieutenant Tryon, displayed coolness and courage in a very smart affair. In the rocky ground in the ravine towards the left of our left attack, about 300 Russian infantry established themselves in some caverns and old stone huts used by shepherds in days gone by, and annoyed the working and covering parties of the French right attack and of our advances. These caves abounded in all the ravines, and were formed by the decay of the softer portions of the rock between the layers in which it is stratified. It was found expedient to dislodge them, and at seven o'clock this party was sent to drive the Russians out. The Rifles soon forced the enemy to retreat on the main body, but when the Rifles had established themselves for the night in the caves, they were assailed by a strong column. The action ended in the complete repulse of the Russian columns, but we had to deplore the loss of a most promising and excellent officer, Lieutenant Tryon, who was killed by a shot in the head. Seven men killed and eighteen or nineteen wounded. General Canrobert issued a very flattering _ordre du jour_, in which he especially eulogized the intrepid bravery and noble energy of the three companies of the 1st battalion of our Rifle Brigade in the action, and Lord Raglan mentioned it in very handsome terms. Our army was in a strange condition now. The Light Division was provisionally commanded by Codrington, Sir George Brown being on board the "Agamemnon." The Duke of Cambridge was on board the "Retribution." The Brigade of Guards appeared to be commanded by Colonel Upton. The Brigade of Highlanders was down at Kadikoi, under the command of Sir Colin Campbell. The Second Division was commanded by Brigadier-General Pennefather, in the room of Sir De Lacy Evans, who was on his way home unwell. The First Brigade was under the command of a Lieutenant-Colonel. The Second Brigade was without a brigadier, General Adams' wound was more serious than was supposed. The Third Division was under the command of Sir Richard England, and was fortunate in not being much engaged. The Fourth Division, deprived of all its generals, was commanded by Sir John Campbell. Brigadier-General Lord Cardigan was unable to leave his yacht. The Artillery was under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Dacres during the absence of Lieutenant-Colonel Gambier, who was wounded, after having succeeded to the command left vacant by the death of Strangways. Our cattle at Eupatoria were by no means in high condition; they perished from hunger. It may readily be guessed that joints from the survivors were scarcely in such a condition as would justify the least conscientious of London waiters describing them as being in "prime cut." [Sidenote: COMPANION OF THE GRAND DUKE.] Early in November a body of Russian cavalry appeared before Eupatoria to attack our stock, and a French colonel, with eighty horse, pushed forward to save his beeves and mutton from the gripe of the hungry Cossacks. The Russian cavalry always screen field guns, and on this occasion, as at the Bouljanak, plumped round shot and shell into the Frenchmen. The colonel was dismounted, seven men were killed or wounded, and, as the French were retiring, a polk of Lancers made a dash at them. Our rocket battery was, however, near at hand, and one of these fiery abominations rushed right through their ranks. The horses reared, and the Lancers "bolted," leaving several dead upon the field. On the 24th there was a brisk affair between the French and the Russians in front of the Flagstaff Battery, and the Russians dispelled all myths about their want of powder and ball by a most tremendous cannonade. Assaults and counter-assaults continued amid a furious fire, which lighted up the skies with sheets of flame from nine o'clock at night till nearly four in the morning. The French at one time actually penetrated behind the outer intrenchments, and established themselves for a time within the _enceinte_, but as there was no preparation made for a general assault, they eventually withdrew. The struggle between French and Russians was renewed on the night of the 25th. The great bone of contention, in addition to the Ovens, was the mud fort at the Quarantine Battery, of which the French had got possession, though, truth to tell, it did not benefit their position very materially. A Polish deserter came in on the 27th with a strange story. He said that on the 25th the Grand Duke Michael reviewed a strong force of Russians (as he stated, of 12,000 men, but no reliance can be placed on the assertions of men of this class with regard to the numbers of a force), and that he addressed them in a spirited speech, in which he appealed to them to drive the heretics out of Balaklava into the sea. At the conclusion of his harangue the Grand Duke distributed two silver roubles to each private. A _reconnaissance_ of our lines was made on the 30th of November by Grand Duke Michael and a very large staff, among whom our knowing people said they could see Prince Menschikoff and General Liprandi. The Grand Duke was recognisable by the profound respect paid to him--wherever he went hats were taken off and heads uncovered--and by the presence of a white dog which always accompanies him. While making his inspection, the enormous telescope through which he gazed was propped upon muskets and bayonets, and he made frequent references to a very large chart on a portable table. The Grand Duke rode back up the hills towards Tchergoun. As the year waned and winter began to close in upon us, the army suffered greatly; worn out by night-work, by vigil in rain and storm, by hard labour in the trenches, they found themselves suddenly reduced to short allowance, and the excellent and ample rations they had been in the habit of receiving cut off or miserably reduced. For nine days, with very few exceptions, no issue of tea, coffee, or sugar, to the troops took place. These, however, are luxuries--not the necessaries of military life. The direct cause of this scarcity was the condition of the country, which caused a difficulty in getting food from Balaklava, and there was besides a want of supplies in the commissariat magazines. But though there was a cause, there was no excuse for the privations to which the men were exposed. We were all told that when the bad weather set in, the country roads would be impassable. The fine weather was allowed to go by, and the roads were left as the Tartar carts had made them, though the whole face of the country was covered thickly with small stones which seem expressly intended for road metal. As I understood, it was suggested by the officers of the Commissariat Department that they should be allowed to form depôts of food, corn, and forage, as a kind of reserve at the head-quarters at the different divisions; but their carts were, after a few days' work in forming those depôts, taken for the siege operations, and were employed in carrying ammunition to the trenches. Consequently, the magazines at headquarters were small, and were speedily exhausted when the daily supplies from Balaklava could no longer be procured. The food, corn, and hay were stowed in sailing vessels outside the harbour, where they had to ride in thirty or forty fathoms of water on a rocky bottom, with a terrible coast of cliff of 1,200 feet in height stretching around the bay: it was notorious that the place was subject to violent storms of wind. As to the town, words could not describe its filth, its horrors, its hospitals, its burials, its dead and dying Turks, its crowded lanes, its noisome sheds, its beastly purlieus, or its decay. All the pictures ever drawn of plague and pestilence, from the work of the inspired writer who chronicled the woes of infidel Egypt, down to the narratives of Boccacio, De Foe, or Moltke, fall short of individual "bits" of disease and death, which any one might see in half-a-dozen places during half an hour's walk in Balaklava. In spite of all our efforts the dying Turks made of every lane and street a _cloaca_, and the forms of human suffering which met the eye at every turn, and once were wont to shock us, ceased to attract even passing attention. By raising up the piece of matting or coarse rug which hung across the doorway of some miserable house, from within which you heard wailings and cries of pain and prayers to the Prophet, you saw in one spot and in one instant a mass of accumulated woes that would serve you with nightmares for a lifetime. The dead, laid as they died, were side by side with the living. The commonest accessories were wanting; there was not the least attention paid to decency or cleanliness--the stench was appalling--the foetid air could barely struggle out to taint the atmosphere, through the chinks in the walls and roofs. The sick appeared to be tended by the sick, and the dying by the dying. [Sidenote: MOVEMENTS IN RUSSIAN CAMP.] CHAPTER III. A False Alarm--The Russians retire--Skirmishes--Orders to turn out--The French and English make a Reconnaissance in force--A Brush with the Cavalry--Reinforcements--Winter--System of "Requisition," "Orders," and "Memos"--Our friends the Zouaves--Grievances--Christmas and New Year--The Times Commissioner--Arrival of Omar Pasha--First Week in January--Trying Duty of the Fatigue Parties--Terrible State of the Trenches--Louis Napoleon's Presents to the French Army--The Siege--Russian Prospects. At twelve o'clock, on the night of the 5th of December, there was a great stir down in the valley of Balaklava. The hoarse hum of men was heard by the pickets, and they reported the circumstance to the officers of the French regiments on the heights. Lights were seen moving about in the redoubts occupied by the Russians. It was supposed that the enemy had received reinforcements, or were about to make a dash at our position before Balaklava. The Hospital Guards and the invalid battalion were turned out, the French shrouded in their capotes grimly waited in their lines the first decisive movement of the enemy. The night was cold, but not clear; after a time the noise of wheels and the tramp of men ceased, and the alarm was over. Ere morning, however, we knew the cause. About five o'clock A.M. an outburst of flame from the redoubts in which the Russians had hutted themselves illuminated the sky, and at the same time the fire broke out in Komara. When morning came, the Russians were visible in much-diminished numbers on the higher plateaux of the hills near Tchorgoun and Komara. The faint rays of the morning sun played on the bayonets of another portion of the force as they wound up the road towards Mackenzie's farm, and passed through the wood over the right bank of the Tchernaya. They had abandoned the position they had won on 25th October. With the exception of the advance of the army in the rear on the 25th October, and the grand sortie on the 5th of November, no movement of any moment was attempted during the latter part of 1854 by the Russians to raise the siege. On the 20th of December, the Russians succeeded in penetrating our lines where they were in contract with the French. In order to deceive the sentries they commanded in French, which _ruse_ was successful; they killed and wounded sixteen men--among the latter Major Moller, of the 50th--and carried away eleven men and two officers, Captain Frampton and Lieutenant Clarke, as prisoners, but were driven back by the 34th regiment before they could do any further mischief, not without inflicting a loss. On the 29th December, Sir Colin Campbell made a reconnaissance with a part of his force the 79th and Rifle Brigade. Soon after seven o'clock the French proceeded towards the hills recently occupied by the Russians, with General Bosquet, the Rifles and Highlanders turning to the right and covering the flank of the expedition. As the force approached Komara, the Cossack vedettes came in sight, retiring slowly from the village, which has been in a ruinous state since the storm of the 14th of November. The vedettes fell back on a strong body of Lancers and Light Cavalry, which seemed disposed to await the shock of the French Chasseurs. Cavalry skirmishers exchanged a few shots before they fell in with their respective squadrons, and when the French had arrived within about 800 yards, they broke from a trot into a gallop, and dashed right at the Russian cavalry. The latter met the shock, but made no attempt to charge the French, who broke them in an instant, and chased them back on the infantry, who were assembled in three small bodies on the hills, close to the village of Tchorgoun. As the French approached Tchorgoun, they were received with a brisk fire of shot and shell from some field-pieces, to which their guns were unable to reply; but they pushed within range, and the Russians again retired, and abandoned the village of Tchorgoun to our allies, as well as the line of cantonments and huts which they had constructed subsequent to Liprandi's advance in October. The object was to beat up the Russian position and to ascertain the strength of the enemy. Our allies at once burst into the village, but the Cossacks had been there too long to leave anything to plunder, and so the French set it on fire. The whole cantonment was in a blaze, while volumes of white smoke curling up into the air, and spreading in sheets along the crests of the hills, indicated the destruction of the village, and informed the Russians that they could no longer hope for snug quarters there. The huts were very commodious and comfortable. Each was capable of containing twenty or thirty men, and held an oven for baking, which also warmed the room at the end. The object of the _reconnaissance_ having been accomplished, the expedition was halted, and the men set to work at once to avail themselves of the abundance of wood along the hill-sides, and to make enormous fires, which almost obscured the retreat of the Russians. It was ascertained that they did not number more than 5000 or 6000 men. The French remained upon the ground till it was almost dark, and then returned to their camp. The French lost two officers, wounded (one since dead) and about twenty men put _hors de combat_. They took seventeen of the Russian cavalry and a few infantry prisoners. [Sidenote: ACTIVITY AND UBIQUITY OF THE ZOUAVES.] We were cursed by a system of "requisitions," "orders," and "memos," which was enough to depress an army of scriveners, and our captains, theoretically, had almost as much work to do with pen and paper as if they had been special correspondents or bankers' clerks; that is, they ought to have had as much to do, but, thanks to the realities of war, they had no bookkeeping; their accounts being lost, and the captain who once had forty or fifty pounds' weight of books and papers to carry, had not so much as a penny memorandum-book. This fact alone showed the absurdity of our arrangements. In peace, when these accounts were of comparatively little importance, we had plenty and too much of checks and returns, but in time of war the very first thing our army did was to leave all its stationery on board the steamer that carried it to the scene of action. The cold was developing itself, and efforts to guard against it were attended with mischief. Captain Swinton, the Royal Artillery, was suffocated by the fumes of charcoal from a stove, several officers were half-killed by carbonic acid gas. We were obliged to apply to the French to place guards over the line of march, for the instant a cart with provisions or spirits broke down it was plundered by our active friends the Zouaves, who really seemed to have the gift of ubiquity. Let an araba once stick, or break a wheel or an axle, and the Zouaves sniffed it out just as vultures detect carrion; in a moment barrels and casks were broken open, the bags of bread were ripped up, the contents were distributed, and the commissary officer, who had gone to seek for help and assistance, on his return found only the tires of the wheels and a few splinters of wood left, for our indefatigable foragers completed their work most effectually, and carried off the cart, body and boxes, to serve as firewood. They were splendid fellows--our friends the Zouaves--always gay, healthy, and well fed; they carried loads for us, drank for us, ate for us, baked for us, foraged for us, and built our huts for us, and all on the cheapest and most economical terms. But there were some few degenerate wretches who grumbled even among this _corps d'élite_. An officer commanding a fatigue party, who happened to fall in with a party of Zouaves engaged in a similar duty, brought them all off to the canteen to give them a dram after their day's labour. While he was in the tent a warrior with a splendid face for a grievance came in and joined in the conversation, and our friend, seeing he was not a private, but that he had a chatty talkative aspect, combined with an air of rank, began to talk of the privations to which the allied armies were exposed. This was evidently our ally's _champ de bataille_. He at once threw himself into an attitude which would have brought down the pit and galleries of the Porte St. Martin to a certainty, and, in a tone which no words can describe, working himself up by degrees to the grand climax, and attuning his body to every nice modulation of phrase and accent, he plunged into his proper woes. Our gallant friend had been expatiating on the various disagreeables of camp life in the Crimea in winter time: "C'est vrai!" quoth he, "mon ami! En effet, nous éprouvons beaucoup de misère!" The idea of any one suffering misery except himself seemed to the Zouave too preposterous not to be disposed of at once. "Mais, mon lieutenant," cried he, "regardez moi---- moi! pr-r-r-r-remier basson 3me Zouaves! élève du Conservatoire de Paris! après avoir sacrificé vingt ans de ma vie pour acquérir un talent--pour me--r-r-ren-dr-r-re agréable a la société--me voici! (with extended arms, and legs) me voici--forcé d'arracher du bois de la terre (with terrible earnestness and sense of indignity), pour me faire de la soupe!" At the close of the year there were 3500 sick in the British camp before Sebastopol, and it was not too much to say that their illness had, for the most part, been caused by hard work in bad weather, and by exposure to wet without any adequate protection. Think of a tent pitched, as it were, at the bottom of a marsh, into which some twelve or fourteen miserable creatures, drenched to the skin, had to creep for shelter after twelve hours of vigil in a trench like a canal, and then reflect what state these poor fellows must have been in at the end of a night and day spent in such _shelter_, huddled together without any change of clothing, and lying packed up as close as they could be stowed in saturated blankets. But why were they in tents? Where were the huts which had been sent out to them? The huts were on board ships in the harbour of Balaklava. Some of these huts, of which we heard so much, were floating about the beach; others had been landed, and now and then I met a wretched pony, knee-deep in mud, struggling on beneath the weight of two thin deal planks, a small portion of one of these huts, which were most probably converted into firewood after lying for some time in the camp, or turned into stabling for officers' horses when enough of _disjecta membra_ had been collected. Had central depôts been established, as Mr. Filder proposed, while the fine weather lasted, much, if not all, of the misery and suffering of the men and of the loss of horses would have been averted. It may be true that the enemy were suffering still more than our own men, but the calculation of equal losses on the part of England and on the part of Russia in the article of soldiery, cannot be regarded as an ingredient in the consideration of our position. Our force was deprived of about 100 men every twenty-four hours. There were between 7000 and 8000 men sick, wounded, and convalescent in the hospitals on the Bosphorus. The 39th Regiment before it had landed was provided with some protection against the severity of the weather--not by government, but by _The Times_ Commissioner at Scutari: and I heard from the best authority that the bounty of the subscribers to the fund intrusted to _The Times_ for distribution was not only well bestowed to the men, but that the officers of the regiments had evinced the greatest satisfaction at the comfort. When the various articles sent up by _The Times_ Commissioner arrived at the camp, there was a rush made to get them by the regimental medical officers, and no false delicacy was evinced by them in availing themselves of the luxuries and necessaries placed at their disposal, and of which they had been in so much need. We had rather a dreary Christmas. Where were the offerings of our kind country-men and country-women, and the donations from our ducal parks? The fat bucks which had exhausted the conservative principles of a Gunter; the potted meats, which covered the decks and filled the holds of adventurous yachts; the worsted devices which had employed the fingers and emptied the crotchet-boxes of fair sympathizers at home? [Sidenote: CRAVING OF THE ARMY FOR ARDENT SPIRITS.] Omar Pasha arrived on the 4th of January, on board the "Inflexible," and landed at the Ordnance-wharf. A council of war?--was held, at which the French General-in-Chief, the French Admiral, Sir E. Lyons, and Sir John Burgoyne, were present. Next day, 1600 French were sent down to Balaklava to help us in carrying up provisions and ammunition. Each man received from our commissariat a ration of rum and biscuits. The scenery of our camping ground and of the adjacent country assumed a wintry aspect. The lofty abrupt peaks and sharp ridges of the mountains which closed up the valley of Balaklava were covered with snow. On the tops of the distant mounds black figures, which appeared of enormous size, denoted the stations of the enemy's pickets and advanced posts. The 63rd Regiment had only seven men fit for duty; the 46th had only thirty on the 7th. A strong company of the 90th was reduced in a week to fourteen file, and that regiment lost fifty men in a fortnight. The Scots Fusileer Guards, who had 1562 men, mustered 210 on parade. Other regiments suffered in like proportion. The men sought after ardent spirits with great avidity, and in carrying out rum to camp broached the kegs when the eye of the officer in charge was off them. The duty of the fatigue parties was, indeed, very trying. A cask of rum, biscuit, or beef was slung from a stout pole between two men, and then they went off on a tramp of about five miles from the commissariat stores at Balaklava to head-quarters. As I was coming in from the front one day, I met a lad who could not long have joined in charge of a party of the 38th Regiment. He had taken the place of a tired man, and struggled along under his load, while the man at the other end of the pole exhausted the little breath he had left in appeals to his comrades. "Boys! boys! won't you come and relieve the young officer?" Horses could not do this work, for they could not keep their legs. Hundreds of men had to go into the trenches at night with no covering but their greatcoats, and no protection for their feet but their regimental shoes. Many when they took off their shoes were unable to get their swollen feet into them again, and they might be seen bare-footed, hopping along about the camp, with the thermometer at twenty degrees, and the snow half a foot deep upon the ground. The trenches were two and three feet deep with mud, snow, and half-frozen slush. Our patent stoves were wretched. They were made of thin sheet iron, which could not stand our fuel--charcoal. Besides, they were mere poison manufactories, and they could not be left alight in the tents at night. They answered well for drying clothes. I do not know how the French got on, but I know that our people did not get a fair chance for their lives while wintering in the Crimea. Providence had been very good to us. With one exception, which must have done as much mischief to the enemy as to ourselves, we had wonderful weather from the day the expedition landed in the Crimea. One day as I was passing through the camp of the 5th (French) Regiment of the line, an officer came out and invited me to dismount and take a glass of brandy which had been sent out by the Emperor as a Christmas gift. My host, who had passed through his grades in Africa, showed me with pride the case of good Bordeaux, the box of brandy, and the pile of good tobacco sent to him by Napoleon III.--"_le premier ami du soldat_." A similar present had been sent to every officer of the French army, and a certain quantity of wine, brandy and tobacco had been forwarded to each company of every regiment in the Crimea. That very day I heard dolorous complaints that the presents sent by the Queen and Prince Albert to our army had miscarried, and that the Guards and Rifles had alone received the royal bounty in the very acceptable shape of a ton of Cavendish. Although he was living in a tent, the canvass was only a roof for a capacious and warm pit in which there was a bright wood fire sparkling cheerily in a grate of stones. We "trinqued" together and fraternised, as our allies will always do when our officers give them the chance. It must not be inferred that the French were all healthy while we were all sickly. They had dysentery, fever, diarrhoea, and scurvy, as well as pulmonary complaints, but not to the same extent as ourselves, or to anything like it in proportion to their numbers. On the 8th of January, some of the Guards of Her Majesty Queen Victoria's Household Brigade were walking about in the snow _without soles to their shoes_. The warm clothing was going up to the front in small detachments. CHAPTER IV. Road made for us by the French--Hardships--Wretched Ambulance Corps--Mule Litter--Heroism of the Troops--A speedy Thaw--Russian New Year--A Sortie--Central Depôt for Provisions--Disappearance of the Araba Drivers from Roumelia and Bulgaria--Highlanders and the Kilt--The Indefatigable Cossacks--Frost-bites--Losses in the Campaign--Foraging--Wild Fowl Shooting--The "Arabia" on Fire--The Coffee Question--Variableness of the Crimean Climate--Warm Clothing--Deserters--Their Account of Sebastopol. [Sidenote: MORE HARDSHIPS, BUT NO DESPAIR.] The road which the French were making for the English from Kadikoi, by the Cavalry Camp, towards the front progressed, but not rapidly. The weather was so changeable, and was in every change so unfavourable for work, that it was hard to expect our allies to labour for us with their usual energy. However, they did work. They built huts for our officers, when paid for it, with much activity, and their aid in that way was invaluable. Some of the warm coats sent out for the officers were much too small, and I heard a pathetic story from a stout Highlander respecting the defeat of his exertions to get into his much-longed-for and much-wanted garment. There was only one officer in the whole regiment that the largest of the great coats fitted, and he was certainly not remarkable for bulk or stature. The men were far more lucky, and their coats were of the most liberal dimensions, however eccentric in cut and device they might be. As the Ambulance Corps were quite _hors de combat_ in weather of this kind--as the men and horses were nearly all gone or unfit for duty, our sick were subjected to much misery in going from the camp to be put on board ship. But for the kindness of the French in lending us their excellent mule-litters, many of our poor fellows would have died in their tents. Captain Grant, at the head of the Ambulance Corps, was a most excellent, intelligent, and active officer, but he had no materials to work with, and this was no place for intelligence and activity to work miracles in. Experience had taught our allies that the mule-litter was the best possible conveyance for a sick or wounded man. A movable jointed frame of iron, with a canvass stretcher, was suspended from a light pack saddle at each side of a mule. If the sick or wounded man was able to sit up, by raising the head of the litter, a support was afforded to his back. If he wished his legs to hang down, the frame was adjusted accordingly, and he rode as if he were in an arm-chair suspended by the side of a mule. When the invalid wished to lie down, he had a long and comfortable couch--comfortable in so far as the pace of a mule was easier than the jog of an ambulance, and he was not crowded with others like hens in a coop. These mules travelled where ambulance carts could not stir; they required no roads nor beaten tracks, and they were readily moved about in the rear when an action was going on. It was right that England should be made aware of the privations which her soldiers endured in this great winter campaign, that she might reward with her greenest laurels those gallant hearts, who deserved the highest honour--that honour which in ancient Rome was esteemed the highest that a soldier could gain--that in desperate circumstances he had not despaired of the Republic. And no man despaired. The exhausted soldier, before he sank to rest, sighed that he could not share the sure triumph--the certain glories--of the day when our flag was to float from Sebastopol! There was no doubt--no despondency. No one for an instant felt diffident of ultimate success. From his remains, in that cold Crimean soil, the British soldier knew an avenger and a conqueror would arise. If high courage, unflinching bravery--if steady charge--the bayonet-thrust in the breach--the strong arm in the fight--if calm confidence, contempt of death, and love of country could have won Sebastopol, it had long been ours. Let England know her children as the descendants of the starved rabble who fought at Agincourt and Cressy; and let her know, too, that in fighting against a stubborn enemy, her armies had to maintain a struggle with foes still more terrible, and that, as they triumphed over the one, so they vanquished the other. On the night of the 12th of January the wind changed round to the southward, and the thermometer rose to 34°. A speedy thaw followed, and the roads and camp once more suffered from the ravages of our old enemy--the mud. The Russians who had been very active inside the town during the day, and who had lighted great watchfires on the north side of the place, illuminated the heights over Tchernaya with rows of lights, which shone brilliantly through the darkness of the cold winter's night, and were evidently with all possible pomp and ostentation celebrating the opening of their new year. Lights shone from the windows of the public buildings, and our lonely sentries in the valleys and ravines, and the _enfans perdus_--the French sharpshooters lying in their lairs with watchful eye on every embrasure before them--might almost fancy that the inhabitants and garrison of the beleaguered city were tantalising them with the aspect of their gaiety. At midnight all the chapel bells of the city began ringing. On our side the sentries and pickets were warned to be on the alert, and the advanced posts were strengthened wherever it was practicable. About a quarter past one o'clock in the morning the Russians gave a loud cheer. The French replied by opening fire, and the Russians instantly began one of the fiercest cannonades we had ever heard. It reminded one of those tremendous salvoes of artillery which the enemy delivered on two or three occasions before we opened our batteries in October. The earthworks flashed forth uninterrupted floods of flame, which revealed distinctly the outlines of the buildings in the town, and defences swarming with men. The roaring of shot, the screaming and hissing of heavy shell, and the whistling of carcases filled up the intervals between the deafening roll of cannon, which was as rapid and unbroken as quick file-firing. The iron storm passed over our lines uninterruptedly for more than half an hour, and the French, whose works to our left were less protected by the ground than ours, had to shelter themselves closely in the trenches, and could barely reply to the volleys which ploughed up the parapets of their works. While the firing was going on a strong body of men had been pushed out of the town up the face of the hill towards our works in front, and on the flank of the left attack. As it was expected that some attempt of the kind would be made, a sergeant was posted at this spot with twelve men. Every reliance was placed upon his vigilance, and a strict attention to his duties, but, somehow or other, the enemy crept upon the little party, surprised, and took them prisoners, and then advanced on the covering parties with such rapidity and suddenness that the parties on duty in the trenches were obliged to retire. They rallied, however, and, being supported by the regiments in rear, they advanced, and the Russians were driven back close to the town. [Sidenote: MORTALITY AMONGST THE TURKS.] In this little affair one officer and nine men were wounded, six men were killed, and fourteen men taken. The French had to resist a strong sortie nearly at the same time; for a short time the Russians were within the parapet of one of their mortar batteries, and spiked two or three mortars with wooden plugs, but the French drove them back with loss, and in the pursuit got inside the Russian advanced batteries. The soldiers, indeed, say they could have taken the place if they had been permitted to do so. At two o'clock all was silent. A heavy gale of wind blew nearly all day, but the thermometer rose to 38°, and the snow thawed so rapidly that the tracks to the camp became rivulets of mud. The establishment of a central depôt for provisions had, however, done much to diminish the labours and alleviate the sufferings of the men engaged in the duties of the siege; but the formation of the depôt and the accumulation of the stores wore out and exhausted many of our best men. Out of a batch of 500 or 600 horses brought up from Constantinople, 279 died between the 16th of December and the 16th January. In fact the commissariat consumed and used up horseflesh at the rate of 100 head per week, and each of the animals cost on an average 5_l._ The araba drivers from Roumelia and Bulgaria disappeared likewise--out of the several hundreds there were very few left; and of the Tartars of the Crimea in our employ the majority were unwilling or unfit to work in cold weather, accustomed as they seemed to be to sit all day in close rooms provided with large stoves as soon as winter set in. Disease and sickness of all kinds swept these poor people away very rapidly. The mortality of the Turkish troops, which had, as I before stated, assumed the dimensions of a plague, had now begun to be attended with much of the physical appearances of the same terrible disease, and their sanitary condition excited the liveliest apprehensions of our medical officers in Balaklava, who had, over and over again, represented to the authorities the danger of allowing the Turks to remain in the town. The _Adelaide_ arrived in Balaklava on the 17th of January, after a splendid passage from England, and the passengers must have been a little astonished at the truly Christmas aspect presented by the Crimea; somewhat more real and less jovial they found it than the pictures which represented florid young gentlemen in gorgeous epaulettes, gloating over imaginary puddings and Christmas presents in snug tents, and ready to partake of the fare that England had sent to her dear boys in the Crimea, but which none of them had then received, and which none of them would ever eat in such comfort and with such appliances of luxury. There was a wind that would have effectually deprived, if wind could do it, any number of rats of their whiskers. Anxious to see what things were like on the heights above Balaklava, I started, with my gun upon my shoulder, through the passes across the hill, knee-deep in snow; and after a shot or two at great, raw-necked vultures, and stately eagles, and some more fortunate cracks at "blue rocks," scraping the snow off the points of the cliffs, I arrived in the camp of the Highlanders, several hundred feet below the elevated position of the Rifles, but quite high enough to induce me to accept a hearty invitation to stop to dinner, and rest for the night. Oh, could "_Caledoniensis_," "_Pictus_," "_Memor antiquæ virtutis_," or any of the high-spirited Celtic gentlemen who are fighting about lions rampant and Scottish rights, and the garb of that respectable person, Auld Gael, but have seen what their countrymen were like as they faced the Crimean winter, how shamed they would have been of their kilt and philibeg and stocking declamation! All such things were clean gone, and if the gallant Highlanders ever wore the kilt _'twas for punishment_! Breeks--low-lived breeks--and blanket gaiters, and any kind of leggings over them, were the wear of our Scottish Zouaves, though, in good sooth, they were no more like Zouaves, except in popular modern legends, than they were like Dutchmen, _à la_ Rip Van Winkle. Over the waste or snow, looking down from the heights towards the valley of the Tchernaya, I saw those indefatigable Cossacks riding about their picket ground, and a few waggons stealing along from Mackenzie's Farm towards the heights of Inkerman. A vedette or two were trotting up and down along a ridge, keeping a bright lookout on our movements, and through the glass we perceived them flapping their hands under their armpits, as London cabmen do on a cold night when waiting for a fare. Towards Baidar, pickets of the same active gentry were moving along to keep themselves warm. We had no cavalry posts advanced towards them. In fact we could not conveniently send any out. Those ragged ruffians, in sheepskin coats and fur caps, mounted on ragged ponies, with deal lances and coarse iron tips, were able in drifting snow and biting winds to hold ground which our cavalry could not face. In the middle of January there were severe and sudden alterations of temperature. Men were frozen in their tents, and several soldiers on duty in the trenches were removed to hospital with severe frost-bites, but the frost enabled the men to get up considerable supplies of warm clothing, though the means at our disposal did not permit of the wood for huts being sent to the front. When a path had once been trodden through the snow, men and horses could get along much more easily than if they had to wade through mud or across a country in a state of semi-solution. Many thousands of coats, lined with fur, long boots, gloves, mits, and socks were served out, but there were regimental hospitals where they had only one blanket to lie upon. Our army consisted of officers and regiments almost new to this campaign. The generation of six months before had passed away; generals, brigadiers, colonels, captains, and men, the well-known faces of Gallipoli, of Bulari, of Scutari, of Varna, of Aladyn, of Devno, of Monastir--ay, even of the bivouac of Bouljanak, had changed; and there was scarcely one of the regiments once so familiar to me which I could then recognise save by its well-known number. What a harvest Death had reaped, and yet how many more were ripe for the sickle of the Great Farmer! It was sad to meet an old acquaintance, for all one's reminiscences were of noble hearts now cold for ever, and of friend after friend departed. And then came--"Poor fellow! he might have been saved, if----" [Sidenote: A NONDESCRIPT ARMY.] Excepting Lord Raglan, Lord Lucan, and Sir R. England, not one of our generals remained of those who went out originally; the changes among our brigadiers and colonels were almost as great. Sir George Brown, the Duke of Cambridge, the Earl of Cardigan, Sir George Cathcart, Sir De Lacy Evans, General Tylden, General Strangways, Brigadier Bentinck, Brigadier Goldie, Brigadier Buller, Brigadier Adams, Brigadier Torrens, Brigadier Cator, Lord de Ros--had all been removed from the army by wounds, by sickness, or by death. And so it was with the men themselves. On the 16th the thermometer was at 14° in the morning and at 10° on the heights over Balaklava. The snow fell all night, and covered the ground to the depth of three feet; but the cold and violent wind drifted it in places to the depth of five or six feet. In the morning 1200 French soldiers came down to Balaklava for shot and shell, and the agility, good spirits, and energy with which they ploughed through the snow were alike admirable. The wind blew almost a gale, and the native horses refused to face it, but our poor fellows came trudging along in the same dreary string, and there was something mournful in the very aspect of the long lines of black dots moving across the vast expanse of glittering snow between Sebastopol and Balaklava. When these dots came up, you saw they had very red noses and very white faces and very bleared eyes; and as to their clothes Falstaff would have thought his famous levy a _corps d'élite_ if he could have beheld our gallant soldiery. Many of the officers were as ragged and as reckless in dress. The generals made appeals to their subalterns "to wear their swords, as there was no other way of telling them from the men." It was inexpressibly odd to see Captain Smith, of the----Foot, with a pair of red Russian leather boots up to his middle, a cap probably made out of the tops of his holsters, and a white skin coat tastefully embroidered all down the back with flowers of many-coloured silk, topped by a head-dress _à la_ dustman of London, stalking gravely through the mud of Balaklava, intent on the capture of a pot of jam or marmalade. Does the reader wonder why we were all so fond of jam? Because it was portable and come-at-able, and was a substitute for butter, which was only sent out in casks and giant crocks, one of which would exhaust the transport resources of a regiment. Captain Smith was much more like his great namesake of the Adelphi, when, in times gone by, he made up for a smuggler-burglar-bandit, than the pride of the High-street of Portsmouth, or than that hero of the Phoenix-park, with golden wings like an angel, before the redness of whose presence little boys and young ladies trembled. All this would be rather facetious and laughable, were not poor Captain Smith a famished wretch, with bad chilblains, approximating to frost-bites, a touch of scurvy, and of severe rheumatism. This cold weather brought great quantities of wild fowl over the camp, but it was rather too busy a spot for them to alight in. They could scarcely recognize their old haunts in the Chersonese, and flew about disconsolately over their much metamorphosed feeding-grounds. Solemn flights of wild geese, noisy streams of barnacles, curlew, duck, and widgeon wheeled over the harbour, and stimulated the sporting propensities of the seamen who kept up a constant fusillade from the decks. Balls and No. 1 shot whistled unpleasantly close to one's ears, and one day a man was startled by receiving a bullet slap through his arm. Huge flocks of larks and finches congregated about the stables and the cavalry camps, and were eagerly sought by our allies, who much admire a _petite chasse_, which furnished them with such delicate reliefs to the monotony of ration dinners. They were rather reckless in pursuit of their quarry; the enthusiastic Zouave in chase of a fluttering bunting was frequently greeted by sounds which his ignorance of English alone prevented him from considering a _teterrima causa belli_. Lord Raglan's visit to Balaklava, on the 18th of January, was a memorable event. Men were set to work throwing stones down into the most Curtius-like gulfs in the streets. Lord Raglan began to go about frequently and ride through the various camps. We were astounded, on reading our papers, to find that on the 22nd of December, London believed, the coffee issued to the men was roasted before it was given out! Who could have hoaxed them so cruelly? Around every tent there were to be seen green berries, which the men trampled into the mud, and could not roast. Mr. Murdoch, chief engineer of the _Sanspareil_ mounted some iron oil casks, and adapted them very ingeniously for roasting; and they came into play at Balaklava. I do not believe at the time the statement was made, one ounce of roasted coffee had ever been issued from any commissariat store to any soldier in the Crimea. The great variableness of the Crimean climate was its peculiarity. In the morning, you got up and found the water frozen in your tent, the ground covered with snow, the thermometer at 20°; put on mufflers, greatcoat, and mits; and went out for a walk, and before evening you returned perspiring under the weight of clothing which you carried at the end of your stick, unable to bear it any longer, the snow turned into slush, the thermometer at 45°. On the 16th the thermometer 10° noon. On the 22nd it stood at 50°--an alternation of 40° in five days; but the character of the weather exhibited a still greater difference. In the southern Crimea the wind riots in the exercise of its prescriptive right to be capricious. It plays about the tops of the cliffs and mountain ridges, lurks round corners in ravines, nearly whips you off your legs when you are expatiating on the calmness of the day, and suddenly yells in gusts at the moment the stillness had tempted you to take out a sketch-book for a memorandum of Sebastopol. [Sidenote: A GHASTLY PROCESSION.] Desertions to the enemy, from the French and from our own ranks, took place. The deserters generally belonged to the Foreign Legion, from the young draughts and from regiments just sent out. We received a few deserters in turn from the army in the rear, by scrambling along the cliffs, and one of them told us he was three days coming from Baidar by that route. These men stated that the part of the town built upon the slope to the sea was very little injured by our fire, as our shot and shells did not "top" the hill. To the south faced one steep slope covered with houses and batteries and ruined works and battered suburbs. The other descended to the sea, and was covered by public buildings, fine mansions, warehouses and government edifices. This part had suffered very little. The ships took refuge below this slope when pressed by our fire; the workmen and soldiers and sailors found snug quarters in the buildings. CHAPTER V. New Works--A Ghastly Procession--Reinforcements--Havoc amongst Horses--A Reconnaissance of Sebastopol--Russian Defences--Camps--Red Tape and Routine--Changes of Weather--Sickness--Sufferings of the French--Effect of the Author's Statements--Facts--Continual Drain of Men--Affair of Musketry between the Russians and the French--Sharp-shooting--State of our Batteries--Orders with reference to Flags of Truce--A Spy in the Trenches--Good Fellowship at the Outposts. We gradually relinquished ground to our allies, and the front, which it had cost so much strength and so much health to maintain, was gradually abandoned to the more numerous and less exhausted army. Some of our regiments were reduced below the strength of a company. The French relieved the Guards of their outpost duties, and gradually extended themselves towards Inkerman. What a difference there was in the relative position of the two armies from that on the evening of the 17th of October, when the French fire had been completely snuffed out, and our own fire still maintained its strength. There was a white frost on the night of the 22nd of January, the next morning the thermometer was at 42°. A large number of sick were sent into Balaklava on the 23rd on French mule litters and a few of our bât horses. They formed one of the most ghastly processions that ever poet imagined. Many were all but dead. With closed eyes, open mouths, and ghastly faces, they were borne along two and two, the thin stream of breath, visible in the frosty air, alone showing they were still alive. One figure was a horror--a corpse, stone dead, strapped upright in its seat, its legs hanging stiffly down, the eyes staring wide open, the teeth set on the protruding tongue, the head and body nodding with frightful mockery of life at each stride of the mule over the broken road. The man had died on his way down. As the apparition passed, the only remark the soldiers made was,--"There's one poor fellow out of pain, any way!" Another man I saw with the raw flesh and skin hanging from his fingers, the naked bones of which protruded into the cold air. That was a case of frost-bite. Possibly the hand had been dressed, but the bandages might have dropped off. The French army received important reinforcements. The Eighth Division arrived at Kamiesch; it consisted of 10,000 good troops. The Ninth Division, under General Brunet was expected. Our allies then would muster upwards of 75,000 bayonets. The Turks did not seem to amount to more than 5000 or 6000. These unfortunate troops received supplies of new clothing and uniforms from Riza Pasha, the War Minister at Constantinople, and were assuming a respectable appearance. It would have astonished a stranger to have seen the multitudes of dead horses all along the road. In every gully were piles of their remains torn by wild dogs and vultures. On a lone hillside I beheld the remnants of the gallant grey on which Mr. Maxse rode to the mouth of the Katcha, in company with Major Nasmyth, on the eve of the flank march to Balaklava, and many of the equine survivors of the charge at Balaklava lay rotting away by the side of the cavalry camp. Some had dropped down dead, and were frozen still as they fell; others were struggling to rise from their miry graves. The carcases had been skinned, by the Turks and French, to cover their huts; many suspicious-looking gaps, suggestive of horse-steak, were cut out in their flanks. There was very smart fighting in the trenches and advanced works between the French and Russians on the night of the 23rd and the morning of the 24th. On the 24th, Lord Raglan, attended by Major-General Airey and a few staff officers, rode over to Balaklava. He went on board the _Caradoc_ and had a long interview with Sir E. Lyons alone, previous to which there was a council of war. Lord Raglan did not return to head-quarters till it was nearly dusk. I had a long _reconnaissance_ of Sebastopol on the same day, in company with Captain Biddulph, of Artillery. It was a beautifully clear day, and at times it was almost warm. We went up to the hill in advance and on the left of the maison brulée, and swept every inch of ground. The aspect of the place itself had changed very little, considering the hundreds of tons of shot and shell thrown into it; but whitewashed houses, roofed with tiles, and at most two stories high, in the suburbs, were in ruins. The roofs, doors, and windows were off, but puffs of smoke showed that the frames were covers for Russian riflemen. In front and left, lay a most intricate series of covered ways, traverses, zigzags, and parallels from the seaside, close to the Quarantine Battery, over the undulating land to the distance of sixty-five metres from the outer works of the Russians. Swarms of _Franctireurs_ lined the advanced parallel, and kept up a continual pop, pop, pop, in reply to the Russian riflemen behind their advanced works. [Sidenote: STRENGTH OF EARTHWORKS.] The works from the Quarantine Fort to the crenelated wall, and thence to the Flagstaff Battery, seemed very much in the same state as the first day I saw them, with the exception, that the guns were withdrawn, and the defence left to riflemen. The Flagstaff parapets had been knocked to atoms long before, and the large buildings around it were all in ruins; but, on looking towards the ridge behind it, from which the streets descend, and which shelters that part of the place, I could see but little difference in its appearance to that which it presented on the 26th of September. People were walking about (relief coming up from the sea-side) carrying baskets. Between the rear of the Flagstaff Battery and this ridge, earthworks could be detected in the openings along the lines of streets, and immediately behind the first Russian intrenchment there was a formidable work armed which at two o'clock convinced us they had pretty good range, by thundering forth an astounding broadside in answer to fire from the French. There was a rattling fire from the _enfans perdus_ at the embrasures, the Russians slackened their fire and replied to the French sharpshooters only. When the smoke cleared away, I could see the enemy and the French carrying away a few bodies on each side to the rear. At the other side of the harbour, Fort Constantine was shining brightly in the sun, its white walls blackened here and there under the line of embrasures by the smoke of the guns on the 17th of October. Behind it were visible dark walls rising through the snow, and notched like saws by the lines of embrasures. The waters of the harbour, as smooth as glass, were covered with boats, plying from one side to the other, and one full of men came round the head of the Dockyard Creek towards Fort Alexander, with her white flag and blue St. Andrew's cross. The large pile of Government buildings by the side of the Dockyard Creek was much injured. Close to there was a large two-decker, with a spring upon her cables lying so as to sweep the western slope of the town. A small steamer with her steam up was near at hand, either for the use of the garrison or to carry off the two-decker, in case heavy guns were unmasked upon her. To the right, at the other side of this creek, we could see into the rear of our left attack. The houses near the Redan and Garden Batteries as well as those in front of the Right Attack, and in the rear of Malakoff were in ruins. The part of the city beyond them seemed untouched. To the rear of Malakoff, which was split up, from top to bottom, as it was the first day of our fire, there was a perfect miracle of engineering. It is impossible to speak too highly of the solidity and finish of the earthworks, thrown up to enfilade our attack, and to defend the key of their works. One line of battery was rivetted with tin boxes, supposed to be empty powder cases. This was the mere wantonness and surplusage of abundant labour. Behind this we could see about 2,000 soldiers and workmen labouring with the greatest zeal at a new line of batteries undisturbedly. At the rear of Malakoff there was a camp, and another at the other side of the creek, close to the Citadel, on the north side. The men-of-war and steamers were lying with topgallantmasts and yards down, under the spit of land inside Fort Constantine. Our third parallel, which was within a few hundred yards of the enemy's advanced works, was occupied by sharpshooters, who kept up a constant fire, but from my position I could not see so well into our approaches as upon those of the French. A circumstance occurred in Balaklava on the 25th, which I stated for the consideration of the public at home without one single word of comment. The _Charity_, an iron screw steamer, was in harbour for the reception of sick under the charge of a British medical officer. That officer went on shore and made an application to the officer in charge of the Government stoves for two or three to put on board the ship to warm the men. "Three of my men," said he, "died last night from choleraic symptoms, brought on from the extreme cold, and I fear more will follow." "Oh!" said the guardian of stoves, "you must make your requisition in due form, send it up to head-quarters, and get it signed properly, and returned, and then I will let you have the stoves." "But my men may die meantime." "I can't help that; I must have the requisition." "It is my firm belief that there are men now in a dangerous state whom another night's cold will certainly kill." "I really can do nothing; I must have a requisition properly signed before I can give one of these stoves away." "For God's sake, then, _lend_ me some; I'll be responsible for their safety." "I really can do nothing of the kind." "But, consider, this requisition will take time to be filled up and signed, and meantime these poor fellows will go." "I cannot help that." "I'll be responsible for anything you do." "Oh, no, that can't be done!" "Will a requisition signed by the P. M. O. of this place be of any use!" "No." "Will it answer, if he takes on himself the responsibility?" "Certainly not." The surgeon went off in sorrow and disgust. I appended another special fact for Dr. Smith, the head of the British Army Medical Department. A surgeon of a regiment stationed on the cliffs above Balaklava, who had forty sick out of two hundred, had been applying to the "authorities" in the town for three weeks for medicines, and could not get one of them. The list he sent in was returned with the observation, "We have none of these medicines in store." The surgeon came down with his last appeal:--"Do, I beg you, give me any medicine you have for diarrhoea." "_We haven't any._" "Have you any medicine for fever? Anything you can let me have, I'll take." "_We haven't any._" "I have a good many cases of rheumatism. Can you let me have any medicines?" "_We haven't any._" Thus, for diarrhoea, fever, and rheumatism there were no specifics. Dr. Smith could prove, no doubt, that there were granaries full of the finest and costliest drugs and medicines for fever, rheumatism, and diarrhoea at Scutari, but the knowledge that they were there little availed those dying for want of them at Balaklava. [Sidenote: EFFECTIVE STRENGTH OF OUR ARMY.] But with all this, the hand of the plague was _not_ stayed. Sickness clung to our troops, the soldiers who climbed the bloody steeps of the Alma in the splendour of manly strength, and who defended the heights over the Tchernaya exhausted, and "washed out" by constant fatigue, incessant wet, insufficient food, want of clothing and of cover from the weather, died away in their tents night after night. Doctors, and hospitals, and nurses, came too late, and they sank to rest unmurmuringly, and every week some freshly-formed lines of narrow mounds indicated the formation of a new burial-place. It must not be inferred that the French escaped sickness and mortality. On the contrary, our allies suffered to a degree which would have been considered excessive, had it not been compared with our own unfortunate standard of disease and death, and to the diminution caused by illness, must be added that from the nightly sorties of the Russians and the heavy fire from the batteries. According to what I heard from people, I was honoured by a good deal of abuse for telling the truth. I really would have put on my Claude Lorraine glass, if I could. I would have clothed skeletons with flesh, breathed life into the occupants of the charnel-house, subverted the succession of the seasons, and restored the legions which had been lost; but I could not tell lies to "make things pleasant." Any statements I had made I have chapter, and book, and verse, and witness for. Many, very many, that I did _not_ make I could prove to be true with equal ease, and could make public, if the public interest required it. The only thing the partisans of misrule could allege was, that I did not "make things pleasant" to the authorities, and that, amid the filth and starvation, and deadly stagnation of the camp, I did not go about "babbling of green fields," of present abundance, and of prospects of victory. Suppose we come to "facts." Do people at home know how many bayonets the British army could muster? Do they believe we had 25,000, after all our reinforcements? They might have been told--nay, it might have been proved to them by figures at home--that the British army consisted of 55,000 men. From the 1st of December, 1854, to the 20th of January, 1855, 8,000 sick and wounded were sent down from camp to Balaklava, and thence on shipboard! Shall I state how many returned? Yet people at home told us it was "croaking" to state the facts, or even to allude to them! The man who could have sat calmly down and written home that our troops were healthy, that there was only an average mortality, that every one was confident of success, that our works were advancing, that we were nearer to the capture of Sebastopol than we were on the 17th of October, that transport was abundant, and the labours of our army light, might be an agreeable correspondent, but assuredly he would not have enabled the public to form a very accurate opinion on the real state of affairs in the camp before Sebastopol. The wretched boys sent out to us were not even fit for powder. They died ere a shot was fired against them. Sometimes a good draught was received; but they could not endure long vigil and exposure in the trenches. And now for another "fact." The battle of Inkerman was fought on the 5th of November, as the world will remember for ever. About 40 per cent. of the Brigade of Guards were killed or wounded on that occasion. They received reinforcements, and the brigade which mustered about 2,500 men when it left England had received some 1,500 men in various draughts up to the end of the year. What was the strength in the last week of January of the Brigade of Household troops--of that magnificent band who crowned the struggle of the Alma with victory, and beat back the Russian hordes at Inkerman? I think they could have mustered, including servants, about 950 men in the whole brigade. Here is another fact. Since the same battle of Inkerman, at least 1,000 men of the brigade had been "expended," absorbed, used up, and were no more seen. The official returns will show how many of that thousand were killed or wounded by the enemy. Another fact. There were two regiments so shattered and disorganised--so completely destroyed, to tell the truth, that they had to be sent away to be "re-formed." Now, mark, one of these regiments was neither at the Alma nor at Inkerman--the other was engaged in the latter battle only, and did not lose many men. January 28 was celebrated by an extremely heavy fire between the Russians and the French. The volleys were as heavy as those at the Alma or Inkerman, and from the numbers of Russian infantry thrown into the works, it was evident the enemy intended to dispute the small space of ground between the last French trench and the broken outworks of their late batteries with the greatest vigour. Possibly, indeed, orders had been received to resist any nearer approaches of the French, who had burrowed up, zigzagged, paralleled, and parapetted the country from the Quarantine Fort to the Flagstaff Fort. It was not to be expected that such an affair could take place without considerable loss on both sides. After daybreak the fire recommenced with great fury, and about eight o'clock a regular battle was raging in the trenches between the French and Russians. There could not have been less than 3,000 men on each side firing as hard as they could, and the lines were marked by thick curling banks of smoke. The fire slackened about nine o'clock. By general orders dated 29th of January, Lord Raglan communicated that the Russian commanders had entered into an agreement to cease firing whenever a white flag was hoisted to indicate that a burying-party was engaged in front of the batteries. Admiral Boxer arrived to assume the command of the harbour of Balaklava, and by incessant exertions succeeded in carrying out many improvements, and in introducing some order in that focus of feebleness, confusion, and mismanagement. [Sidenote: INTERCHANGE OF CIVILITIES.] On the 31st, a spy _walked through some of our trenches_. He was closely shaven, wore a blue frock-coat buttoned up to the chin, and stopped for some time to look at Mr. Murdoch "bouching" the guns. Some said he was a Frenchman, others that he "looked like a doctor." No one suspected he was a Russian till he bolted towards the Russian pickets, under a sharp fire of musketry, through which he had the good luck to pass unscathed. Orders were issued, in consequence, to admit no one into the trenches or works without a written permission, and all persons found loitering about the camp were arrested and sent to divisional head-quarters for examination. The French were in the habit of sending out working parties towards the valley of Baidar, to cut wood for gabions and fuel. They frequently came across the Cossack pickets, and as it was our interest not to provoke hostilities, a kind of good-fellowship sprang up between our allies and the outposts. One day the French came upon three cavalry horses tied up to a tree, and the officer in command ordered them not to be touched. On the same day a Chasseur left his belt and accoutrements in a ruined Cossack picket-house, and gave up hope of recovering them, but on his next visit he found them on the wall untouched. To requite this act, a soldier who had taken a Cossack's lance and pistol, which he found against a tree, was ordered to return them. The next time the French went out, one of the men left a biscuit in a cleft stick, beckoning to the Cossack to come and eat it. The following day they found a loaf of excellent bread stuck on a stick in the same place, with a note in Russian to the effect that the Russians had plenty of biscuits, and that, although greatly obliged for that which had been left, they really did not want it; but if the French had bread to spare like the sample left in return, it would be acceptable. One day a Russian called out, as the French were retiring, "Nous nous reverrons, mes amis--Français, Anglais, Russes, nous sommes tous amis." The cannonade before Sebastopol, the echoes of which reached the remote glades distinctly, must have furnished a strange commentary on the assurance. CHAPTER VI. French Demonstration--Opinions on the Siege--Suffering and Succour--The Cunning Cossack--The Navy's Barrow--Appearance of Balaklava--Supply of Water--Struggle between the French and the Russians--General Niel--Canards--A Spy--Omar Pash's Visit--The Bono Johnnies--Doing nothing--Change in the Temperature. On the 1st of February the French made a demonstration on our right and two divisions were marched down towards Inkerman, consisting of about 16,000 men; but the Russians who had been cheering loudly all along our front, did not meet them. Every day strengthened the correctness of Sir John Burgoyne's homely saying about Sebastopol--"The more you look at it, the less you will like it." Three months before, that officer declared his opinion to be that the place ought to be assaulted. General Neil we heard, laughed at the notion of our reducing the place by the fire of our artillery. The thermometer on the 4th of February stood at 22°. In the afternoon a party of Cossacks with two light field-pieces, were observed crossing the head of the valley towards Inkerman, but the Russians mustered over the heights and on the ridges between the Belbek and the south side of Sebastopol. They must have suffered very severely during these cold nights, for they were less able to bear the severity of the climate than our own soldiers, being accustomed to spend their winters in hot close barracks. The Cossacks alone are employed in the open country during frost and snow. As the spring advanced, all kinds of aid began to arrive, and even luxuries were distributed. The Government sent out stores to be sold at cost price. The Crimean Army Fund opened their magazines, and sold excellent articles of all kinds. Our parcels and boxes and Christmas presents turned up slowly in the chaos of Balaklava. The presents sent by the Queen and Prince to the Guards, in the _St. Jean d'Acre_, were after a time delivered to the men. Lord Rokeby was affected to tears when the three regiments paraded, on his taking the command. He communicated a most gratifying letter from the Queen to the officers, in which Her Majesty expressed her admiration of the conduct of "her beloved Guards." Lord Raglan rode into Balaklava on the 5th, and remained some time, inspecting the arrangements. A harbour was assigned for French ships to unload stores for regiments which were nearer to Balaklava than to Kamiesch. As I was riding out on the same day towards the camp from Balaklava with an officer of the Scots Fusileer Guards, I witnessed a refreshing instance of vigilance. We rode towards the Woronzoff road, and kept a little too much to our right, so that, happening to look towards the top of a mound about 300 yards distant, the first thing that struck us was the head of a Cossack as he crouched down to escape observation. A little in advance was an English soldier, behind him, at the distance of some 400 yards, another soldier was running, shouting, with his firelock at the present. The first man kept walking rapidly on. The other halted and fired. Still the fellow kept on, and we were riding up to see what he was, when a Dragoon dashed at a gallop from the cavalry picket, and rode between the man and the hill. The soldier turned back with the Dragoon, who marched him to the picket-house, and then went up to the other who was a sentry in front of the Highland Battery, and had run after the would-be deserter, whom he had seen edging up towards the Russian Lines along the plain. It was amusing to watch the Cossack. Nothing could be seen of him for the time but his little bullet head over the bank. He evidently imagined that by lying close he might get one of us, but he was disappointed. [Sidenote: AN IMPROMPTU WORLD.] It is strange that the first use--perhaps the only use--the Crim-Tartar will ever witness of the great invention of recent days should be to facilitate the operations of war and to destroy life.[15] After the expedition leaves the shores of the Crimea, and has become a tradition among its people, the works of our railroad may serve to exercise the ingenuity of Cimmerian antiquaries, and form the only permanent mark of our presence on this bloodstained soil. A new wooden world arose in a few days in early February along the hill-side over the road to Balaklava. A little town was erected on the right-hand side of the path, about three-quarters of a mile outside Balaklava, for the sutlers expelled from the town, in which fires had been suspiciously frequent; and, from the din and clamour, one might imagine he was approaching some well-frequented English fair. A swarm of men, in all sorts of grotesque uniforms, French, English, and Turks, thronged the narrow lines between the huts and tents, and carried on bargains in all the languages of Babel, with Greek, Italian, Algerine, Spaniard, Maltese, Armenian, Jew and Egyptian, for all sorts of merchandize. Here I beheld a runaway servant of mine--a vagabond Italian--selling small loaves of bread for 2s. each, which he had purchased from a French baker in Balaklava for 1s. 6d. As the authorities did not interfere in such cases, I was left to solace myself with the poor revenge of seeing him break his shins over a tent-stick as he ran away to escape my horsewhip. In the camp all the scoundrels of the Levant who could get across the Black Sea, were making little fortunes by the sale, at the most enormous prices, of the vilest articles of consumption, which necessity alone forced us to use: and a few honest traders might also be seen sitting moodily in their stalls and mourning over their fast-departing probity. There was not then one Englishman, so far as I know, among these sutlers of the British army, though the greatest vein of nuggets that ever charmed multitudes to a desert was as dross and dirt to the wealth to be realized in this festering crowd. Camel-drivers, arabajees, wild-eyed, strange-looking savages from out-of the-way corners of Asia Minor, dressed apparently in the spoils of the chorus of "_Nabucco_" or "_Semiramide_," stalked curiously through the soldiery, much perplexed by the conflicting emotions of fear of the Provost-Marshal and love of plunder. Then there was an odd-looking acre or two of ground, with a low wall round it, which looked as if all the moles in the world lived beneath it, and were labouring night and day--so covered was it with mounds of earth, through which peered rags and bones. This was the Turkish burying-ground, and full well frequented was it. Little parties might be seen flocking to it down the hill-sides all day, and returning with the empty litters gravely back again. They also turned one or two vineyards into graveyards, and they also selected a quiet nook up among the hills for the same purpose. Our own more decent graveyard was situated outside the town, in low ground, close to the sea. It was soon afterwards crossed by the railway, and covered by sheds, so that all traces of the graves were obliterated. If Birnam Wood had been formed of deal boards, Macbeth might have seen his worst suspicions realized. He would have beheld literally miles of men, and of mules and ponies, all struggling through the mud with boards--nothing but boards. In calm weather they got on well enough, but a puff of wind put an end to progress, and a strong gust laid men and horses in the mire. However, they were slowly working up towards the camp, but how hard it was to take up even one hut, and what a great quantity of timber had to be moved ere the building was complete. The cold and frost had almost disappeared; but the inhabitants warned us not to be misled; March was still to be endured, and we heard that he roared right royally, and came in, and remained in, with bitter cold and very strong winds, and heavy falls of rain, sleet, and snow. March was, in truth, like November. The climate, was beyond all conception fickle. A bird might be singing under the impression that he had done with foul weather, and think of getting ready his nest, and shortly afterwards be knocked down by a blow on the head from a hailstone. An order was issued to supply charcoal in the trenches; but the commissariat could not furnish either the charcoal or transport. In default, the men were obliged to grub out the roots of brushwood or of vines, and were often obliged to go down the hill-sides under the enemy's fire, to gather enough to cook their meals. The "navvies" worked away heartily, pulling down the rickety houses and fragments of houses near the post-office of Balaklava, to form the terminus of the first bit of the Grand Crimean Central Railway (with branch line to Sebastopol). The frail houses dissolved into heaps of rubbish under their vigorous blows, and the more friable remains were carted off and shot into and over the ineffable horrors and nastiness of the Turkish plague and charnel-houses. They landed a large quantity of barrows, beams, rails, spades, shovels, picks, and other materials. There was an extremely hot contest on the night of the 6th, between the French and Russians: the cannonade, which sounded all over the camp, lasted about an hour. The enemy, were labouring hard at the works in the rear of the Malakoff (or the Round Tower), and at three o'clock on the 6th I saw they had about 1200 men employed on the earth slopes and parapets of the batteries. While I was examining the place there was scarcely a shot fired for two hours. The small steamers and boats were particularly active, running across the creek and to and fro in the harbour, and everything seemed to go on in the town much the same as usual. One portion of the place containing some fine buildings, and a large church with a cupola, as seen from the picket-house, put one in mind of the view of Greenwich from the Park Observatory through a diminishing glass. Lord Raglan ordered ten of our 13-inch mortars to be lent to the French from the _Firefly_. [Sidenote: A GENERAL TURN-OUT.] General Niel, expressed a decided opinion that the batteries were too far off. When we first sat down before the place, it was proposed that the first parallel should be at the usual distance of from 600 to 800 yards from the defences; but it was objected that there would be great loss of life in making it so near, and that the old rule of war which fixed the distance of the lines of the besiegers from those of the besieged was abrogated by recent improvements in gunnery, and by the increased power and range of siege guns. Our batteries were constructed at upwards of 1000 and 1200 yards from the enemy, and the steadiness of our artillerymen and the activity of our sailors were frustrated by the length of the range. On the 7th of February, the French took charge of the whole of the Malakoff Attack--the key of the position,--and constructed two batteries on our right, under the direction of M. St. Laurent. It was said that Lord Raglan objected to this movement on the part of the French, and suggested that the British should move towards the right, and that the French should take our left attack; but his lordship failed to persuade our allies to accede to his propositions, and they were permitted to overlap and surround the English army. "General Rumour" is a very efficient officer in the management of "_alertes_." He is never surprised, and errs rather on the safe side of caution than otherwise. On the morning of the 8th of February he turned out all the troops in and about Balaklava, manned his guns, roused up Admiral Boxer, awakened Captain Christie, landed the seamen, mercantile and naval, and taking Sir Colin Campbell and his staff out on the hills, awaited an attack which never was made, but which, no doubt, would have been repelled with signal energy and success. It appeared that a spy passing through the lines of the Rifle Brigade on his way to the head-quarters of the French army, on being interrogated by a young officer, informed him that the Russians had about a sotnia, or demi-troop, in several of the villages towards the eastward of Balaklava, such as Tchorgoun, and a large body, whom he estimated at 35,000 men, in their rear, removing round to the south-east of Baidar, so as to approach our right on the heights over Balaklava. The rifleman, imparted the result of his inquiries to an officer in a Highland regiment. There is no place in the world like a camp for the hatching and development of "_canards_." The egg thus laid was very soon matured, and the young bird stalked forth and went from tent to tent, getting here a feather and there a feather, till it assumed prodigious dimensions and importance. How it became "official" did not come to my knowledge, but at half-past ten o'clock at night orders were sent from Sir Colin Campbell to the regiments along the entrenchments up the heights to hold themselves in readiness for an attack, and the 71st regiment was marched up to strengthen the bold crest occupied by the Rifles and Marines. Later at night, or early next morning, Colonel Harding, the Commandant of Balaklava, roused up the Quartermaster-General, Major Mackenzie, who at once repaired into Sir Colin Campbell's quarters, and learned that this attack was fixed to come off at half-past four or five o'clock A.M. The alarm spread. Captain Christie sent orders to the large merchant steamers to be in readiness to render all the aid in their power; Admiral Boxer ordered the men of the _Vesuvius_ to be landed, and the sailors of the transports to be armed and in readiness for service. The _Wasp_ and _Diamond_ cleared for action and moored so as to command the approach of the harbour from the land side. At four o'clock Sir Colin Campbell and his staff mounted the heights up to the Rifle camp. It was bright moonlight. A deep blue sky sparkling with stars was streaked here and there by light fleecy clouds of snowy whiteness, which swept slowly across the mountain crags, or darkened the ravines and valleys with their shadows, like masses of infantry on march. Scarcely a sound was audible near us, except at long intervals the monotonous cry of the sentries, "Number one, and all's well," or the bells striking the hours on board the ships; but artillery and incessant volleys of musketry from the front, told that the French and Russians had availed themselves of the moonlight to continue their contest. The roar of the heavy mortars which came booming upon the ear twice or thrice every minute bespoke the deadly use which our allies were making against the city of the beauty of the morning. In the rear, around the deep valleys and on the giant crags towards the sea, all was silent. The men behind the trench which defended our position from Balaklava to the seaboard scarcely spoke above a whisper, and were almost lost to sight, but the moonlight played on long lines of bright barrels and sparkling bayonets, which just crested, as it were, the dark outlines of the breastwork, beneath which English, French, and Turk were lying in readiness for the enemy. The guns in the redoubts and earthwork batteries were prepared for instant service. All the batteries were fully manned, and, had the enemy come on at that time, he would have met with an astonishingly warm reception. I had been roused out before four o'clock in the morning, but, being rather incredulous in the matter of _alertes_, I had contented myself with getting on my clothes and having the horses saddled. The firing from Sebastopol became so very heavy that the echoes sounded as if there was really a conflict taking place, and I went out to the heights. An hour and a half of anxious vigil brought the dawn. All eyes peered through the strange compound of light, formed by the rays of the rising sun and the beams of his fast-declining satellite, to discover the columns of the enemy, but there were none in sight. Just as the sun rose, the eternal Cossack vedettes came in view on the hill-tops to the east, each figure standing out sharp and black against the glowing background. A few Russians were seen about Kamara, but it was evident there was no preparation for an attack, and Sir Colin Campbell gave orders for the men to return to their tents. The events of the day, however, proved that the spy brought trustworthy intelligence. The Russians returned to the heights over the valley of Balaklava towards the left of the Tchernaya, and reoccupied the hills and ravines about Kamara and Tchorgoun in force. [Sidenote: NARROW ESCAPE FROM FLOGGING.] Omar Pasha arrived at Kamiesch on the 8th, in the _Colombo_; and next day visited General Canrobert and Lord Raglan. These interviews constituted a council of war, and it is reasonable to suppose that the operations of the campaign were finally determined upon and arranged between the allied Generals. It rained heavily all night on the 9th, and the ground was reduced to such a state that the _reconnaissance_ which Sir Colin Campbell, aided by the French, intended to have made was postponed. The atmosphere was so obscure, that it was all but impossible to catch a glimpse of the enemy's movements; but a break in the rain and a lift in the haze now and then enabled us to see them working at some earthworks on the brow of the hills before Kamara. They pushed vedettes up to the top of Canrobert's Hill (formerly the site of Redoubt No. 1, held by the Turks previous to the 25th of October). About the middle of the day three columns, estimated at 3,000 men, were observed moving round from their right by the back of Kamara towards the hills over Baidar with guns. There was a swarm of Cossacks between Kamara and the road to Mackenzie's farm, and their vedettes were posted along the heights over the Woronzoff-road. Our vedettes on the mound over that road nearest to our lines had also been doubled. Some of the Cossacks came so close to our front that a shell was fired at them from No. 4 Battery, near Kadekeeva (Kadikoi). An English artilleryman, for some fancied slight, set upon a Turk, gave him a beating, and attacked "outrageously" a Turkish officer who came to his countryman's assistance. He was found guilty of the double offence by general court-martial, and sentenced to fifty lashes. Osman Pasha, the commander of the Turkish troops, and the officer who had been struck, interceded with Lord Raglan for the remission of the man's punishment, and his lordship, in general orders, rescinded the sentence of the court-martial. A considerable number of sick men (217) were sent down on the 10th from the camp to Balaklava. There were many bad cases of scurvy and of scorbutic dysentery among the men; and yet vegetables of all sorts, and lemons and oranges, were to be found in abundance, or could have been purchased in any quantities, all along the shores of the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmora. No one could say there were no ships to bring them. Balaklava contained ships which had been lying here for weeks--ay, for months--_doing nothing_. The splendid screw steamer _Jason_ fitted up especially as a horse transport, came in many days before from Ismed laden _with a cargo of wood for fuel_. The expenses of such a large vessel must have been enormous, and yet she had been in harbour for nearly a fortnight doing nothing. The 11th was a day quite worthy of "General Février's" gratitude--bleak, raw, and stormy; the wind raging furiously between intervals of profound calm--the sky invisible in a murky sheet, from which fell incessant showers of rain, sleet, or snow alternately, or altogether--and the landscape shut out of sight at a few yards' distance by the grey walls of drizzling clouds and vapour. It might be imagined that no one who could help it stirred out; a few drenched fatigue parties and some artillery wagons sent down for shot and shell were all one could see between Balaklava and the camp, and in the front all was silent--not a gun was fired the greater part of the day, and the popping of rifles also nearly ceased. CHAPTER VII. Sickness in the French Camp--Their System of Cooking--Ingenuity--A Crimean Dinner--Recipes--Cost of a Soldier--Lord Lucan's Recal--A Reconnaissance--Disappointment--An Adventure--Lose the Way--Russian Attack--Activity in The Harbour--Good View of Sebastopol--General Appearance--A Furious Cannonade--An Armistice--Pen-and-ink Work. There was a good deal of sickness in the French camp, and one regiment was said to have suffered as much from scorbutic diseases as any of our own, and to have ceased to exist, like the 63rd Regiment. But the French had no large steamers which they could send to forage in all the ports of Asia Minor; and, with their deficient transport, they had less sickness and less loss of life from disease cent. per cent. than our troops, while they were better provided with food and soldiers' luxuries. Had the French army undergone the same amount of vigil, labour, and fatigue to which our army was exposed, I am convinced it would have been in as bad a plight, and that it would have suffered very nearly the same losses. Their system of cooking was better; their system of hutting was better; instead of having twelve or fourteen miserable, gloomy fellows, sitting moodily together in one tent, where each man ate his meal, cooked or uncooked, as best he could, they had four men together in a tent, who were neither miserable nor gloomy as a general rule, because they had a good dish of soup and bouilli well made at the mess fire, and carried away "piping hot" in the camp kettle of the tent. The canvass of the _tente_ was in bad weather only a roof to a deep pit in the shape of the parallelogram formed by the flaps of the canvass. This pit was dug out of the earth; it contained a little fireplace at one end, with a mud chimney outside, and was entered by a flight of two or three steps, which descended to the dry floor. Our men rarely dug out the earth, and their tents were generally pitched on the surface of the ground. They had no time to do any better. [Sidenote: NEW RECIPE FOR COOKING MUTTON.] In cooking, our neighbours beat us hollow. I partook of a sumptuous banquet in the tent of an officer of the Guards one night, the staple of which was a goose, purchased for a golden egg in Balaklava, but which assumed so many forms, and was so good and strange in all--coming upon one as a _pièce de résistance_, again assuming the shape of a _giblotte_ that would have done credit to Philippe, and again turning up as a delicate little _plat_ with a flavour of woodcocks, that the name of the artist was at once demanded. He was a grisly-headed Zouave, who stood at the door of the tent, prouder of the compliments which were paid to him than of the few francs he was to get for his services, "lent," as he was, by the captain of his company for the day. A few days after--these were Christmas times, or were meant to be so--there was a dinner in another friendly tent. A Samaritan sea-captain had presented a mess with a leg of English mutton, a case of preserved turnips, and a wild duck. Hungry as hunters, the little party assembled at the appointed hour, full of anticipated pleasure and good fare from the fatherland. "Bankes, bring in dinner," said the host, proudly, to his _chef de cuisine_. The guests were seated--the cover was placed on the table--it was removed with enthusiasm, and, lo! there lay the duck, burnt black, and dry as charcoal, in the centre of a mound of turnips. "I thout vowls wor always ate vurst," was the defence of the wretched criminal, as he removed the sacrifice for the time. Then he brought in the soup, which was excellent, especially the bouilli, but we could not eat soup all night, especially when the mutton was waiting. "Now then, Bankes, bring in the leg of mutton." "The wawt, zur?" "The leg of mutton, and look sharp, do you hear? I hope you have not spoiled _that_ too." "Woy, zur, thee's been 'atin oo't!" The miserable being had actually _boiled_ down the leg of mutton in the soup, having cut large slices off it to make it fit the pot! We had great fun with the recipes for cooking rations which appeared in the papers. M. Soyer's were good and simple, but every one of them had been found out by experiment months before, and were familiar, however little successful, to every camp cook. The recipes which taught the men how to make rations palatable by the help of a "sliced turkey," nutmegs, butter, flour, spices, and suet, were cruel mockeries. Can any one tell us why the army was _compelled_ to eat salt pork? Why was this the only meat except beef that was served out? The lean was always very hard and tough, and required great care and trouble in cooking to make it masticable--the fat was ever in undue proportion to the lean, and was far too "rich" for a debilitated stomach. Are "pigs" a national institution, to be maintained at any cost? Is the flesh of the bull a part of the constitution? A soldier is a very dear animal. A crop of them is most difficult to raise, and once they have been fully grown, and have become ripe soldiers, they are beyond all price. Had we not abundance of meals in our warehouses, of vegetables, of all kinds of nutritious preparations, to bestow on those who were left to us, and who were really "veterans," for in the narrow limits of one campaign they had epitomized all the horrors, the dangers, and the triumphs of war? The ration, with its accessories of sugar, tea or coffee, tobacco and rice, was sufficient, as long as it was unfailing, and while the army was in full health; but it was not sufficient, or, rather, it was not suitable, when the men were debilitated from excessive labour. What was the cost to the country of the men of the Brigade of Guards who died in their tents or in hospital of exhaustion, overwork, and deficient of improper nutriment? The brigade mustered in the middle of February very little over 400 men fit for duty. It would have been _cheap_ to have fed the men we had lost on turtle and venison, if we could have kept them alive--and not only those, but the poor fellows whom the battle spared, but whom disease took from us out of every regiment in the expedition. It was the _men_ who were to be pitied--the officers could, in comparison, take care of themselves; they had their bât-horses to go over to Kamiesch and to Balaklava for luxuries; their servants to send for poultry, vegetables, wine, preserved meats, sheep, and all the luxuries of the sutlers' shops; and they had besides abundance of money, for the pay of the subaltern is ample while he is in the field. Sir George Brown arrived on the 12th, and Lord Raglan went down to meet him, and returned with him to head-quarters. The gallant old officer seemed to have quite recovered from the effects of his Inkerman wound, and was well received by his Division. On the 14th the great topic of conversation was the recall of the Earl of Lucan. On the previous forenoon Lord Raglan sent the noble Lord a dispatch which he had received from the Duke of Newcastle, who stated that as he had thought fit to find fault with the terms used in his General's despatch respecting his conduct on the 25th of October, the Government had resolved on recalling him. The impression was that Lord Lucan was harshly and unjustly dealt with. On February 19th, preparations were made for a _reconnaissance_ by Sir Colin Campbell and Vinoy against the enemy between the Tchernaya and Kamara. The weather had been unfavourable, but the few fine days from the 15th to the 19th had made the country in tolerable order for the movements of artillery and cavalry. The French were to furnish 11,600 men; Sir Colin Campbell's force was to consist of the 42nd, 79th, 93rd Highlanders, the 14th and 71st Regts. detachments of cavalry, and two batteries. Soon after dark the French began to get ready, and the hum of men betrayed the movement. By degrees the rumour spread from one confidant to the other, and by midnight a good number of outriders and amateurs were aware of what was going on, and strict orders were issued for early calls and saddling of horses "to-morrow morning at dawn." Nothing excites such interest as a _reconnaissance_. Our army was deprived of the peculiar attractions of most wars in Europe. There was none of the romance of the Peninsular campaigns about it. We were all shut up in one dirty little angle of land, with Cossacks barring the approaches to the heavenly valley around us. There were no pleasant marches, no halts in town or village, no strange scenes or change of position; nothing but the drudgery of the trenches and of fatigue parties, and the everlasting houses and works of Sebastopol, and the same bleak savage landscape around. The hardest-worked officer was glad, therefore, to get away on a _reconnaissance_, which gave him an excitement, and varied the monotony of his life; it was a sort of holiday for him--a hunt at Epping, if there be such a thing, to cockney existence. [Sidenote: SEVERE EFFECTS OF THE COLD.] Before midnight the wind changed, and began to blow, and the stars were overcast. About one o'clock the rain began to fall heavily, and continued to descend in torrents for an hour. Then the wind chopped round to the north and became intensely cold, the rain crystallized and fell in hail, the gale rose higher and increased in severity every moment. Then came down a heavy snow fall. It was evident that no good could come of exposing the men, and that the attack would be a failure; it certainly would not have enabled us to form any accurate conception of the numbers or position of the enemy, inasmuch as it was impossible for a man to see a yard before him. Major Foley was despatched by General Canrobert to inform Sir Colin Campbell that the French would not move, the regiments under arms were ordered back to their tents, which they found with difficulty. When Major Foley arrived after many wanderings, at head-quarters, one of Lord Raglan's aides-de-camp was dispatched to Sir Colin Campbell to desire him to postpone any movement. This officer set out about six o'clock in the morning for the heights over Balaklava. On passing through the French camp he called upon General Vinoy to inform him of the change which the weather had effected in the plans agreed upon, but the General said he thought it would be better to move down his men to support Sir Colin in case the latter should have advanced before the counter-orders reached him. When our aide-de-camp, after a struggle with the darkness, reached Sir Colin's quarters, the General was gone. Another ride enabled him to overtake the General, who was waiting for the French, and had his troops drawn up near Kamara. It may be imagined the news was not very pleasing to one who was all on fire, cold as he was, for a brush with the enemy, but Vinoy's promise put him into excellent spirits. It was four o'clock when the troops moved towards the plain, through the snow-storm, which increased in violence as the morning dawned. The Rifles preceded the advance, with the Highland Light Infantry, in skirmishing order. Strict orders had been given that there was to be no firing, it was hoped that we might surprise the enemy, but the falling snow prevented our men from seeing more than a few yards, and after daylight it was impossible to make out an object six feet in advance. However, the skirmishers managed to get hold of three sentries, belonging probably to the picket at Kamara, but their comrades gave the alarm. As our troops advanced, the Cossacks and vedettes fell back, firing their carbines and muskets into the darkness. The drums of the enemy were heard beating, and through rifts in the veil of snow their columns could be observed moving towards the heights over the Tchernaya. By this time our men had begun to suffer greatly. Their fingers were so cold they could not "fix bayonets" when the word was given, and could scarcely keep their rifles in their hands. The cavalry horses almost refused to face the snow. The Highlanders, who had been ordered to take off their comfortable fur caps, and to put on their becoming but less suitable Scotch bonnets, suffered especially, and some of them were severely frostbitten in the ears--indeed, there was not a regiment out in which cases of "gelatio," chiefly of the ears and fingers, did not occur. Scarcely had the enemy appeared in sight before the snow fell more heavily than ever, and hid them from our view. Sir Collin very unwillingly gave the order to return, and the men arrived at their quarters about ten o'clock A.M., very much fatigued. Being anxious to get a letter off by the post ere it started from Kamiesch, and not being aware that the expedition had been countermanded, I started early in the morning for the post-office marquee through a blinding storm of snow. The wind howled fiercely over the plain; it was so laden with snow that it was quite palpable, and had a strange _solid_ feel about it as it drifted in endless wreaths of fine small flakes, which penetrated the interstices of the clothing, and blinded horse and man. For some time I managed to get on very well, for the track was beaten and familiar. I joined a convoy of artillerymen, but at last the drifts became so thick that it was utterly impossible to see to the right or left for a horse's length. I bore away a little, and soon after met a solitary pedestrian, who wanted to know the way to Balaklava. I sincerely trust he got there by my directions. As he was coming from Lord Raglan's he confirmed me in the justice of my views concerning the route, and I rode off to warn my friends, the artillerymen of their mistake. They were not to be found. I had only left them three or four minutes, and yet they had passed away as completely as if the earth had swallowed them up. So I turned on my way, as I thought, and, riding right into the wind's eye, made at the best pace I could force the horse to put forth, for my destination. It was not above an hour's ride on a bad day, and yet at the end of two hours I had not only not arrived, but I could not make out one of the landmarks which denoted an approach to it. Tents, and hill-sides, and jutting rocks, all had disappeared, and nothing was visible above, around, below, but one white sheet drawn, as it were, close around me. This was decidedly unpleasant, but there was no help for it but to ride on, and trust to Providence. The sea or the lines would soon bring one up. Still the horse went on snorting out the snow from his nostrils, and tossing his head to clear the drift from his eyes and ears; and yet no tent, no man--not a soul to be seen in this peninsula, swarming with myriads of soldiery. [Sidenote: A LUCKY ESCAPE.] Three hours passed!--Where on earth can I be? Is this enchantment? Has the army here, the lines of trenches, and Sebastopol itself, gone clean off the face of the earth? Every instant the snow fell thicker and thicker. The horse stopped at last, and refused to go on against the storm. A dark form rushed by with a quick snarling bark--it is a wolf or a wild dog, and the horse rushed on afrighted. The cold pierced my bones as he faced the gale, now and then he plunged above the knees into snow-drifts, which were rapidly forming at every hillock and furrow in the ground; a good deep fallow--a well or pit--might have put a speedy termination to one's fears and anxiety at a moment's notice. My eyes were bleared and sore striving to catch a glimpse of tent or man, and to avoid the dangers in our path. Suddenly I plunged in amongst a quantity of brushwood--sure and certain signs that I had gone far astray indeed, and that I was removed from the camp and the wood-cutter. The notion flashed across me that the wind might have changed, and that in riding against it I might have shaped my course for the Tchernaya and the Russian lines. The idea of becoming the property of a Cossack picket was by no means a pleasant ingredient in one's thoughts at such a moment. Still what was to be done? My hands and feet were becoming insensible from the cold, and my face and eyes were exceedingly painful. There was no help for it but to push on before nightfall. That would indeed have been a serious evil. There was a break in the snowdrift, and I saw to my astonishment a church dome and spires which vanished in a moment. I must either be close to Kamara or to Sebastopol, and that the church was in either of those widely separated localities. The only thing to do was to bear to the left to regain our lines, though I could not help wondering where on earth the French works were, if it was indeed Sebastopol. I had not ridden very far when, through the ravings of the wind, I heard a hoarse roar, and could just make out a great black wall rising up through the snow. The position was clear at once. I was on the edge of the tremendous precipices which overhang the sea near Cape Fiolente! I was close to the Monastery of St. George. Dismounting, and leading my horse carefully, I felt my way through the storm, and at last arrived at the monastery. A Zouave was shooting larks out of a sentry-box; he took my horse to the stable, and showed me the way to the guardhouse, where his comrades were enjoying the comforts of a blazing fire. Having restored circulation to my blood, and got the ice out of my hair, I set out once more, and a Zouave undertook to show me the way to head-quarters; but he soon got tired of his undertaking, and having first adroitly abstracted my Colt's revolver out of my holster, deserted me on the edge of a ravine, with some very mysterious instructions as to going on always "_tout droit_," which, seeing that one could not see, would have been very difficult to follow. By the greatest good fortune I managed to strike upon the French wagon train, and halting at every outburst of the tempest, and pushing on when the storm cleared a little, I continued to work my way from camp to camp, and at last arrived at Head-Quarters, somewhat before four o'clock in the afternoon, covered with ice, and very nearly "done up." It was some consolation to find that officers had lost themselves in the very vineyard, close to the house, and that aides-de-camp and orderlies had become completely bewildered in their passage from one divisional camp to another. The Russians during the night made a slight demonstration against us, thinking that the sentries and advanced posts might be caught sleeping or away from their posts. Their usual mode of conducting a sortie was to send on some thirty men in advance of a party of 500 or 800, in loose skirmishing order. These men advanced stealthily, _en tirailleur_, up to the line of our sentries and pickets, and felt their way cautiously, in order to ascertain if there was a weak and undefended point for the advance of the main body. If the firing was slack, the latter immediately pushed on, rushed into the trenches, bayoneted as many as resisted, and, dragging off all the men they could get as prisoners, returned to the town as rapidly as possible. Any man, however weak, can rush across a landing into the nearest room, and do damage in it before he is kicked out. The French were so close to the Russians, they might be said to live next door to them. The latter could form in a small body, under cover of their works, at any hour in the night, and dash into the works ere our allies could get together to drive them back again. Some thirty-five men advanced upon the sentries stationed in front of Major Chapman's batteries (the left attack), but were perceived and challenged. They replied "Ruski!" and were fired upon. The Riflemen in the pits in front of these lines gave them a volley, and the Tirailleurs retreated. It was strange they should have given such a reply to the sentries' challenge, but the men all declared that the Russians used the word, which would seem to be the Russians' notion of their own name in the English tongue. Next day the sun came out, the aspect of the camps changed, and our French neighbours filled the air with their many-oathed dialogues and snatches of song. A cold Frenchman is rather a morose and miserable being, but his spirits always rise with sunshine, like the mercury of a thermometer. In company with two officers from the head-quarters camp, I had a long inspection of Sebastopol from the ground behind the French position, and I must say the result was by no means gratifying. We went up to the French picket-house first (_la Maison d'Eau_ or _Maison Blanche_ of the plans), and had a view of the left of the town, looking down towards the end of the ravine which ran down to the Dockyard-creek, the buildings of the Admiralty, the north side of the harbour, and the plateaux towards the Belbek and behind Inkerman. As the day was clear one could see very well through a good glass, in spite of the dazzling effect of the snow and the bitter wind, which chilled the hands so as to render it impossible to retain the glass very long in one position. The little bridge of boats from the Admiralty buildings across to the French side of the town was covered with men, who were busily engaged passing across supplies, and rolling barrels and cases to the other side of the creek, showing that there was a centre of supply or some kind of depôt in the Government stores behind the Redan, and opposite to the fire of our batteries. [Sidenote: A PEEP AT SEBASTOPOL.] Several large lighters, under sail and full of men, were standing over from side to side of the harbour, and dockyard galleys, manned with large crews of rowers all dressed in white jackets, were engaged in tugging flats laden with stores to the south-western side of the town. A tug steamer was also very active, and spluttered about in all directions, furrowing the surface of the water, which was scarcely "crisped" by the breeze, so completely was the harbour landlocked. The men-of-war, with their large white ensigns barred by a blue St. Andrew's cross flying from the peak, lay in a line at the north side, the top-gallant yards and masts of two out of four being down; a two-decker with bare topmasts lay on the south side, with her broadside towards the Ville Civile; and the white masts of three vessels peered above the buildings of the town further away on the right towards Inkerman. The inner part of the town itself seemed perfectly untouched, the white houses shone brightly and freshly in the sun, and the bells of a Gothic chapel were ringing out lustily in the frosty air. Its tall houses running up the hill sides, its solid look of masonry, gave Sebastopol a resemblance to parts of Bath, or at least put one in mind of that city as seen from the declivity which overhangs the river. There was, however, a remarkable change in the look of the city since I first saw it--there were no idlers and no women visible in the streets, and, indeed, there was scarcely a person to be seen who looked like a civilian. There was, however, abundance of soldiers, and to spare in the streets. They could be seen in all directions, sauntering in pairs down desolate-looking streets, chatting at the corners or running across the open space, from one battery to another; again in large parties on fatigue duty, or relieving guards, or drawn up in well-known grey masses in the barrack-squares. Among those who were working on the open space, carrying stores, I thought I could make out two French soldiers. At all events, the men wore long blue coats and red trousers, and, as we worked our prisoners and made them useful at Balaklava, where I had seen them aiding in making the railway, I suppose the Muscovite commanders adopted the same plan. Outside the city, at the verge of the good houses, the eye rested on great walls of earth piled up some ten or twelve feet, and eighteen or twenty feet thick, indented at regular intervals with embrasures in which the black dots which are throats of cannon might be detected. These works were of tremendous strength. For the most part there was a very deep and broad ditch in front of them, and wherever the ground allowed of it, there were angles and _flèches_ which admitted of flanking fires along the front, and of cross fires on centre points of each line of attack or approach. In front of most of the works on both the French and English sides of the town, a suburb of broken-down white-washed cottages, the roofs gone, the doors off, and the windows out, had been left standing in detached masses at a certain distance from the batteries, but gaps had been made in them so that they might not block the fire of the guns. The image of misery presented by these suburbs was very striking--in some instances the havoc had been committed by our shot, and the houses all round to the rear of the Flagstaff Battery, opposite the French, had been blown into rubbish and mounds of beams and mortar. The advanced works which the Russians left on the advance of our allies still remained and it was hard to say whether there were any guns in them or not, but they were commanded so completely by the works in their rear that it would have been impossible to hold them, and they would have afforded a good cover to the Russians, while the latter could fire through the embrasures of the old works with far greater ease than the enemy could get at them. They threw up their new earthworks behind the cover of the suburb; when they were finished, they withdrew their men from the outer line, blew down and destroyed the cover of the houses, and opened fire from their second line of batteries. Their supply of gabions seemed inexhaustible--indeed, they had got all the brushwood of the hills of the South Crimea at their disposal. In front of the huge mounds thrown up by the Russians, foreshortened by the distance, so as to appear part of them, were the French trenches--mounds of earth lined with gabions which looked like fine matting. These lines ran parallel to those of the enemy. The nearest parallel was not "armed" with cannon, but was lined with riflemen. Zigzags led down from trench to trench. The troops inside walked about securely, if not comfortably. The covering parties, with their arms piled, sat round their little fires, and smoked and enjoyed their coffee, while the working parties, spade in hand, continued the never-ending labours of the siege--filling gabions here, sloping and thickening the parapets there, repairing embrasures, and clearing out the fosses. Where we should have had a thin sergeant's guard at this work, the French could afford a strong company. It was rather an unpleasant reflection, whenever one was discussing the range of a missile, and was perhaps in the act of exclaiming "There's a splendid shot," that it might have carried misery and sorrow into some happy household. The smoke cleared away--the men got up--they gathered round one who moved not, or who was racked with mortal agony; they bore him away, a mere black speck, and a few shovelsful of mud marked for a little time the resting-place of the poor soldier, whose wife, or mother, or children, or sisters, were left destitute of all solace, save memory and the sympathy of their country. One such little speck I watched that day, and saw quietly deposited on the ground inside the trench. Who would let the inmates of that desolate cottage in Picardy, or Gascony, or Anjou, know of their bereavement? [Sidenote: A RECONNAISSANCE.] We descended the hill slope towards Upton's house, then occupied by a strong picket of the French, under the command of a couple of officers. From the front of this position one could see the heights over Inkerman, the plateau towards the Belbek, the north side, the flank of the military town opposite the English, our own left attack, and the rear of the redoubtable Tower of Malakoff. The first thing that struck one was the enormous preparations on the north side, extending from the sea behind Fort Constantine far away to the right behind Inkerman towards the Belbek. The trenches, batteries, earthworks, and redoubts all about the citadel (the North Fort) were on an astonishing scale, and indicated an intention on the part of the Russians to fall back on the north side, in case of our occupying the south side of the place.[16] About three o'clock three strong bodies of cavalry came down towards the fort, as if they had been in the direction of the Alma or the Katcha. They halted for a time, and then resumed their march to the camp over Inkerman. In this direction also the enemy were busily working, and their cantonments were easily perceptible, with the men moving about in them. At the rear of the Round Tower, however, the greatest energy was displayed, and a strong party of men were at work on new batteries between it and the ruined suburb on the commanding hill on which the Malakoff stood. Our own men in the left attack seemed snug enough, and well covered by their works; in front of them, on the slopes, were men, French and English, scattered all over the hill side, grubbing for roots for fuel; and further on, in front, little puffs of smoke marked the pits of the Riflemen on both sides, from which the ceaseless crack of the Minié and Liège smote the ear; but the great guns were all silent, and scarcely one was fired on the right during the day; even Inkerman and its spiteful batteries being voiceless for a wonder. As one of the officers began to rub his nose and ears with snow, and to swear they were frostbitten, and as we all felt very cold, we discontinued our _reconnaissance_, and returned to camp. The wind blew keenly, and at night the thermometer was at 16°. There were few cases of illness in the trenches; but sickness kept on increasing. Typhus fever, thank God! nearly disappeared. Major-General Jones declared the position was not so strong as he expected to find it from the accounts he had heard, but it was only to the eye of a practised engineer that any signs of weakness presented themselves. The heights over the sea bristled with low batteries, with the guns couchant and just peering over the face of the cliffs. Vast as these works were, the Russians were busy at strengthening them. Not less than 3,000 men could have been employed on the day in question on the ground about the citadel. One could see the staff-officers riding about and directing the labours of the men, or forming into groups, and warming themselves round the camp fires. I was woke up shortly after two o'clock on the morning of the 24th of February by the commencement of one of the most furious cannonades since the siege began. The whole line of the Russian batteries from our left opened with inconceivable force and noise, and the Inkerman batteries began playing on our right; the weight of this most terrible fire, which shook the very earth, and lighted up the skies with incessant lightning flashes for an hour and a half, was directed against the French. The cannonade lasted from a quarter-past two to half-past three A.M. When first I heard it, I thought it was a sortie, and rode in the moonlight towards the fire; but ere I could get over the ground to Inkerman, the tumult ceased, and it was only next morning that we found out the cause of such a tremendous exhibition of power. It appeared that the activity of the French in making their approaches against the Malakoff had rendered the Russians so uneasy that they began to make counter approaches, and pushed out trenches to rifle-pits placed on the Mamelon and on the head of Careening Creek ravine. These were observed by the French, and General Bosquet, acting by order of General Canrobert, directed General de Monet and General de Meyran to attack these works with 1,000 of the 2nd Zouaves, a battalion of the 6th of the Line, a battalion of the 10th of the Line, and a strong body of Marines; that operation was effected about two A.M. The Russians offered a very vigorous resistance, the Zouaves were not properly supported by the Marines, or the troops of the Line. De Monet was badly wounded; he lost one hand, and the other was much mutilated. In the conflict the Zouaves lost 3 officers killed, 13 wounded, 1 missing, 69 men killed and 159 wounded. The Zouaves were exceedingly irritated against the marine infantry, whom they threatened in detail with exceedingly unpleasant "quarters of an-hour" at some time to come for their alleged retreat on the morning of the 24th. The Zouaves got it into their heads not only that the marines bolted, but that they fired into those before them, who were the Zouaves aforesaid. In their excessive anger and energy they were as unjust to their comrades, perhaps, as they were complimentary to ourselves, and I heard more than two of them exclaim, "Ah, if we had had a few hundred of your English we should have done the trick; but these marines--bah!" On the night after this contest the enemy sunk four or five ships inside the booms, so as to present a fourth barrier across the roads. An armistice took place for an hour on the 27th. In the orders for the day, Lord Raglan notified that at the request of General Osten-Sacken, an armistice was granted from twelve till one o'clock to enable the Russians to bury their dead. At twelve o'clock precisely, white flags were run up on the battery flagstaffs on both sides, and immediately afterwards a body of Russians issued from their new work near the Malakoff, which had been the object of the French attack of the 24th, and proceeded to search for their dead. The French were sent down from Inkerman on a similar errand. A few Russian officers advanced about half-way up towards our lines, where they were met by some of the officers of the allies, and extreme courtesy, the interchange of profound salutations, and enormous bowing, marked the interview. The officers sauntered up and down, and shakos were raised and caps doffed politely as each came near an enemy. [Sidenote: A NOVEL AND ASTONISHING SIGHT.] The exact object of the armistice it would have been hard to say, for neither French nor Russians seemed to find any bodies unburied. Shortly before one o'clock, the Russians retired inside their earthwork. At one o'clock the white flags were all hauled down in an instant, and the last fluttering bit of white bunting had scarcely disappeared over the parapet, when the flash, and roar of a gun from Malakoff announced that the war had begun once more. The French almost simultaneously fired a gun from their batteries also; in a minute afterwards the popping of rifles commenced as usual on both sides. The Cossacks about Balaklava were particularly busy, and, having nothing better to do, I spent an hour watching them through my glass from the artillery camp at Kadikoi. They had a picket of ten horsemen at Kamara, from which the vedettes on the top of Canrobert's Hill were furnished, and they had a similar body of eight horsemen on the slope at the back of No. 2 Redoubt. There were a few regular Hussars in a handsome dark blue or green uniform, with white belts, on duty as sentries. The horses seemed to follow the Cossacks about like dogs. The men all wore long loose grey coats and round fur caps. They could not be very badly off for provisions, inasmuch as the fields behind them towards the slope of the hill to Mackenzie's farm were tolerably well filled with cattle. From the top of Canrobert's Hill their vedette could see everything that went on in the plains, from the entrance to Balaklava to the ridges on which the French right rested. Not a horse, cart, or man, could go in or out of the town which this sentinel could not see if he had good eyesight, for he was quite visible to any person who gazed on the top of Canrobert's Hill. The works of the railway must have caused this Cossack very serious discomposure. What on earth could he think of them? Gradually he saw villages of white huts rise up on the hill-sides and in the recesses of the valleys, and from the Cavalry Camp to the heights of Balaklava, he could behold line after line of snug angular wooden buildings, each with its chimney at work, and he could discern the tumult and bustle of Vanity Fair. This might have been all very puzzling, but it could have been nothing to the excitement of looking at a long line of black trucks rushing round and under the hill at Kadikoi, and running down the incline to the town at the rate of twenty miles an hour. A number of the Cossacks did gallop up to the top of the hill to look at a phenomenon of that kind, and they went capering about, and shaking their lances, in immense wonderment and excitation of spirits when it had disappeared. In addition to the old lines thrown up by Liprandi close to the Woronzoff road, the Russians erected, to the rear and north of it, a very large hexagonal work, capable of containing a large number of men, and of being converted into a kind of intrenched camp. The lines of these works were very plain as they were marked out by the snow, which lay in the trench after that which fell on the ground outside and inside had melted. There were, however, no infantry in sight, nor did any movement of troops take place over the valley of the Tchernaya. Emboldened by the success of the 24th, the Russians were apparently preparing to throw up another work on the right of the new trenches, as if they had made up their minds to besiege the French at Inkerman, and assail their right attack. They sent up two steamers to the head of the harbour, which greatly annoyed the right attack, and it occurred to Captain Peel, of the _Diamond_, that it would be quite possible to get boats down to the water's edge and cut these steamers out, or sink them. Lord Raglan and Sir Edmund Lyons reconnoitred their position, but on reflection the latter refused to sanction an operation which would have gone far to raise the prestige of our navy, and to maintain their old character for dash and daring. [Sidenote: SCARCITY OF BOOTS AND SHOES.] BOOK V. THE COMMENCEMENT OF ACTIVE OPERATIONS--THE SPRING--REINFORCEMENTS--THE SECOND BOMBARDMENT--ITS FAILURE--THIRD BOMBARDMENT, AND FAILURE--PERIOD OF PREPARATION. CHAPTER I. Preparations--The Railway in use--Vanity Fair, or Buffalo Town--Intrusion--Flowers and Birds--Exciting Sport--First Spring Meeting--Rumours--The Turkish Levies--The Electric Telegraph--News of the Death of Nicholas--Mismanagement--Progress of the Siege Works--Jack in Clover--Improved Condition of the Army--Admiral Boxer--Council of War--Affair between the Russians and the French. It froze on the night of the 1st of March. The thermometer was at twenty-four degrees at two A.M. next morning, the wind strong and very cold. It was scarcely to be believed that, with all our immense stores of warm clothing, boots and shoes were at that time by no means plentiful in the army. About three hundred pairs of boots were served out to the 14th Regiment, which was employed in fatigue duty in and near Balaklava; but the thick heavy clay sucked the soles off, and for a week some of the men went about without any soles to their boots--_ergo_, their feet were on the ground, with the thermometer at thirty degrees: that was not agreeable locomotion. About 240 sick men were sent in from the front to Balaklava on French ambulance mules, and were received and refreshed at the Caradoc restaurant. The preparations for the renewal of our fire were pressed on; and arrangements were made to send up 2000 rounds a day to the front. About 200 mules were pressed into this service in addition to the railway, and the Highlanders and the artillery horses were employed in the carriage of heavy shell to the front, a duty which greatly distressed them. The men of the Fourth Division, the 17th and 18th Regiments, were armed with the Minié rifle. The silence and calm were but the omens of the struggle which was about to be renewed for the possession of Sebastopol. The Russians were silent because the allies did not impede their works. The allies were silent because they were preparing for the contest, and were using every energy to bring up from Kamiesch and Balaklava the enormous mounds of projectiles and mountains of ammunition which were required for the service of the new batteries and to extend, complete, and strengthen their offensive and defensive lines and trenches. The railway had begun to render us some service in saving the hard labour attendant on the transport of shot and shell, and enabled us to form a sort of small terminal depôt at the distance of two miles and three quarters from Balaklava, which was, however, not large enough for the demands upon it, and it was emptied as soon as it was formed by parties of the Highland Brigade, who carried the ammunition to the camp depôt, three miles and a half further on. The railway was not sufficiently long to induce Mr. Filder to avail himself of it largely for the transport of provisions to the front, as he conceived a partial use of it would impede the formation of the rail, derange his own commissariat transport, and produce endless confusion at the temporary terminus. The commissariat officers of the Second Division were, however, allowed to use the rail between six and eight o'clock every morning. The navvies, notwithstanding the temptation of the bottle and of strange society in Vanity Fair or Buffalo-town, worked honestly and well, with few exceptions, and the dread of the Provost-Marshal had produced a wholesome influence on the dispositions of the refractory. The Croat labourers astonished all who saw them by the enormous loads they carried, and by their great physical strength and endurance. Broad-chested, flat-backed men, round-shouldered, with long arms, lean flanks, thick muscular thighs, and their calfless legs--feeding simply, and living quietly and temperately--the Croats performed daily an amount of work in conveying heavy articles on their backs which would amaze any one who had not seen a Constantinople "hamal." Their camp, outside the town, was extremely picturesque, and, I am bound to add, dirty. A rich flavour of onions impregnated the air for a considerable distance around, mingled with reminiscences of ancient Parmesan, and the messes which the nasty-handed Phillises dressed for themselves did not look very inviting, but certainly contained plenty of nutriment, and were better, I dare say, than the tough pork and tougher biscuit of our own ration. The men were like Greeks of the Isles in dress, arms, and carriage, but they had an expression of honest ferocity, courage, and manliness in their faces, which at once distinguished them from their Hellenic brethren. We had also a number of strong "hamals" in our service, who were very useful as beasts of burden to the commissariat. [Sidenote: FLOWERS AND BIRDS OF THE CHERSONESE.] Parties of men were lent to Mr. Beatty to assist in the works of the railway, and 200 men of the Naval Brigade detailed in order that the construction of it might be hastened and facilitated as much as possible. I was favoured by a striking proof of the energy of the proceedings of the navvies one day. I had left my delectable premises in their usual condition, in Balaklava, as I did each week, to spend some days going from division to division, and regiment to regiment: outside my den a courtyard of abominations unutterable, the favourite resort of Tartar camel-drivers, when they had a few moments to devote to the pursuit of parasites, and of drunken sailors, who desired dignified retirement from the observation of the Provost-Marshal's myrmidons, was surrounded by a wall which enclosed a few old poplar trees and a ruined shed, in which stood some horses. I left on one post-day and returned on another, and it was with difficulty I recognised the spot. A railway was running right across my court-yard, the walls were demolished, a severance existed between the mansion and its dependencies, and just as my friends and myself entered the "saloon and bedchamber"--a primitive apartment, through the floor of which I could investigate the proceedings of my quadrupeds below--the navvies gave us a startling welcome by pulling a poplar down on the roof, which had the effect of carrying away a portion of the balcony, and pent-tiles, and smashing in my two windows elegantly "glazed" with boards. Unusual energy was displayed in most departments. The word "must" was heard. Whether its use was attributable to the pressure of the French, to instructions from home, to the necessity which existed for it, or to any specific cause, I am unable to surmise. Certain it is that officers were told that so many guns _must_ be in the batteries on such a day, and that such a work _must_ be finished by such a time, and a _General_ visited the trenches every day, and saw that the men did not neglect their duty. General Simpson, as a Chef d'Etat-Major, was expected to harmonize the operations of the Quarter-master General's and Adjutant-General's departments. A sanatorium was established on Balaklava heights. The soil, wherever a flower had a chance of springing up, poured forth multitudes of snowdrops, crocuses, and hyacinths. The Chersonese abounds in bulbous plants, some of great beauty, and rare shrubs. The finches and larks had a Valentine's-day of their own, and congregated in flocks. Brilliant goldfinches, buntings, golden-crested wrens, larks, linnets, titlarks, tomtits, hedge sparrows, and a pretty species of wagtail, were very common; and it was strange to hear them piping and twittering about the bushes in the intervals of the booming of cannon, just as it was to see the young spring flowers forcing their way through the crevices of piles of shot, and peering out from under shells and heavy ordnance. Cormorants and shags haunted the head of the harbour, which was also resorted to by some rare and curious wildfowl, one like the _Anas sponsa_[17] of Linnæus, another the golden-eyed pocher, and many sorts of widgeon and diver. Vultures, kites, buzzards, and ravens wheeled over the plateau in hundreds at a time for two or three days, disappeared, and returned to feast on garbage. Probably they divided their attention between the allies and the Russians. The Tchernaya abounded with duck, and some of the officers had little decoys of their own. It was highly exciting sport, for the Russian batteries over Inkerman sent a round shot or shell at the sportsman if he was seen. In the daytime they adopted the expedient of taking a few French soldiers down with them, who, out of love of the thing, and for the chance of a _bonnemain_, were only too happy to occupy the attention of the Cossacks, while their patrons were after mallard. There were bustards and little bustards on the steppes near the Monastery of St. George, and the cliffs presented an appearance which led two or three officers acquainted with Australia to make fruitless searches for gold ore. The ravines abounded with jasper, bloodstone, and there was abundance of "black sand" in the interstices of the rocks, which were of exceeding hardness; but south-west of St. George, there were fountains of the fine blue limestone. On the 4th of March the French and Russians had a severe brush about daybreak. Generals Canrobert, Niel, Bosquet, Bizot rode over to the English head-quarters in the course of the day, and were closeted with Lord Raglan, assisted by Sir George Brown, Sir John Burgoyne, and General Jones. They met to consider a proposition made by General Canrobert to attack the north side, by the aid of the Turks, as it seemed to him quite hopeless to attempt to drive the Russians from Inkerman. On the morning of the 5th of March early there was a repetition of the affair between the French and Russians, who began throwing a new redoubt towards the Victoria Redoubt. In order to strengthen our right, which the enemy menaced more evidently every day, the whole of the Ninth Division of the French army was moved over there. Our first spring meeting took place on the 5th, numerously attended. The races came off on a little piece of undulating ground, on the top of the ridges near Karanyi, and were regarded with much interest by the Cossack pickets at Kamara and on Canrobert's Hill. They thought at first that the assemblage was connected with some military demonstration, and galloped about in a state of excitement, but it is to be hoped they got a clearer notion of the real character of the proceedings ere the sport was over. [Sidenote: WAR A CREATOR AS WELL AS A DESTROYER.] In the midst of the races a party of Russians were seen approaching the vedette on No. 4 Old Redoubt in the valley. The Dragoon fired his carbine, and ten turned and fled, but two deserters came in. One of them was an officer; the other had been an officer, but had suffered degradation for "political causes." They were Poles, and the ex-officer spoke French and German fluently. They expressed great satisfaction at their escape, and the latter said, "Send me wherever you like, provided that I never see Russia again." They stated that they had deceived the men who were with them into the belief that the vedette was one of their own outposts, and advanced boldly till the Dragoon fired on them, when they discovered their mistake. The deserters state that a corps of about 8000 men had joined the army between Baidar and Simpheropol. On being taken to Sir Colin Campbell, they requested that the horses might be sent back to the Russian lines, for, as they did not belong to them, they did not wish to be accused of theft. Sir Colin granted the request, and the horses were taken to the brow of the hill and set free, when they at once galloped off towards the Cossacks. The races proceeded after this little episode just as usual, and subsequently the company resolved itself into small packs of dog-hunters. The weather became mild, the nights clear. Our defensive line over Balaklava was greatly strengthened, and its outworks and batteries were altered and amended considerably. The health of the troops was better, mortality and sickness decreased, and the spirits of the men were good. The wreck of Balaklava was shovelled away, or was in the course of removal, and was shot into the sea to form piers, or beaten down to make roads, and stores and barracks of wood were rising up in its place. The oldest inhabitant would not have known the place on his return. If war is a great destroyer, it is also a great creator. The Czar was indebted to it for a railway in the Crimea, and for new roads between Balaklava, Kamiesch, and Sebastopol. The hill-tops were adorned with clean wooden huts, the flats were drained, the watercourses dammed up and deepened, and all this was done in a few days, by the newly-awakened energies of labour. The noise of hammer and anvil, and the roll of the railway train, were heard in these remote regions a century before their time. Can anything be more suggestive of county magistracy and poor-laws, and order and peace, than stone-breaking? It went on daily, and parties of red-coated soldiery were to be seen contentedly hammering away at the limestone rock, satisfied with a few pence extra pay. Men were given freely wherever there was work to be done. The policeman walked abroad in the streets of Balaklava. Colonel Harding exhibited ability in the improvement of the town, and he had means at his disposal which his predecessors could not obtain. Lord Raglan was out before the camps every day, and Generals Estcourt and Airey were equally active. They visited Balaklava, inspected the lines, rode along the works, and by their presence and directions infused an amount of energy which went far to make up for lost time, if not for lost lives. The heaps accumulated by the Turks who perished in the foetid lanes of Balaklava, and the masses of abomination unutterable which they left behind them, were removed and mixed with stones, lime, manure, and earth, to form piers, which were not so offensive as might have been expected. The dead horses were collected and buried. A little naval arsenal grew up at the north side of the harbour, with shears, landing-wharf, and storehouses; and a branch line was to be made from this spot to the trunk to the camp. The harbour, crowded as it was, assumed a certain appearance of order. Cesspools were cleared out, and the English Hercules at last began to stir about the heels of the oxen of Augæus. The whole of the Turks were removed to the hill-side. Each day there was a diminution in the average amount of sickness, and a still greater decrease in the rates of mortality. Writing at the time, I said a good sanitary officer, with an effective staff, might do much to avert the sickness to be expected among the myriads of soldiers when the heats of spring began.[18] Fresh provisions were becoming abundant, and supplies of vegetables were to be had for the sick and scurvy-stricken. The siege works were in a state of completion, and were admirably made. Those on which our troops were engaged proceeded uninterruptedly. A great quantity of mules and ponies, with a staff of drivers from all parts of the world, was collected together, and lightened the toils of the troops and of the commissariat department. The public and private stores of warm clothing exceeded the demand. The mortality among the horses ceased, and, though the oxen and sheep sent over to the camps would not have found much favour in Smithfield, they were very grateful to those who had to feed so long on salt junk alone. The sick were nearly all hutted, and even some of the men in those camps which were nearest to Balaklava had been provided with similar comforts and accommodation. An electric telegraph was established between head-quarters and Kadikoi, and the line was ordered to be carried on to Balaklava. The French preferred the old-fashioned semaphore, and had a communication between the camps and naval stations. The news of the death of the Emperor Nicholas produced an immense sensation, and gave rise to the liveliest discussions as to its effect upon the contest. We were all wrong in our surmises the day the intelligence arrived. The enemy fired very briskly, as if to show they were not disheartened. The story of the guns of position, at this time available, was instructive. It will be remembered that the Russians inflicted great loss upon us by their guns of position at the Alma, and that we had none to reply to them. Indeed, had they been landed at Kalamita Bay, it is doubtful if we could have got horses to draw them. However, if we had had the horses, we could not have had the guns. The fact was, that sixty fine guns of position, with all their equipments complete, were shipped on board the _Taurus_ at Woolwich, and sent out to the East. When the vessel arrived at Constantinople, the admiral in charge, with destructive energy, insisted on trans-shipping all the guns into the _Gertrude_. The captain in charge remonstrated, but in vain--words grew high, but led to no result. The guns, beautifully packed and laid, with everything in its proper place, were hauled up out of the hold, and huddled, in the most approved higgledy-piggledy _à la Balaklava ancienne_, into the _Gertrude_, where they were deposited on the top of a quantity of medical and other stores. The equipments shared the same fate, and the hold of the vessel presented to the eye of the artilleryman the realization of the saying anent the arrangement of a midshipman's chest, "everything uppermost and nothing at hand." The officer in charge got to Varna, and in vain sought permission to go to some retired nook, discharge the cargo, and restow the guns. The expedition sailed, and when the _Gertrude_ arrived at Old Fort, had Hercules been set to clear the guns, as his fourteenth labour, he could not have done it. And so the medicines, that would certainly have done good, and the guns, that might have done harm, were left to neutralize each other! [Sidenote: PROGRESS OF THE SIEGE WORKS.] The weather was in the early part of March so mild and fine, that it was scarcely generous to notice the few Black Sea fogs which swept over us now and then like shadows and so departed. Our siege works were a kind of Penelope's web. They were always approaching completion, and never (or at least very slowly) attaining it. The matter was in this wise:--Our engineers now and then saw a certain point to be gained by the erection of a work or battery at a particular place. The plans were made and the working parties were sent down, and after a few casualties the particular work was executed; but, as it generally happened that the enemy were quite alive to our proceedings, without waiting for their copies of _The Times_, we found that the Russians had by the time the work was finished, thrown up another work to enfilade or to meet our guns. Then it became necessary to do something to destroy the position and fresh plans were drawn up, and more trenches were dug and parapets erected. The same thing took place as before, and the process might have been almost indefinite but for the space of soil. The front of Sebastopol, between English, French, and Russians, looked like a huge graveyard, covered with freshly-made mounds of dark earth in all directions. Every week one heard some such gossip as this--"The Russians have thrown up another battery over Inkerman." "Yes, the French are busy making another new battery in front of the redoubt." "Our fire will most positively open about the end of next week." We were overdoing our "positively last nights." On the 8th a small work, armed with three heavy guns, which had been constructed very quietly, to open on the two steamers near Inkerman, under the orders of Captain Strange, began its practice early in the morning, at about 1700 yards, and drove them both away after about sixty rounds, but did not sink, or, as far as we knew, seriously disable them. Every material for carrying on a siege--guns, carriages, platforms, powder, shot, shell, gabions, fascines, scaling-ladders--we had in abundance. The artillery force was highly efficient, notwithstanding the large proportion of young gunners. Our engineers, if not quite so numerous as they ought to have been, were active and energetic; and our army must have consisted of nearly 20,000 bayonets, owing to the great number of men discharged from the hospitals, and returned fit for duty, and to the draughts which had been received. With the exception of the Guards, who were encamped near Balaklava, reduced to the strength of a company, nearly every brigade in the army could muster many more men than they could a month before. Of the Guardsmen sent to Scutari not more than sixty or seventy were in such a state of convalescence as to permit them to join their regiments. The men in Balaklava fared better, and the weather effected a marked improvement in the health of the men in the field hospitals. As for Jack, he was as happy as he would allow himself to be, and as healthy, barring a little touch of scurvy now and then, as he could wish; but it must be remembered that he had no advanced trenches, no harassing incessant labour to enfeeble him, and that he had been most successful in his adaptation of stray horseflesh to camp purposes, in addition to which he had a peculiar commissariat, and the supplies of the fleet to rely upon. It is a little out of place, perhaps, to tell a story here about the extraordinary notions Jack had imbibed concerning the ownership of chattels and the distinction between _meum_ and _tuum_, but I may not have a better chance. A mild young officer went up one day to the sailors' camp, which he heard was a very good place to purchase a horse, and on his arrival picked out a likely man, who was gravely chewing the cud of meditation and tobacco beside the suspension bridge, formed of staves of casks, which leads across a ravine to their quarters. "Can you tell me where I can get a good horse to buy, my man!" "Well, sir, you see as how our horse parties ain't come in yet, and we don't know what we may have this evening. If your honour could wait." "Then you haven't got anything to sell now?" "Ah! how I does wish your honour had a comed up yesterday. We had five regular good 'uns--harabs some on 'em was, but they was all bought up by a specklator from Ballyklava." "So they're all gone?" "All, that lot your honour. But," with his face brightening up suddenly, "if you should happen to want a sporting out-and-out dromeydairy, I've got one as I can let you have cheap." As he spoke, Jack pointed in great triumph to the melancholy-looking quadruped, which he had "moored stem and stern," as he expressed it, and was much disappointed when he found there was no chance of a sale. From hunger, unwholesome food, and comparative nakedness, the camp was a sea of abundance, filled with sheep and sheepskins, wooden huts, furs, comforters, mufflers, flannel shirts, tracts, soups, preserved meats, potted game, and spirits. Nay, it was even true that a store of Dalby's Carminative, of respirators, and of jujubes, had been sent out to the troops. The two former articles were issued under the sanction of Dr. Hall, who gave instructions that the doctors should report on the effects. Where the jujubes came from I know not; but had things gone on at this rate, we might soon have heard complaints that our Grenadiers had been left for several days without their Godfrey's Cordial and Soothing Syrup, and that the Dragoons had been shamefully ill supplied with Daffy's Elixir. [Sidenote: RENEWED VIGOUR OF THE RUSSIANS.] "Hit high--hit low--there is no pleasing him;" but really, the fact is, that the army was overdone with Berlin wool and flannel, and was ill-provided with leather. The men wanted good boots and waterproofs, for there was a rainy season. Medicine was not deficient, and there was an unfortunately large demand for the remedies against the ravages of low fever. Mutton and beef were so abundant, that the men got fresh meat about three times a-week. Some of the mutton, &c., brought to the Crimea ready killed, was excellent. Potatoes, cabbages, and carrots, were served out pretty frequently as the cargoes arrived, and the patients in hospital were seldom or never left short of vegetables. Admiral Boxer was most anxious to clear the harbour, and exerted himself to reduce the number of "adventurers" ships, and applied himself with success to the improvement of the wharfage and of the roads to the north side of the harbour. The dreamers had awakened, and after a yawn, a stretch, a gape of surprise to find that what they had been sleeping over was not a horrid nightmare, set to work with a will to clear away the traces of their sloth. But while all this improvement was taking place, the enemy were gathering strength. The Russians, on the night of the 11th, developed their works on the hill in front of the Malakoff, called the Mamelon Vert, under cover of their rapidly-increasing works at Mount Sapoune, called by the French "les ouvrages blancs." On the 12th, Omar Pasha arrived from Eupatoria, and a council of war was held, at which it was decided that 20,000 Turks should be at once landed from the latter place to co-operate in the attack on the city. The French stated they were ready to begin their fire on the 13th, but that Lord Raglan informed General Canrobert he was not prepared. Our right attack was connected by a trench with the Inkerman attack. On the 13th General Simpson, chief of the staff, arrived; and Lord Raglan rode into Balaklava, and saw Sir John M'Neill and Colonel Tulloch, the commissioners sent out by Lord Panmure to inquire into the condition of the army. On the 14th there was an affair with the Russians which was not so fortunate for our allies as might be desired. The Russians advanced some riflemen in front of the French on the right of our Second Division, which caused considerable annoyance. A demi-brigade went down and drove the Russians out. All the batteries opened at once with a tremendous crash, and for half an hour there was a furious cannonade directed against the darkness. In the midst of this fire a strong body of Russians advanced on the French, and obliged them to retire. Assistance was sent down, the French drove the Russians back; but lost sixty-five men, killed and wounded. CHAPTER II. Spring Weather--Abundance of Provisions--Fourth Division Races--A Melancholy Accident--Struggles for the Rifle-pits--Reinforcements enter Sebastopol--Departure of Sir John Burgoyne--A Curious Fight--A Hard Struggle--More Contests for the Rifle-pits--Killed and Wounded. About the middle of March we were blessed with all the genial influences of a glorious spring. Vegetation struggled for existence beneath the tramp of armed men and the hoof of the war horse, and faint patches of green herbage dotted the brown expanse in which the allied camps had rested so long. The few fruit-trees which had been left standing near Balaklava were in blossom. The stumps on the hill sides were throwing out green shoots as outlets for the welling sap; the sun shone brightly and warmly from blue skies streaked with clouds, which were borne rapidly along by the breeze that never ceased to blow from the high lands. Of course, the beneficial effects of this permanent fine weather on the health and spirits of the army were very great, and became more striking day after day. The voice of song was heard once more in the tents, and the men commenced turning up their pipes, and chanting their old familiar choruses. The railway pushed its iron feelers up the hill-side to the camp. The wire ropes and rollers for the trains had been partially laid down. Every day the plains and hill-sides were streaked with columns of smoke, which marked the spots where fire was destroying heaps of filth and corrupt animal and vegetable matter as sacrifices on the altar of Health. The sanatorium was working in the most satisfactory manner, and had produced the best results. The waters of little streamlets were caught up in reservoirs to provide against drought. Upwards of 700 huts had been sent to camp and erected. The army, animated by the constant inspection of Lord Raglan, and by the supervision of the heads of the great military departments, was nearly restored, in all but numbers, to what it was six months before. Bakeries, under the control of Government, were established and the troops were fed on wholesome bread. The silence and gloom of despondency had passed away with the snows and the deadly lethargy of our terrible winter. The blessed sounds of labour--twice blessed, but that they spoke of war and bloodshed--rang throughout the camp, from the crowded shore to the busy line of batteries. It must not be forgotten, however, that the enemy derived equal advantage from the improvement in the weather. Valley and plain were now as firm as the finest road, and the whole country was open to the march of artillery, cavalry, infantry, and commissariat wagons. Each day the Russian camps on the north of Sebastopol increased and spread out. Each night new watchfires attracted the eye. We heard that a formidable army had assembled around Eupatoria, and it was certain that the country between that town and Sebastopol was constantly traversed by horse and foot, who were sometimes seen from the sea in very great numbers. The actual works of the siege made no progress to justify one in prophesying. Actual increase of lines and batteries, and armament there was no doubt, but it existed on both sides, and there had been no comparative advantage gained by the allies. The impression which had long existed in the minds of many that Sebastopol could not be taken by assault, considering the position of the north forts, the fleet, and the army outside, gained ground. It was generally thought that the army outside ought to have been attacked and dispersed, or that the investment of the place should be completed, before we could hope to reduce the city and the citadel. [Sidenote: A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE SHAMROCK.] But coupled with this impression was the far stronger conviction that, had our army marched upon the place on the 25th of September, it would have fallen almost without resistance. A Russian officer, who was taken prisoner and who knew the state of the city well, declared that he could not account for our "infatuation" in allowing the Russians to throw up works and regain heart, when we could have walked into the place, unless under the supposition that the hand of the Almighty was in it, and that He had blinded the vision and perverted the judgment of our generals. "And now," said he, "He has saved Sebastopol, and we, with His help, will maintain it inviolate." However, let bygones be bygones on this and other points as well--they will be matters for history and posterity. Several sea-service mortars, with a range of 3,500 yards, were sent up to the front, and the new batteries, now about to open, had the heaviest armament ever used in war. On the 17th of March the Fourth Division had races. The meeting was well attended, and had this advantage over the races at Karanyi, that the course was almost under long range fire of the forts, and that the thunder of the siege-guns rose now and then above the shouts of the crowd in the heat of the sport. Not a drunken man was visible on the course. Every face beamed with good humour and joy and high spirits. As it was St. Patrick's Day, many an officer had a bit of some sorry green substitute for a shamrock in his cap. Some thoughtful people at home had actually sent out to their friends real shamrocks by post, which arrived just in the nick of time, and an officer of my acquaintance was agreeably surprised by his servant presenting himself at his bedside with a semblance of that curious plant, which he had cut out of some esculent vegetable with a pair of scissors, and a request that he would wear it, "and nobody would ever know the differ." A melancholy accident occurred on the same night. Mr. Leblanc, surgeon of the 9th Regiment, was coming home after dark, and got outside the French lines. He was challenged; and either did not hear or understand what the man said. The Frenchman challenged again, and, receiving no reply, shot the officer dead. Heavy firing was going on at the time, and a serious affair on our right, another struggle for the pits, which the enemy had thrown up on the right opposite the French, and which our allies carried gallantly, but did not succeed in retaining. These rifle-pits, which cost both armies such a quantity of ammunition, and led to so considerable a sacrifice on the part of our allies, were placed in front and to the right and left of the Tower of Malakoff, about 600 yards from our works. They were simple excavations faced with sandbags, loopholed, and banked round with earth. Each of these pits contained about ten riflemen. Practice made these soldiers crack shots and very expert, so that if a man showed for a moment above the works in front of these pits he had instantly a small swarm of leaden hornets buzzing round his ears. They were so well covered and so admirably protected by the nature of the ground that our riflemen could do nothing with them, and the French sharpshooters were equally unsuccessful. It was determined to try a round shot or two at them from one of the English batteries. The first shot struck down a portion of the bank of one of the pits, the second went slap into the sandbags, right through the parapet, and out at the other side, and the riflemen, ignorant of Sir John Burgoyne's advice to men similarly situated to adhere the more obstinately to their work the more they are fired at by big guns, "bolted," and ran across the space to their works. The French sharpshooters, who were in readiness to take advantage of this moment, at once fired on the fugitives, but did not hit one of them. As it was made a point of honour by General Bosquet that our allies should take these pits, about 5,000 men were marched up to the base of the hills in front of our position, close to the Second and Light Divisions, before dusk on the night of the 17th, and shortly afterwards sent down to the advanced trenches on our right. At half-past six o'clock they were ordered to occupy the pits. About half-past seven o'clock the Fourth Division was turned out by Sir John Campbell, and took up its position on the hill nearly in front of its tents, Sir George Brown at the same time marched the Light Division a few hundred yards forward to the left and front of their encampment. These Divisions remained under arms for nearly four hours, and were marched back when the French finally desisted from their assault on the pits. The Second and Third Divisions were also in readiness. The Zouaves advanced with their usual dash and intrepidity, but they found that the enemy were already in possession. A fierce conflict commenced, but the French could not drive the Russians out. Some misapprehension led the men in the trenches to fire before their comrades reached the pits, and the enemy dispatched a large force to the assistance of the troops already engaged with the French, so that the latter were at last forced back. The contest was carried on incessantly for four hours and a half, and roused up the whole camp. From the almost ceaseless roll and flashing lines of light in front one would have imagined that a general action between considerable armies was going on, and the character of the fight had something unusual about it owing to the absence of any fire of artillery. Had our allies required our assistance they would have received it, but they were determined on taking and holding these pits, which, in fact, were in front of their works, without any aid. The Zouaves bore the brunt of the fight. Through the night air, in the lulls of the musketry, the voices of the officers could be distinctly heard cheering on the men, and encouraging them--"_En avant, mes enfans!_" "_En avant, Zouaves!_" the tramp of feet and the rush of men followed; then a roll of musketry was heard, diminishing to rapid file-firing--then a Russian cheer--then more musketry--dropping shots--and the voices of the officers once more. The French retired, with the loss of about 150 men killed and wounded, and a few prisoners. [Sidenote: SERVICES OF SIR JOHN BURGOYNE.] On the 18th a force, computed to number about 15,000 men, entered Sebastopol from the north side. Large trains of carts and waggons were seen moving round towards the Belbek, and a considerable force bivouacked by the waterside below the citadel. About the same time a portion of the army of Inkerman, numbering, according to the best calculations, 15,000, marched down towards Mackenzie's Farm, and was reported to have crossed the Tchernaya and to have gone towards Baidar. About four o'clock, General Canrobert, attended by a small staff and escort, passed down the Woronzo Road by our right attack, and carefully examined the position of the "pits," and the works of the Mamelon and of the square redoubt to its right. At nightfall a strong force of French, with six field-guns of "12," were moved down on the left of their extreme right, and another attempt was made to take the pits from the Russians, but it was not successful. Both parties retired from the contest, after an hour's combat. Our batteries pitched shot and shell right into the Mamelon, which the Russians were fortifying rapidly, and they also threw some excellently-aimed missiles into the new pits which the Russians had erected on the ground where the French were so severely handled some nights before. This redoubt had been armed. It was square, and mounted sixteen guns on the three faces visible to us. The fire at Inkerman, of the forts across the Tchernaya, and of the works of the Malakoff covered this redoubt, and converged on the approaches in front. Nearly all the firing during the night of the 19th was from the French mortars. The enemy scarcely replied. Important changes now took place among the generals. On the 21st Sir John Burgoyne left the camp and proceeded to Kamiesch, where he took passage by the mail steamer to England. All kinds of opinions and acts had been attributed to Sir John while he was superintending the earlier operations of the siege, but no one ever denied the entire devotion and zeal which the veteran General displayed in the prosecution of the works so far as he could control them. If his manner exhibited that stoical apathy and indifference which distinguish the few remaining disciples of "the Great Duke," his activity and personal energy were far beyond his years. He was succeeded by Major-General Jones, who possessed activity and energy, and it was hoped that these two appointments would contribute to the improvement of the social and internal economy of the army, and to the accomplishment of the objects of the expedition. The name of the Adjutant-General Estcourt was no longer appended to the general orders. It was the Chief of the Staff, General Simpson, who waited on Lord Raglan each day to ascertain his wishes, and to receive orders, and he communicated those orders to the Quartermaster and Adjutant-General, and saw that they were duly executed. The Engineer officers alleged there was great difficulty in finding men to execute the necessary works, notwithstanding the improved condition of our army and the diminution of work and labour which had taken place since the co-operation of the French on our right. We frequently had not more than 900 men for duty in the trenches of the left attack, although it was considered that they ought to be defended by at least 1,200 men, and that 1,500 men would be by no means too many for the duty. I saw one parallel in which the officer on duty was told to cover the whole line of work. He had about 340 men with him, and when he had extended his line they were each nearly thirty paces apart. This was in a work exposed to attack at any moment. Notwithstanding the ground taken by the French, we were obliged to let the men stay for twenty-four hours at a time in the trenches. On an average the men had not more than three nights out of seven in bed. The French had five nights out of seven in bed. With reference to the observations which were made at home on the distribution of labour between the two armies, it must be borne in mind that when the French and English first broke ground before Balaklava we were as strong as our allies, and that it was some time after the siege began ere the relative proportions of the two armies were considerably altered to the advantage of the French by the arrival of their reinforcements. On the 22nd a furious fight raged along our front. About nine o'clock 8,000 Russians disposed themselves in the hollows of the ground, and waited patiently till nightfall. Between eleven and twelve o'clock they rushed on the French works in front of the Mamelon, and made a dash at the trenches connecting our right with the French left. Their columns came upon the men in our advanced trenches on the right attack, with the bayonet, before we were quite prepared to receive them. When they were first discerned, they were close, and, on being challenged, replied with their universal shibboleth, "Bono Franciz." Taken at a great disadvantage, and pressed by superior numbers, the 7th and 97th guarding the trenches made a vigorous resistance, and drove the Russians out at the point of the bayonet, but not until they had inflicted on us serious loss, not the least being that of Captain Vicars of the 97th. [Sidenote: A HAND-TO-HAND STRUGGLE.] The 7th Fusileers had to run the gauntlet of a large body of the enemy, whom they drove back _à la fourchette_. The 34th Regiment were attacked by great numbers, and their Colonel, Kelly, was taken prisoner, and carried off by the enemy. In the midst of the fight, on our right, where the trench guards were at first repulsed, Major Gordon, of the Royal Engineers, displayed that cool courage and presence of mind which never forsook him. With a little switch in his hand, standing up on the top of the parapet, he encouraged the men to defend the trenches, and hurl down stones upon the Russians. He was struck by a ball which passed through the lower part of his arm, and received a bullet through the shoulder. After an hour's fight the enemy were driven back; but 3 officers and 14 rank and file were killed, 2 officers and 44 rank and file wounded, and 2 officers taken prisoners. Captain Chapman of the 20th Regiment--Lieutenant Marsh, 33rd--Major Browne, 21st--Lieutenant Jordan, 34th (killed)--Captain Cavendish Browne, 7th (killed), and Captain Vicars, 97th (killed), particularly distinguished themselves in the affair. The French lost 13 officers and 171 men killed, 12 officers and 359 men wounded, and 4 officers and 83 men missing. Prince Gortschakoff admitted a loss of 8 officers and 379 men killed, and 21 officers and 982 men wounded. The hill-sides below the Round Tower and the Mamelon were covered with their dead, mingled with the bodies of the French. The dead were lying about among the gabions which had been knocked down in front of the French sap in great numbers. At the first charge at the Mortar Battery, the Russian leader, who wore an Albanian costume, and whose gallantry was most conspicuous, fell dead. It was not known how many Albanian chiefs there were with the Russians; but certainly the two who were killed led them on with intrepidity and ferocious courage. One of them, who struggled into the battery in spite of a severe wound, while his life-blood was ebbing fast, rushed at a powder-barrel and fired his pistol into it before he fell. Fortunately the powder did not explode, as the fire did not go through the wood. Another, with a cimeter in one hand and a formidable curved blade, which he used as a dagger, in the other, charged right into our ranks twice, and fell dead the second time, perforated with balls and bayonets. They were magnificently dressed, and were supposed to be men of rank. When the Mortar Battery was carried, the enemy held it for about fifteen minutes. At the time the heavy fire between the French and Russians was going on, a portion of the 90th Regiment were employed on fatigue duty on the right of the new advanced works on our right attack. They were in the act of returning to their posts in the Gordon Battery just at the moment the heavy firing on the right had ceased, when a scattered irregular fusillade commenced in the dark on the left of their position close to the Mortar Battery. Captain Vaughton, who commanded the party of the 90th, ordered his men to advance along the covered way to the works. They moved at the double time, and found the Russians in complete possession of the Mortar Battery. The 90th at once opened a heavy fire of musketry, when an alarm was given that they were firing upon the French; but the enemy's fire being poured in with deadly effect, the small party of the 90th were thrown into great confusion. With a loud "hurrah," however, the gallant band sprang with the bayonet upon the enemy, who precipitately retired over the parapet. In order to keep up the fire, the men groped about among the dead Russians, and exhausted the cartridges in the enemy's pouches. As an act of justice, the names of the officers and men of the party of the 90th Regiment whose conduct was distinguished in this affair should be recorded. They are--Clarke, Brittle, and Essex (sergeants), Caruthers, severely wounded (corporal), Fare, Walsh, Nicholson (wounded), and Nash. Captain Vaughton received a severe contusion in the affair. The courage displayed by Captain Cavendish Browne, of the 7th, in another part of the works, was conspicuous. He was severely wounded at the commencement of the attack, but he refused to go to the rear, though nearly fainting from loss of blood. He led on his men, encouraging them by voice and gesture, to the front. When his body was found, it lay far in advance of our line, with three balls in the chest. Early on Saturday morning a flag of truce was sent in by the allies with a proposition to the Russians for an armistice to bury the dead, lying in numbers--five or six Russians to every Frenchman and Englishman--in front of the Round Tower and Mamelon, and after some delay, an answer in the affirmative was returned, and it was arranged that two hours should be granted for collecting and carrying away the dead on both sides. The news spread through the camps, and the races which the Chasseurs d'Afrique had got up in excellent style were much shorn of their attractions by the opportunity afforded of meeting our enemies upon neutral ground. The day was beautifully bright and warm. White flags waved gently in the faint spring breeze above the embrasures of our batteries, and from the Round Tower and Mamelon. Not a soul had been visible in front of the lines an instant before the emblems of peace were run up to the flagstaffs, and a sullen gun from the Mamelon and a burst of smoke from Gordon's batteries had but a short time previously heralded the armistice. The instant the flags were hoisted, friend and foe swarmed out of the embrasures. The Riflemen of the allies and of the enemy rose from their lairs in the rifle pits, and sauntered towards each other to behold their grim handiwork. The whole of the space between the Russian lines and our own was filled with groups of unarmed soldiery. Passing down by the Middle Picket Ravine, which was then occupied by the French, and which ran down in front of the Light Division camp, I came out upon the advanced French trench, within a few hundred yards of the Mamelon. The sight was strange beyond description. French, English, and Russian officers were walking about saluting each other courteously as they passed, and occasionally entered into conversation, and a constant interchange of little civilities, such as offering and receiving cigar-lights, was going on. Some of the Russian officers were evidently men of high rank and breeding, their polished manners contrasted remarkably with their plain, and rather coarse clothing. They wore the invariable long grey coat over their uniforms. Many of the Russians looked like English gentlemen in face and bearing. One tall, fine-looking old man, with a long grey beard and strangely shaped cap, was pointed out to us as Hetman of the Cossacks in the Crimea. The French officers were all _en grande tenue_, and offered a striking contrast to many of our own officers, who were still dressed _à la_ Balaklava, and wore uncouth head-dresses, cat-skin coats, and nondescript paletots. The Russians seemed to fraternize with the French more than with us. The men certainly got on better with our allies than with the privates of our regiments who were down towards the front. [Sidenote: A BREATHING SPACE.] While this civility was going on, we were walking over blood-stained ground, covered with evidences of recent fight, among the dead. Broken muskets, bayonets, cartouch-boxes, caps, fragments of clothing, straps and belts, pieces of shell, little pools of clotted blood, shot--round and grape--shattered gabions and sand-bags, were visible on every side. Through the midst of the crowd stalked solemn processions of soldiers bearing their departed comrades to their long home. I counted seventy-seven litters borne past me in fifteen minutes--each filled with a dead enemy. At one time a Russian with a litter stopped by a dead body, and put it into the litter. He looked round for a comrade to help him. A Zouave at once advanced with much grace and lifted it, to the infinite amusement of the bystanders; but the joke was not long-lived, as a Russian came up brusquely and helped to carry off his dead comrade. Some few French, dead, were lying far in advance among the gabions belonging to the advanced trenches, which the Russians had broken down, evidently slain in pursuit. The Russian soldiers were white-faced, many of them had powerful frames, square shoulders, and broad chests. All their dead near our lines were stripped of boots and stockings. The cleanliness of their feet, and of their coarse linen shirts, was remarkable. In the midst of this stern evidence of war, a certain amount of lively conversation began to spring up, in which the Russian officers indulged in badinage. Some of them asked our officers "when we were coming in to take the place?" others "when we thought of going away?" Some congratulated us upon the excellent opportunity we had of getting a good look at Sebastopol, as the chance of a nearer view was not in their opinion very probable. One officer asked a private confidentially in English how many men we sent into the trenches? "Begorra, only 7,000 a night, and a covering party of 10,000," was the ready reply. The officer laughed and turned away. In the town we could see large bodies of soldiery assembled at the corners in the streets, and in the public places. Probably they were ordered out to make a show of their strength. Owing to some misunderstanding or other, a little fusillade began among the riflemen on the left during the armistice, but it soon terminated. The armistice was over about three o'clock. Scarcely had the white flag disappeared behind the parapet of the Mamelon before a round shot from the sailors' battery went slap through one of the embrasures of the Russian work, and dashed up a great pillar of earth inside. The Russians at once replied, and the noise of cannon soon re-echoed through the ravines. On the night of the 26th, Captain Hill, 89th Regiment, in proceeding to post his pickets, made a mistake in the dark, and got too near the Russian pickets. He was not very well acquainted with the country, and the uncertain light deceived him. The Russians challenged, "Qui va là?" "Français!" was the reply. The two pickets instantly fired, and Captain Hill dropped. There were only two or three men with him, and they retired, taking with them the Captain's great-coat. They went a few yards to the rear to get assistance, and returned at once to the place where Captain Hill fell, but his body had been removed, and the Russian pickets had withdrawn. On Monday the 2nd of April, M. St. Laurent, Commandant of French Engineers in the right attack, was mortally wounded in the battery over Inkerman. One of the most important works of the right attack bore his name, and he did much to place that portion of our works in a most efficient state. The Russians now frequently amused themselves by shelling the camp. On the 4th, when there was a large crowd of French and English, including some of the staff, in front of the picket-house, near the Mortar Battery, suddenly a shell fell right into the midst of the group. The greater part of the assembly threw themselves down and rolled away on the ground. At last the shell burst, and one of the fragments struck and wounded a French sentry about fifty yards off. Led horses broke loose or were let go and scampered off in all directions, and as the few officers who had nerve to remain and enjoy the discomfiture of the runaways were enjoying the joke, down came another shell into the very centre of them. The boldest could not stand this, and in a few minutes not a soul was to be seen near the ground. The Military Secretary lost his cap, owing to the eccentric evolutions of his frightened quadruped, but he speedily recovered it, and that was the only loss caused by the two shells, excepting the poor fellow put _hors de combat_ for the time. [Sidenote: THE STRENGTH OF THE BRITISH.] "Cathcart's Hill," in front of the Fourth Division camp, was the favourite resort of sight-seers. The place derived its name from General Cathcart using it as a look-out station, and as his resort of a morning. The flag of the division, a red and white burgee, floated from a staff on the left front angle of the parallelogram, and two stands were erected for telescopes in front. A look-out man was stationed to observe the movements of the enemy. To the front of the flagstaff on the left was a cave in which Sir John Campbell lived. He found it a welcome refuge during the storm of the 14th of November. It was marked by a little wooden fence resting on cannon shot, around which there was an impromptu flower-garden. The General's marquee and the tents of his staff were close at hand. It commanded a view of the extreme French left towards Kamiesch, and of their approaches to the Flagstaff Battery and the crenellated wall. Taking up the view from this point on the left, the eye rested upon the mass of ruins in front of the French lines, seamed here and there with banks of earth or by walls of gabions, dotted with embrasures. This part of Sebastopol, between the sea at Artillery Bay and the Dockyard Creek, was exceedingly like portions of old London after the first burst of the Wide-Street Commissioners upon it. There was a strip of ruin the combined work of French and Russians, about two miles long and 300 or 400 yards broad, and it swept round the town like a zone. The houses inside were injured, but the tall white store-houses, the domes of churches, the porticoes of palaces, and the public buildings, shone pleasantly in the sunshine. Tier after tier of roofs rose up the crest of the hill. In front of this portion of the town the dun steppes were scarred all over by the lines of the French approaches, from which at intervals arose the smoke-wreaths of cannon or the puffs of the rifle, answered from the darker lines of the Russians in front of the city. At night this space was lighted up incessantly by the twinkling flashes of musketry. Cathcart's Hill commanded a view of the whole position, with the exception of a portion of the left attack. The ground in rear of the dark lines, serrated with black iron teeth which marked our batteries, seemed almost deserted. The soldiers sauntered about in groups just below the cover of the parapets, and a deep greyish blue line denoted the artillerymen and covering parties. In front were the Russian entrenchments and batteries with the black muzzles of the guns peering through the embrasures. The grey-coated Russians stalked about the inner parapets, busily carrying gabions and repairing the damaged works. Suddenly a thick spirt of white smoke bursts from the face of the Mamelon, the shot bounds into Gordon's Battery, knocks up a pillar of earth, and then darts forward, throwing up a cloud of dust at each ricochet. Scarcely has it struck the parapet before another burst of smoke rushes out of one of the embrasures of the Naval Battery, and a mass of whitish earth is dashed up into the air from the Mamelon. Then comes a puff from one of the French batteries on the right, and a shell bursts right in the devoted work. "Bravo the sailors!" "Well done, French!" cry the spectators. As the words leave their lips two or three guns from the Round Tower, and as many from the Mamelon, hurl shot and shell in reply. A duel of this kind, with the occasional _divertissement_ of a shell or round shot at working or covering parties, sometimes lasted all day. Now and then our sea-service mortars spoke out with a dull roar that shook the earth. After what seems nearly a minute of expectation a cloud of smoke and dust at the rear of the Round Tower denoted the effect of the terrible missiles. About twelve o'clock in the day the Russians left off work to go to dinner, and our men followed their example; silence reigned almost uninterruptedly for two hours or more, and then towards four o'clock the firing began again. Meantime our officers walked about or lounged on the hill-side, and smoked and chatted away the interval between breakfast and the hasty dinner which preceded the turn-out for twenty-four hours' vigil in the trenches. Many a hospitable cigar and invitation to lunch were given, the latter with the surer confidence, and with a greater chance of a ready acceptance, after the Crimean Army Fund had been established, and one was tolerably sure of a slice of a giant game-pie, to be washed down by a temperate draught of that glorious Welbeck ale which made the Duke of Portland's name a household word in our army. Our first railway trip, on the 5th of April, had rather an unfortunate termination. A party of the 71st Regiment, which had been sent up from Balaklava on Land Transport mules, came down before dark to Head-Quarters, where they were inspected by Lord Raglan, who kept them longer than Mr. Beatty, the engineer, desired. At last, as it was getting dark, the men got into the waggons, which proceeded down the steep incline towards Balaklava. The breaks became useless, the director managed to check the waggons, but many were severely injured. One man was killed upon the spot, and several had to undergo surgical operations.[19] CHAPTER III. Second Bombardment--Results--Visit to Balaklava--Watching the Fire--Casualties--Attitude of the Allied Fleet--Effects of the Cannonade--Turkish Infantry--Contest for the Rifle-pits--A Golden Opportunity--The Fire slackens. On Easter Monday, April 9, the allied batteries simultaneously opened fire. The English works were armed with twenty 13-inch mortars, sixteen 10-inch mortars, twenty 24-pounders, forty-two 32-pounders, fifteen 8-inch guns, four 10-inch guns, and six 68-pounders. Late on the 8th, hearing that there was nothing likely to take place on Monday, I left the front, and returned to Balaklava; but in the evening I received an intimation that fire would open at daybreak the following morning. It was then black as Erebus, and raining and blowing with violence; yet there was no choice for it but to take to the saddle and try to make for the front. No one who has not tried it can fancy what work it is to find one's way through widely-spread camps in a pitch-dark night. Each camp is so much like its fellow that it is impossible to discriminate between one and the other; and landmarks, familiar in the day-time, are lost in one dead level of blackness. So my two companions and myself, after stumbling into Turkish and French lines, into holes and out of them, found ourselves, after three hours' ride, very far indeed from our destination in the front, and glad to stop till dawn, wet and tired, at the head-quarters' camp. At four o'clock A.M. we left for the front. The horses could scarcely get through the sticky black mud into which the hard dry soil had been turned by one night's rain. Although it was early dawn, it was not possible to see a man twenty yards off. A profound silence reigned. Suddenly three guns were heard on the left towards the French lines, and then the whole line of batteries opened. The Garden and Redan Batteries came into play soon after we opened fire, but some time elapsed before the Round Tower or the Mamelon answered. The enemy were taken completely by surprise, and for half an hour their guns were weakly handled. [Sidenote: THE NEW BOMBARDMENT.] The Inkerman and Careening Bay Batteries were almost silent for three-quarters of an hour before they replied to the French batteries on our right. A driving rain and a Black Sea fog whirled over the whole camp, which resumed the miserable aspect so well known to us during the winter. Tents were blown down, and the ground, as far as it was visible, looked like a black lake, studded with innumerable pools of dun-coloured water. It was not easy, so murky was the sky and so strong the wind, to see the flashes or hear the report of the Russian guns or of the French cannon on either flank, though the spot from which I watched was within a couple of hundred yards of the enemy's range; but we could tell that our batteries in front were thundering away continuously in irregular bursts, firing some twenty-five or thirty shots per minute. Early in the morning they were firing from seventy to eighty shots per minute, but they reduced the rate of fire. The sound was not so great as that of the 17th of October. Just as the cannonade opened, the sailors came over the hills from the batteries, where they had been relieved, and a few men of the Third Division turned out of the huts to the front, evidently very much astonished at the sudden opening of the fire. On the extreme left the French batteries were firing with energy on the loopholed wall, and on the Flagstaff and Garden Batteries, which were replying very feebly. Our left attack (Greenhill or Chapman's Batteries), directed its fire principally against the Redan, which only answered by five or six guns. Our right attack (Gordon's) aided by the advanced battery and by the French redoubts, had silenced the Mamelon and fired three or four shots for every one from the Round Tower. The Russian batteries to the right of the Mamelon were voiceless. So much could be seen, when rain and mist set in once more, and shut out all, save one faint blear of yellowish haze to the west. The storm was so heavy that scarcely a soul stirred out all day. It was dark as night. Lord Raglan stationed himself at his favourite place. On Cathcart's Hill only Sir John Campbell and an aide-de-camp were visible in front of the General's tent. Colonel Dacres was the only officer in front of Cathcart's Hill when I went up, with the exception of Sir John Campbell. The rain descended in torrents, there was nothing to be seen, heard, or learnt, every one withdrew to shelter after a long and hopeless struggle with the weather. The firing slackened considerably after twelve o'clock. About five o'clock in the evening the sun descended into a rift in the dark grey pall which covered the sky, and cast a slice of pale yellow light, barred here and there by columns of rain and masses of curling vapour, across the line of batteries. The eye of painter never rested on a more extraordinary effect, as the sickly sun, flattened between bars of cloud, seemed to force its way through the leaden sky to cast one look on the plateau, lighted up by incessant flashes of light; and long trails of white smoke, tinged with fire, whirled away by the wind. The outlines of the town, faintly rendered through the mists of smoke and rain, seemed quivering inside the circling lines of fire around the familiar outlines--the green cupola and roofs, long streets and ruined suburbs, the dockyard buildings, trenches and batteries. The only image calculated to convey an idea of the actual effect is a vision of the Potteries seen at night, all fervid with fire, out of the windows of an express train. The practice from the left of the left attack and from the right of the right attack, which was more under observation than other parts of our works, was admirable. Our shell practice was not so good as it might have been, on account of bad fuzes. A large proportion burst in the air. Some of our fuzes were made in 1802. I have heard of some belonging to the last century, but some recent manufacture turned out the worst. A strange and almost unexampled accident occurred in one of our batteries. A 13-inch mortar burst into two pieces, splitting up longitudinally. One of the masses was thrown thirty yards to the right, and another to the left, and though the fragments flew along the traverses and parapet, not one person was killed or wounded. We were less fortunate in the case of the Lancaster gun, which was struck by a shot, killing and wounding severely six men. Several engineer officers declared their satisfaction at getting rid of the gun, in which they could place no confidence, on account of its wild and uncertain firing. The French silenced eight or nine guns of the Bastion du Mât (Flagstaff), and almost shut up the Inkerman Batteries. On our side we had silenced half the guns in the Redan and Malakoff, and had in conjunction with the French left the Mamelon only one out of seven guns, but the Garden, the Road, and the Barrack Batteries were comparatively uninjured, and kept up a brisk fire all day. General Bizot received a fatal wound in our right attack just as he was lamenting the thinness of our parapets. He was struck by a rifle-ball under the ear, and died shortly after, much regretted by our allies and by ourselves. The Russians, with great _sangfroid_, repaired the batteries, and appeared to have acquired confidence, but their fire was by no means so brisk as it was when the siege commenced. Omar Pasha visited Lord Raglan again on Wednesday, the 11th, and there was another council of war, at which General Canrobert and General Bosquet were present. [Sidenote: THE BOMBARDMENT CONTINUES.] The expectation which the outsiders entertained that "the fleet would go in" on the third day was not realized. At daybreak I was up at Cathcart's Hill. The view was obscured by drizzling rain, but the hulls and rigging of the steamers and line-of-battle ships were visible; and though clouds of steam were flying from the funnels, it was quite evident that the fleet had no intention of taking part in the bombardment. Their presence there had, however, the effect of drawing off a number of the Russian gunners, for the sea batteries on the north and south sides were all manned, and we could see the artillerymen and sailors inside the parapets standing by their guns. It was evident that the Russians had more than recovered from their surprise, and laboured to recover the ground they had lost with all their might. They resorted to their old practice of firing six or seven guns in a salvo--a method also adopted by the French. Large reserves of infantry were drawn up near the north forts, and the corps over Inkerman were under arms. The Russians could be seen carrying their wounded across to the north side. The cannonade continued all day uninterruptedly, but I could not see that any great change had been made in the profile of the enemy's works. Several of the embrasures in the Redan had been destroyed, and the Round Tower works were a good deal "knocked about;" but there was no reduction in the weight of the enemy's fire. Lord Raglan visited the front and spent some time examining the effects of the fire. Sir John M'Neill, Colonel Tulloch, General Pennefather, and Sir George Brown, were frequently among the spectators on the advanced mounds commanding a view of the operations. During the night the French attacked some rifle-pits at the Quarantine Cemetery, but were repulsed after a very serious affair, in which they lost 300 men; not, however, without inflicting great loss and damage on the enemy. At dawn on Thursday, the 12th, the allied batteries and the Russians recommenced. The enemy exerted themselves to repair damages during the night, replaced damaged guns, mended embrasures and parapets, and were, in fact, nearly as ready to meet our fire as they had been at any time for six months. On our side, four of the guns for the advanced parallel, which for the previous two nights we had failed to get into position, were brought down after dark, and it was expected that material results would be produced by their fire when they were in position. Orders were sent to restrict the firing to 120 rounds per gun each day. The 13-inch mortar battery fired parsimoniously one round per mortar every thirty minutes, as it requires a long time to cool the great mass of iron heated by the explosion of 16lb. of powder. The bombardment did not cease during the day, but it was not so heavy on the whole as it had been on the three previous days. At fifty minutes past four the batteries relaxed firing, renewed it at six, and the fire was very severe till nightfall. Then the bombardment commenced and lasted till daybreak. The Sailors' Brigade suffered very severely. They lost more men than all our siege-train working and covering parties put together. Up to half-past three o'clock on Friday, they had had seventy-three men killed and wounded, two officers killed, one wounded, and two or three contused. At four o'clock on Friday morning, April 13, the Russians opened a destructive fire on our six-gun battery, which was in a very imperfect state, and by concentrating the fire of twenty guns upon it, dismounted some of the pieces and injured the works severely, so as to render the battery useless. One of our 24-pounders was burst by a shot which entered right at the muzzle as the gun was being discharged. Another gun, struck by a shot in the muzzle, was split up to the trunnions, the ball then sprang up into the air, and, falling at the breech, knocked off the button. In the very heat of the fire on the 12th, a Russian walked through one of the embrasures of the Round Tower, coolly descended the parapet, took a view of the profile of the work, and sauntered back again--a piece of bravado which very nearly cost him his life, as a round shot struck within a yard of him, and a shell burst near the embrasure as he re-entered. Two divisions of Turkish infantry encamped near the English head-quarters. They mustered about 15,000 men, and finer young fellows I never saw. They had had a long march, and their sandal shoon afforded sorry protection against the stony ground; and yet few men fell out of the ranks. One regiment had a good brass band, which almost alarmed the bystanders by striking up a quick step (waltz) as they marched past, in excellent style, but the majority of the regiments were preceded by musicians with drums, fifes, and semicircular thin brass tubes, with wide mouths, such as those which may have tumbled the walls of Jericho, or are seen on the sculptured monuments of primæval kings. The colonel and his two majors rode at the head of each regiment, and followed by pipe-bearers and servants, richly dressed, on small but spirited horses, covered with rich saddle-cloths. The mules, with the tents, marched on the right--the artillery on the left. Each gun was drawn by six horses. The two batteries consisted of four 24lb. brass howitzers, and two 9lb. brass field pieces; the carriages and horses were in a very serviceable state. The ammunition boxes were rather coarse and heavy. The baggage animals of the division marched in the rear, and the regiments marched in columns of companies three deep, each company on an average with a front of twenty rank and file. One of the regiments had Minié rifles of English make; the others were armed with flint firelocks, but they were very clean and bright. They displayed standards, blazing with cloth of gold, and flags with the crescent and star upon them. The men carried blankets, squares of carpet for prayer, cooking utensils, and packs of various sizes and substances. As they marched over the undulating ground they presented a very picturesque and warlike spectacle, the reality of which was enhanced by the thunder of the guns at Sebastopol, and the smoke-wreaths from shells bursting high in the air. At a council of war on the 13th, the question of assaulting the place was discussed, but Lord Raglan and the other English generals who were in favour of doing so were overruled by General Canrobert and General Niel. Omar Pasha, attended by his suite, rode round the rear of our batteries on the 15th, and Lord Raglan visited the Turkish encampment on the hills to the west of the Col de Balaklava. [Sidenote: THE BOMBARDMENT CONTINUES.] On Saturday night (14th), there was a severe and protracted conflict on the left, for the French rifle-pits in front of the Quarantine Works. At first, the weight of the columns which swept out of the enemy's lines bore back the French in the advanced works, where the covering parties were necessarily thin, and many lost their lives by the bayonet. Our allies, having received aid, charged the Russians into their own lines, to which they fled with such precipitation that the French entered along with them, and could have spiked their advanced guns had the men been provided with the means. As they were retiring, the enemy made a sortie in greater strength than before. A sanguinary fight took place, in which the bayonet, the musket-stock, and the bullet were used in a pell-mell struggle, but the French asserted their supremacy, and in defiance of the stubborn resistance of the Russians, evoked by the cries and example of the officers, forced them battling back across their trenches once more, and took possession of the rifle-pits, which they held all night. The loss of our allies was considerable in this brilliant affair. The energy and spirit with which the French fought were beyond all praise. The next morning our advanced batteries were armed with fourteen guns. They opened at daybreak, and directed so severe a fire against the Russian batteries throughout the day, that they concentrated a number of guns upon the two batteries. We nevertheless maintained our fire. At half-past eight o'clock in the evening (15th), three mines, containing 50,000 pounds of powder, were exploded with an appalling crash, in front of the batteries of the French, seventy yards in front of the third parallel. The fourth and principal mine was not exploded, as it was found to be close to the gallery of a Russian mine, and the French were unable to make such a lodgment as was anticipated; but they established themselves in the course of the night in a portion of the outer work. The _etonnoirs_ were, after several days' hard labour and nights of incessant combat, connected with the siege works. The Russians, believing the explosion to be the signal for a general assault, ran to their guns, and for an hour their batteries vomited forth prodigious volumes of fire against our lines from one extremity to the other. The force and fury of their cannonade was astonishing, but notwithstanding the length and strength of the fire, it caused but little damage to the works or to their defenders. Next day the magazine of our eight-gun battery in the right attack was blown up by a shell, and seven of our guns were silenced, but the eighth was worked with great energy by Captain Dixon, R. A., who commanded in the battery. On the 17th, the 10th Hussars arrived, and five hundred sabres were added to the strength of our cavalry. Our fire had much diminished by the 18th of April. The Russian fire slackened just in proportion as they found our guns did not play upon them. The French batteries also relaxed a little. In the night we carried a rifle-pit in front of our right attack, and commenced a sap towards the Redan. The Russians made sorties on the French in the third parallel, and were only repulsed after hard fighting and loss. CHAPTER IV. A Reconnaissance by the Turks--Relics of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade--Interior of a Church--A Brush with the Cossacks--Severe Struggles for the Rifle-pits--Gallantry of the French--Grand Military Spectacle--General Canrobert addressing the Troops--Talk in the Trenches--Rumours. A reconnaissance was made by twelve battalions of Turkish troops under the command of His Excellency Omar Pasha, assisted by French and English cavalry and artillery, on the 19th. Orders were sent to the 10th Hussars (Brigadier-General Parlby, of the Light Cavalry, in temporary command of the Cavalry Division, during General Scarlett's absence), to the head-quarters of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, to the C troop of the Royal Horse Artillery, to be in readiness to turn out at daybreak. The Chasseurs d'Afrique and a French rocket troop accompanied the _reconnaissance_, and rendered excellent service during the day. As the morning was fine and clear, the sight presented by the troops advancing towards Kamara across the plain from the heights was very beautiful. So little was known about the _reconnaissance_, that many officers at head-quarters were not aware of it, till they learnt that Lord Raglan, attended by a few members of the staff, had started to overtake the troops. A great number of amateurs, forming clouds of very irregular cavalry, followed and preceded the expedition. The Pasha, who was attended by Behrem Pasha (Colonel Cannon), and several Turkish officers of rank, had the control of the movement. The Turks marched in column; the sunlight flashing on the polished barrels of their firelocks and on their bayonets, relieved the sombre hue of the mass, for their dark blue uniforms, but little relieved by facings or gay shoulder-straps and cuffs, looked quite black when the men were together. The Chasseurs d'Afrique, in powder-blue jackets, with white cartouch belts, and bright red pantaloons, mounted on white Arabs, caught the eye like a bed of flowers. Nor did the rich verdure require any such borrowed beauty, for the soil produced an abundance of wild flowering shrubs and beautiful plants. Dahlias, anemones, sweetbriar, whitethorn, wild parsley, mint, thyme, sage, asparagus, and a hundred other different citizens of the vegetable kingdom, dotted the plain, and as the infantry moved along, their feet crushed the sweet flowers, and the air was filled with delicate odours. Rectangular patches of long, rank, rich grass, waving high above the more natural green meadow, marked the mounds where the slain of the 25th of October were reposing, and the snorting horses refused to eat the unwholesome shoots that sprang there. [Sidenote: A SKIRMISH.] The skeleton of an English dragoon, said to be one of the Royals, lay extended on the plain, with tattered bits of red cloth hanging to the bones of his arms. The man must have fallen early in the day, when the Heavy Cavalry, close to Canrobert's Hill, came under fire of the Russian artillery. There was a Russian skeleton close at hand in ghastly companionship. The small bullet-skull, round as a cannon-ball, was still covered with grisly red locks. Farther on, the body of another Russian seemed starting out of the grave. The half-decayed skeletons of artillery and cavalry horses covered with rotting trappings, harness, and saddles, lay as they fell, in a _débris_ of bone and skin, straps, cloth, and buckles. From the graves, the uncovered bones of the tenants started through the soil, as if to appeal against the haste with which they had been buried. With the clash of drums and the shrill strains of the fife, with the champing of bits and ringing of steel, in all the pride of life, man and horse swept over the remnants of the dead. The relics of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, Scots Greys and Enniskillens, 4th Dragoon Guards and 5th Dragoon Guards, passed over the scene of their grand encounter with the Muscovite cavalry. The survivors might well feel proud. The 10th Hussars were conspicuous for the soldierly and efficient look of the men, and the fine condition of their light, sinewy, and showy horses. As the force descended into the plain they extended, and marched towards Kamara, spreading across the ground in front of Canrobert's Hill from No. 2 Turkish Redoubt up to the slope which leads to the village. A party of Turkish infantry followed the cavalry in skirmishing order, and on approaching the village, proceeded with great activity to cover the high wooded hill which overhung the village to the right. The Turks were preceded by a man armed with a bow and arrows, who said he was a Tcherkess. In addition to his bow and arrows, he carried a quaint old pistol, and his coat-breast was wadded with cartridges. The few Cossacks in the village abandoned it after firing a few straggling shots at the advanced skirmishers. One had been taken so completely by surprise that he left his lance leaning against a wall. An officer of the 71st espied it just as the Cossack was making a bolt to recover it. They both rode their best, but the Briton was first, and carried off the lance in triumph, while the Cossack retreated with affected pantomime, representing rage and despair. I looked into the church, the floor of which had been covered an inch in depth with copper money, when the expedition first came to Balaklava. The simple faith of the poor people in the protection of their church had not been violated by us, but the Cossacks appeared to have had no such scruples, for not a copeck was to be seen, and the church was bare and desolate, and stripped of every adornment. As soon as the Turks on the right had gained the summit of the hill above Kamara, three of the columns advanced and drew up on the slope in front of the church. A detachment was sent towards Baidar, but could see no enemy, and they contented themselves with burning a building which the Cossacks had left standing, the smoke from which led some of us to believe that a little skirmish was going on among the hills. Meantime the force, leaving three columns halted at Kamara, marched past Canrobert's Hill, the sides of which were covered with the wigwams of the Russians--some recent, others those which were burnt when Liprandi retired. They passed by the old Turkish redoubts Nos. 1 and 2, towards a very steep and rocky conical hill covered with loose stones, near the top of which the Russians had thrown up a wall about 2-1/2 feet high. A group of Cossacks and Russian officers assembled on the top to watch our movements. The Turks ascended the hill with ardour and agility, firing as they advanced, the Cossacks replied by a petty fusillade. Suddenly an arch of white smoke rose from the ground with a fierce, hissing noise, throwing itself like a great snake towards the crest of the hill; as it flew onward the fiery trail was lost, but a puff of smoke burst out on the hill-top, and the Cossacks and Russians disappeared with precipitation. In fact, the French had begun their rocket practice with great accuracy. Nothing could be better for such work as this than their light rocket troops. The apparatus was simple and portable--a few mules, with panniers on each side, carried the whole of the tubes, cases, sticks, fuzes, &c., and the effect of rockets, though uncertain, is very great, especially against cavalry; the skirmishers crowned the hill. The Russians rode rapidly down and crossed the Tchernaya by the bridge and fords near Tchorgoun. Omar Pasha, Lord Raglan, and the French generals spent some time in surveying the country, while the troops halted in rear, the artillery and cavalry first, supported by four battalions of Egyptians. At two o'clock the _reconnaissance_ was over, and the troops retired to the camp, the skirmishers of the French cavalry being followed by the Cossacks, and exchanging long shots with them from time to time, at a prudent distance. Altogether, the _reconnaissance_ was a most welcome and delightful interlude in the dull, monotonous "performances" of the siege. Every one felt as if he had got out of prison at last, and had beaten the Cossacks, and I never saw more cheering, joyous faces at a cover side than were to be seen on Canrobert's Hill. It was a fillip to our spirits to get a gallop across the greensward once more, and to escape from the hateful feeling of constraint and confinement which bores us to death in the camp. On the same night a very gallant feat of arms was performed by the 77th Regiment. In front of the Redan, opposite our right attack, the Russians had established capacious pits, from which they annoyed us considerably, particularly from the two nearest to us on the left-hand side. Round shot and shell had several times forced the Russians to bolt across the open ground to their batteries, but at night they repaired damages, and were back again as busy as ever in the morning. Our advanced battery would have been greatly harassed by this fire when it opened, and it was resolved to take the two pits, to hold that which was found most tenable, and to destroy the other. The pits were complete little batteries for riflemen, constructed with great skill and daring, and defended with vigour and resolution, and the fire from one well established within 300 or 400 yards of a battery was sufficient to silence the guns and keep the gunners from going near the embrasures. [Sidenote: DETERMINED BRAVERY.] At eight o'clock the 77th, under Lieutenant-Colonel Egerton, with a wing of the 33rd in support in the rear, moved down the traverses towards these rifle-pits. The night was dark and windy, but the Russian sentries perceived the approach of our men, and a brisk fire was at once opened, to which our troops scarcely replied, for they rushed upon the enemy with the bayonet, and, after a short struggle, drove them out of the two pits and up the slope behind them. It was while setting an example of conspicuous bravery to his men that Colonel Egerton fell mortally wounded. Once in the pits, the engineers set to work, threw up a gabionnade in front, and proceeded to connect the nearest rifle-pit with our advanced sap. The enemy opened an exceedingly heavy fire on them, and sharpshooters from the parapets and from the broken ground kept up a very severe fusillade; but the working party continued in defiance of the storm of shot which tore over them; and remained in possession of the larger of the pits. The General of the day of the right attack telegraphed to head-quarters that our troops had gained the pits, and received directions to keep them at all hazards. At two o'clock in the morning a strong column of Russians advanced against the pits, and the combat was renewed. The enemy were met by the bayonet, they were thrust back again and again, and driven up to their batteries. The pit was most serviceable, not only against the embrasures of the Redan, but in reducing the fire of the rifle-pits on its flank. A drummer boy of the 77th engaged in the _mêlée_ with a bugler of the enemy, made him prisoner and took his bugle--a little piece of juvenile gallantry for which he was well rewarded. Next night the Russians sought to reoccupy the pits, but were speedily repulsed; the 41st Regiment had fifteen men killed and wounded. The pit was finally filled in with earth, and re-abandoned. On the 24th a council of war was held at head-quarters, and it was resolved to make the assault at 1 P.M. on the 28th. The English were to attack the Redan; the French the Ouvrages Blancs, Bastion du Mât, Bastion Centrale, and Bastion de la Quarantaine. In the course of the evening General Canrobert, however, was informed by the French admiral, that the French army of Reserve would arrive from Constantinople in a week,--it was said, indeed, the Emperor would come out to take the command in person, and the assault was deferred. During the night of the 24th the Russians came out of the Bastion du Mât (Flagstaff battery) soon after dark, and began excavating rifle-pits close to the French. Our allies drove them back at the point of the bayonet. The enemy, stronger than before, returned to their labour, and, covered by their guns, succeeded in making some progress in the work, finally, after a struggle which lasted from eight o'clock till three o'clock in the morning, and prodigious expenditure of ammunition. The French loss was estimated at 200. The Russians must have lost three times that number, judging from the heavy rolling fire of musketry incessantly directed upon them. In the morning it was discovered that the enemy were in possession of several pits, which they had succeeded in throwing up in spite of the strenuous attempts made to dislodge them. On the 25th General Canrobert sent to inform Lord Raglan that in consequence of the information he had received of the probable arrival of the Emperor, and of the Imperial Guard and reinforcements to the strength of 20,000 men, he resolved not to make the assault on the 28th. On the 26th General Bosquet's army of observation, consisting of forty-five battalions of infantry, of two regiments of heavy dragoons, and of two regiments of Chasseurs d'Afrique, with sixty guns, were reviewed by General Canrobert, who was accompanied by a large and very brilliant staff, by several English generals, and by an immense "field" of our officers on the ridge of the plateau on which the allies were encamped. The troops took ground from the point opposite the first Russian battery over Inkerman to the heights above the scene of the battle of Balaklava on the 25th of October. The ground was too limited to contain such a body of men even in dense column, and a double wall of battalions. General Canrobert, his hat trimmed with ostrich plumes, his breast covered with orders, mounted on a spirited charger, with a thick stick under his arm, followed by a brilliant staff, his "esquire" displaying a tricolor guidon in the air, attended by his escort and a suite of generals, passed along the lines. The bands struck up _Partant pour la Syrie_. The vivandières smiled their best. The golden eagles, with their gorgeous standards, were lowered. As soon as General Canrobert had reviewed a couple of divisions, there was "an officers' call." The officers formed a square, General Canrobert, riding into the centre, addressed them with much elocutionary emphasis respecting the speedy prospect of active operations against the place, which he indicated by the illustration, "If one wants to get into a house, and cannot get in at the door, he must get in at the window." [Sidenote: AN AMUSING COLLOQUY.] The address was listened to, however, with profound silence. The General and staff took up ground near the centre of the position, and regiment after regiment marched past. A sullen gun from the enemy, directed towards the nearest column from the battery over the Tchernaya, denoted the vigilance of the Russians, but the shot fell short against the side of the plateau. The troops--a great tide of men--the coming of each gaudy wave heralded over the brow of the hill, crested with sparkling bayonets, by the crash of martial music--rolled on for nearly two hours. Chasseurs à pied, infantry of the line, Zouaves, Voltigeurs, and Arabs passed on column after column, till the forty-five battalions of gallant Frenchmen had marched before the eyes of him who might well be proud of commanding them. The Chasseurs Indigènes, their swarthy faces contrasting with their white turbans, clad in light blue, with bright yellow facings and slashing, and clean gaiters and greaves, showed like a bed of summer flowers; the Zouaves rushed by with the buoyant, elastic, springing tread which reminded one of Inkerman; nor was the soldier-like, orderly, and serviceable look of the line regiments less worthy of commendation. Then came the roll of the artillery, and in clouds of dust, rolling, and bumping, and jolting, the sixty guns and their carriages had gone by. The General afterwards rode along the lines of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, and of the two regiments of dragoons, which went past at a quick trot. It was said that there were 2,000 horsemen in the four regiments. They certainly seemed fit for any duty that horse and man could be called upon to execute. The horses, though light, were in good condition, particularly those of the Chasseurs d'Afrique. The inspection terminated shortly after six o'clock. Each regiment, as it defiled past the General, followed the example of the colonel, and cried "_Vive l'Empereur!_" Next day the General reviewed Pelissier's corps, in rear of the trenches, and passed through the 40,000 men of which it consisted, using much the same language as the day previously. Up to the 27th there was no material change in the position of the allied armies before Sebastopol, or in the attitude of the enemy within and outside the city. Every night there was the usual expenditure of ammunition. Nothing, indeed, was more difficult to ascertain than the particulars of these nocturnal encounters. After a cannonade and furious firing, which would keep a stranger in a state of intense excitement all night, it was common to hear some such dialogue as this the following morning:--"I say, Smith, did you hear the row last night?" "No, what was it?" "Oh, blazing away like fury. You don't mean to say you didn't hear it?" "Not a sound; came up from the trenches last night, and slept like a top." "Hallo, Jones," (to a distinguished 'cocked hat' on horseback, riding past,) "tell us what all the shindy was about last night." "Shindy, was there? By Jove, yes; I think I did hear some firing--the French and the Russians as usual, I suppose." "No, it sounded to me as if it was in front of our right attack." "Ah, yes--well--I suppose there was something." Another thinks it was on the left, another somewhere else, and so the matter ends, and rests for ever in darkness unless the _Invalide Russe_, the _Moniteur_, or the _Gazette_ throw their prismatic rays upon it. I need not say that all minute descriptions of charges or of the general operations of war conducted at night are not trustworthy. Each man fancies that the little party he is with bears the whole brunt of the work, and does all the duty of repulsing the enemy; and any one who takes his narrative from such sources will be sure to fall into innumerable errors. From the batteries or from the hills behind them one can see the flashes flickering through the darkness, and hear the shouts of the men--but that is all--were he a combatant he would see and hear even less than the spectator. In a day or two after the affair was over, one might hear what really had taken place by taking infinite pains and comparing all kinds of stories. It was, in fact, a process of elimination. Nothing afforded finer scope to the exercise of fancy than one of these fights in the dark--it was easy to imagine all sorts of incidents, to conceive the mode of advance, of attack, of resistance, of retreat, or of capture, but the recital was very inconsistent with the facts. The generals whose tents were near the front adopted the device of placing lines of stones radiating from a common centre towards the principal points of the attack, so as to get an idea of the direction in which the fire was going on at night. Even that failed to afford them any very definite information as to the course of the fight. CHAPTER V. May-day in the Crimea--New Works--A tremendous Conflict--Movement of Russians--Sorties against the French--The abortive Kertch Expedition--Recal--The Russians repulsed--Fire from the Batteries--Arrival of the Sardinians--Second Expedition--Departure--Disembarkation--Capture of Kertch and Yenikale--Depredations--Destruction--"Looting"--Return to the Crimea. The May-day of 1854 in the Crimea was worthy of the sweetest and brightest May Queen ever feigned by the poets in merry England! A blue sky, dotted with milk-white clouds, a warm, but not too hot a sun, and a gentle breeze fanning the fluttering canvas of the wide-spread streets of tents, here pitched on swelling mounds covered with fresh grass, there sunk in valleys of black mould, trodden up by innumerable feet and hoofs, and scattered broadcast over the vast plateau of the Chersonese. It was enough to make one credulous of peace, and to listen to the pleasant whispers of home, notwithstanding the rude interruption of the cannon before Sebastopol. This bright sun, however, developed fever and malaria. The reeking earth, saturated with dew and rain, poured forth poisonous vapours, and the sad rows of mounds, covered with long lank grass, which, rose above the soil, impregnated the air with disease. As the atmosphere was purged of clouds and vapour, the reports of the cannon and of the rifles became more distinct. The white houses, green roofs, the domes and cupolas of Sebastopol stood out with tantalizing distinctness against the sky, and the ruined suburbs and masses of rubbish inside the Russian batteries seemed almost incorporated with the French intrenchments. [Sidenote: DESPERATE FIGHTING.] A very brilliant exploit was performed by seven battalions of French infantry, in which the 46th Regiment were particularly distinguished, during the night and morning of the 1st and 2nd of May. The enemy, alarmed by the rapid approaches of the French, had commenced a system of counter approaches in front of the Bastion of the Quarantine, Central Bastion, and Bastion du Mât, which were assuming enormous proportions. General Pelissier demanded permission to take them. General Canrobert, whose indecision increased every day, at last gave orders for the assault. Three columns rushed out of the works shortly before seven o'clock P.M. The Russians came out to meet them--a tremendous conflict ensued, in which the French, at last, forced the Russians back into the works, followed them, stormed the outworks of the Batterie Centrale, and took off nine cohorns. In this affair, which lasted till two o'clock A.M., the French had nine officers put _hors de combat_, sixty-three men killed, and two hundred and ten wounded. On the 2nd of May, at half-past two P.M., Russian troops, in three divisions, each about 2,500 strong, were seen marching into Sebastopol from the camp over the Tchernaya. A very large convoy of carts and pack animals also entered the town in the course of the day, and an equally numerous string of carts and horses left for the interior. The day was so clear that one could almost see the men's faces through the glass. The officers were well mounted, and the men marched solidly and well. Numbers of dogs preceded and played about the line of march, and as they passed by the numerous new batteries, at which the Russians were then working night and day, the labourers saluted the officers and stood gazing on the sight, just as our own artisans would stare at a body of troops in some quiet English town. About four o'clock P.M., it was observed by us that the enemy was forming in column in the rear of the Bastion du Mât. A few moments afterwards, about 2,000 men made a rush out of the Batterie Centrale, and with a loud cheer flung themselves on the French trenches. For a moment their numbers and impetuosity enabled them to drive the French out of the works as far as the parallel, but not without a desperate resistance. The smoke soon obscured the scene of the conflict from sight, but the French could be seen advancing rapidly along the traverses and covered ways to the front, their bayonets flashing through the murky air in the sun. In a few moments the Russians were driven back behind their entrenchments, which instantly opened a heavy cannonade. Several Russian officers were taken prisoners. The enemy did not succeed in their object. Next day there was a truce; 121 French were found on the ground, and 156 Russians were delivered to their burial parties. While this affair was taking place our horseraces were going on behind Cathcart's Hill. The monotony of the siege operations was now broken. On the 3rd of May, the 42nd, 71st, and 93rd, part of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, two companies of Sappers and Miners, 700 of the 71st Highland Light Infantry, one battery of Artillery, 50 of the 8th Hussars, and the First Division of the First Corps of the French army under D'Autemarre, sailed from Kamiesch and Balaklava; the whole force being under the command of Sir George Brown. The fleet, consisting of about forty sail, with these 12,000 men on board, arrived at the rendezvous, lat. 44·54, long. 36·28, on Saturday morning. There an express steamer, which left Kamiesch on Friday night with orders from General Canrobert, directed the immediate return of the French, in consequence of a communication from the Emperor at Paris, which rendered it incumbent on him to concentrate the forces under his command in the Chersonese. Admiral Bruat could not venture to take upon himself the responsibility of disregarding orders so imperative and so clear, and Admiral Lyons was not in a position to imitate the glorious disobedience of Nelson. Lord Raglan gave permission to Sir George Brown to go on without the French, if he thought proper, but that gallant officer did not consider his force large enough, and would not avail himself of such a proof of his General's confidence. This abrupt termination of an expedition which was intended to effect important services, excited feelings of annoyance and regret among those who expected to win honour, glory, and position. The expedition returned on the 5th, and the troops were landed, and we began to hear further rumours of dissensions in our councils, and of differences between Lord Raglan and General Canrobert. The Emperor Napoleon had sent out a sketch of operations, to which General Canrobert naturally attached great importance, and from which Lord Raglan dissented. General Canrobert proposed that Lord Raglan should take the command of the allied armies. His lordship, after some hesitation, accepted the offer, and then proposed changes in the disposition of the two armies, to which General Canrobert would not accede. Finding himself thus compromised, Canrobert demanded permission from the Emperor to resign the command of the French army, and to take charge of a division. The Emperor acceded to the request, and General Canrobert was succeeded by General Pelissier, in command of the French army. On the 8th of May, General Della Marmora and 5,000 Sardinians arrived in the Crimea, and were attached to the English army. Two or three steamers arrived every four-and-twenty hours laden with those excellent and soldier-like troops. They landed all ready for the field, with horses, carts, &c. Their transport cars were simple, strongly made, covered vehicles, not unlike a London bread-cart, painted blue, with the words "Armata Sarda" in black letters, and the name of the regiment to the service of which it belonged. The officers were well mounted, and every one admired the air and carriage of the troops, more especially the melodramatic headdress--a bandit-looking hat, with a large plume of black cock's feathers at the side--of the "Bersaglieri." [Illustration PLAN of ODESSA. MAP SHEWING THE MILITARY ROADS & COUNTRIES BETWEEN ODESSA & PEREKOP. ] [Illustration PLAN OF THE BRITISH CAMP BEFORE SEBASTOPOL. 1855. ] About one o'clock in the morning of the 10th of May, the camp was roused by an extremely heavy fire of musketry and repeated cheering along our right attack. The elevated ground and ridges in front of the Third and Fourth Divisions were soon crowded with groups of men from the tents in the rear. It was a very dark night, for the moon had not risen, and the sky was overcast with clouds, but the flashing of small arms, which lighted up the front of the trenches, the yell of the Russians (which our soldiers christened "the Inkerman screech"), the cheers of our men, and the volume of fire, showed that a contest of no ordinary severity was taking place. For a mile and a half the darkness was broken by outbursts of ruddy flame and bright glittering sparks, which advanced, receded, died out altogether, broke out fiercely in patches in innumerable twinkles, flickered in long lines like the electric flash along a chain, and formed for an instant craters of fire. By the time I reached the front--about five minutes after the firing began--the fight was raging all along the right of our position. The wind was favourable for hearing, and the cheers of the men, their shouts, the voices of the officers, the Russian bugles and our own, were distinctly audible. The bugles of the Light Division and of the Second Division were sounding the "turn out" on our right as we reached the high ground, and soon afterwards the alarm sounded through the French camp. [Sidenote: A TERRIFIC CANNONADE.] The musketry, having rolled incessantly for a quarter of an hour, began to relax. Here and there it stopped for a moment; again it burst forth. Then came a British cheer, "Our fellows have driven them back; bravo!" A Russian yell, a fresh burst of musketry, more cheering, a rolling volley subsiding into spattering flashes and broken fire, a ringing hurrah from the front followed; and then the Russian bugles sounding "the retreat," and our own bugles the "cease firing," and the attack was over. The enemy were beaten, and were retiring to their earthworks; and the batteries opened to cover their retreat. The Redan, Round Tower, Garden and Road Batteries, aided by the ships, lighted up the air from the muzzles of their guns. The batteries at Careening Bay and at the north side of the harbour contributed their fire. The sky was seamed by the red track of innumerable shells. The French, on our right, opened from the batteries over Inkerman and from the redoubts; our own batteries sent shot and shell in the direction of the retreating enemy. The effect of this combined fire was very formidable to look at, but was probably not nearly so destructive as that of the musketry. From half-past one till three o'clock the cannonade continued, but the spectators had retired before two o'clock, and tried to sleep as well as they might in the midst of the thunders of the infernal turmoil. Soon after three o'clock A.M. it began to blow and rain with great violence, and on getting up next morning I really imagined that one of our terrible winter days had interpolated itself into the Crimean May. Soon after General Pelissier took the command, another expedition against Kertch and the Russians in the Sea of Azoff was organized. The command of the British contingent was conferred, as before, on Sir George Brown. On Tuesday evening (May the 22nd) the _Gladiator_, _Stromboli_, _Sidon_, _Valorous_, _Oberon_, and _Ardent_, anchored off Balaklava. The transports, with the British on board, hauled outside. The force consisted of 7,500 French troops, under General d'Autemarre; of 5,000 Turks, under Redschid Pasha; of 3,805 English, under Sir George Brown--namely, 864 Marines, Lieutenant-Colonel Holloway; 168 Artillery, Captains Barker, Graydon, &c.; the 42nd Highlanders, Colonel Cameron, 550 strong; the 79th Regiment of Highlanders, 430 strong, Colonel Douglas; the 93rd Highlanders, 640 strong, Lieutenant-Colonel Ainslie; the 71st Highland Light Infantry, 721 strong, Lieutenant-Colonel Denny; 50 Sappers and Miners, and 50 of the 8th Hussars, under Colonel de Salis. The staff numbered forty persons, and the Transport Corps 310 officers and men. A flying squadron was organized under the command of Captain Lyons, son of the Admiral, who was on board the _Miranda_, and consisted of the following vessels:--_Vesuvius_, Captain Osborn; _Stromboli_, Captain Cole; _Medina_, Commander Beresford; _Ardent_, Lieutenant-Commander Horton; _Arrow_, Lieutenant Jolliffe; _Beagle_, Lieutenant Hewett; _Lynx_, Lieutenant Aynsley; _Snake_, Lieutenant M'Killop; _Swallow_, Commander Crauford; _Viper_, Lieutenant Armytage; _Wrangler_, Lieutenant Risk; and _Curlew_, Commander Lambert. There are not many people who ever heard of Kertch or Yenikale since their schoolboy days until this war directed all eyes to the map of the Crimea, but these towns represented, on a small scale, those favoured positions which nature seemed to have intended for the seat of commerce and power, and in some measure resembled Constantinople, which is placed, like them, on a narrow channel between two seas, whose trade it profited by and commanded. On approaching Cape Takli Bournou, which is the south-western corner, so to speak, of the entrance to the Straits of Kertch, the traveller sees on his left a wide expanse of undulating meadow land marked all along the prominent ridges with artificial tumuli, and dotted at wide intervals with Tartar cottages and herds. The lighthouse at the cape is a civilized European-looking edifice of white stone, on a high land, some height above the water; and as we passed it on the 24th of May, we could see the men in charge of it mounted in the balcony, and surveying the proceedings of the fleet through telescopes. On the right of the Straits, or, in other words, at the south-eastern extremity, the coast of Taman--famed for its horses, its horsemen, and its buckwheat--offered a varied outline of steep cliffs, or of sheets of verdure descending to the water's edge, and the white houses and steeples of Fanagoria could be seen in the distance. The military road to Anapa wound along a narrow isthmus further south on the right, below the narrow Strait of Bourgas, leading to one of the estuaries which indented the land in all directions in this region of salt lakes, isthmuses, and sandbanks. From Cape Takil to the land on the opposite side of the Straits the distance is about seven miles and a half. The country on both sides, though bright and green, had a desolate aspect, in consequence of the absence of trees, and enclosures, but the numberless windmills on both sides of the Strait proved the fertility of the soil and the comfortable state of the population. From Cape Takil to Ambalaki, where the expeditionary forces landed, the distance was about twelve miles. It was a poor place, built on a small cliff over the sea, which at the south side swept down to the beach by the margin of a salt-water lake. As there was no force to oppose the landing, the men were easily disembarked on a sandy beach, out of range of the batteries, and close to the salt-water lake. This movement threatened to take the Russians who were in the batteries in the rear, and to cut off their communication with Kertch, which was situated in a bay, concealed from the view of Ambalaki by the Cape of Ak-Bournou. [Sidenote: AN EXCITING CHASE.] At forty minutes past one P.M., on approaching Kara-Bournou, a huge pillar of white smoke rushed up towards the skies, opened out like a gigantic balloon, and then a roar like the first burst of a thunder-storm told us that a magazine had blown up. At a quarter past two another loud explosion took place, and a prodigious quantity of earth was thrown into the air along with the smoke. A third magazine was blown up at twenty-five minutes past two. A tremendous explosion, which seemed to shake the sea and air, took place about three o'clock; and at half-past, three several columns of smoke blending into one, and as many explosions, the echoes of which roared and thundered away together, announced that the Russians were destroying their last magazines. They could be seen retreating, some over the hills behind Kertch, others towards Yenikale. A most exciting scene now took place towards the northward. One of the enemy's steamers had run out of the Bay of Kertch, which was concealed from our view by the headland, and was running for the Straits of Yenikale. She was a low schooner-rigged craft, like a man-of-war, and it was uncertain whether she was a government vessel or not. And, just as she passed the cape, two Russian merchantmen slipped out and also made towards Yenikale. A gunboat dashed after her across the shallows. At the same moment a fine roomy schooner came bowling down with a fair breeze from Yenikale, evidently intending to aid her consort, and, very likely, despising the little antagonist which pursued her. The gunboat flew on and passed the first merchantman, at which she fired a shot, by way of making her bring-to. The forts at Kertch instantly opened, shot after shot splashed up the water near the gunboat, which kept intrepidly on her way. As the man-of-war schooner ran down towards the Russian steamer, the latter gained courage, slackened her speed, and lay-to as if to engage her enemy. A sheet of flame and smoke rushed from the gunboat's sides, and her shot flying over the Russian, tossed up a pillar of water far beyond her. Alarmed at this taste of her opponent's quality, and intimation of her armament, the Russian took flight, and the schooner wore and bore away for Yenikale again, with the gunboat after both of them. Off the narrow straits between Yenikale and the sandbank as the English gunboat, which had been joined by another, ran towards them, a Russian battery opened upon her from the town. The gunboats still dashed at their enemies, which tacked, wore, and ran in all directions, as a couple of hawks would harry a flock of larks. Sir Edmund Lyon sent off light steamers to reinforce the two hardy little fellows, the French steamers also rushed to the rescue. The batteries on the sandbank were silenced; they blew up their magazines, and the fort at Yenikale soon followed their example. There was a pretty strong current running at the rate of about three miles an hour over the flats off the town of Yenikale, and the water was almost as turbid as that of the Thames, and of a more yellow hue, as it rushed from the Sea of Azoff. Two gunboats, carrying twelve small pieces each, were moored off the forts of Yenikale, and there was a floating battery close to them armed with two very heavy guns, the floor being flush with the water, and the guns quite uncovered. One man was found dead in the battery at Yenikale, lying, as he fell, with the match in his hand, close to the gun he was about to fire, and two more Russians were found dead on the beach, but they looked as if they had been killed by the explosion of the magazine. The guns in Yenikale were new and fine. Some of them were mounted on a curious kind of swivel--the platforms were upon the American principle. One brass piece, which was lying near the guard-house, was said to have been taken from the Turks at Sinope. Two barks, armed on the main-deck with guns, and used as transports, were resting on the sand, where they had been sunk by our ships as they attempted to escape to the Sea of Azoff. It was suspected that there were few regular troops in proportion to the numbers in and about Kertch and Yenikale, and that there was a large proportion of invalids, local militia men, and pensioners among the soldiers who made such a feeble and inglorious defence. The appearance of our armada as it approached must have been most formidable. The hospital, which was in excellent order, contained sick and wounded soldiers, the former suffering from rheumatism, the latter sent from Sebastopol. The enemy fired the magazine close at hand without caring for these unfortunate fellows, and every pane of glass in the windows was shattered to pieces by the explosion. The total number of guns taken at Yenikale was about twenty-five, of which ten were in a battery inside the old Genoese ramparts, four in a detached battery, and eleven lying partially dismounted about the works. At about half-past six o'clock the batteries in the Bay of Kertch ceased firing, and the Russians abandoned the town. Dark pillars of smoke, tinged at the base with flame, began to shoot up all over the hill-sides. Some of them rose from the government houses and stores of Ambalaki, where we landed; others from isolated houses further inland; others from stores, which the retreating Russians destroyed in their flight. Constant explosions shook the air, and single guns sounded here and there continuously throughout the night. Here a ship lay blazing on a sandbank; there a farm-house in flames lighted up the sky, and obscured the pale moon with volumes of inky smoke. [Sidenote: A GENERAL "LOOT."] As there was nothing to be done at sea, the ships being brought to anchor far south of the scene of action with the gunboats, it was resolved to land at the nearest spot, which was about one mile and a half or two miles from Pavlovskaya Battery. A row of half a mile brought us from our anchorage, where the ship lay, in three fathoms, to a beautiful shelving beach, which was exposed, however, only for a few yards, as the rich sward grew close to the brink of the tideless sea. The water at the shore, unaffected by the current, was clear, and abounded in fish. The land rose abruptly, at the distance of 200 yards from the beach, to a ridge parallel to the line of the sea about 100 feet in height, and the interval between the shore and the ridge was dotted with houses, in patches here and there, through which the French were already running riot, breaking in doors, pursuing hens, smashing windows--in fact, "plundering," in which they were assisted by all of our men who could get away. Highlanders, in little parties, sought about for water, or took a stray peep after a "bit keepsake" in the houses on their way to the wells, but the French were always before them, and great was the grumbling at the comparative license allowed to our allies. The houses were clean outside and in--whitewashed neatly, and provided with small well-glazed windows, which were barely adequate, however, to light up the two rooms of which each dwelling consisted, but the heavy sour smell inside was most oppressive and disagreeable; it seemed to proceed from the bags of black bread and vessels of fish oil which were found in every cabin. Each dwelling had out-houses, stables for cattle, pens, bakeries, and rude agricultural implements outside. The ploughs were admirably described by Virgil, and a reference to _Adams's Antiquities_ will save me a world of trouble in satisfying the curiosity of the farming interest at home. Notwithstanding the great richness of the land, little had been done by man to avail himself of its productiveness. I never in my life saw such quantities of weeds or productions of such inexorable ferocity towards pantaloons, or such eccentric flowers of huge dimensions, as the ground outside these cottages bore. The inhabitants were evidently graziers rather than agriculturists. Around every house were piles of a substance like peat, which is made, we were informed, from the dung of cattle, and is used as fuel. The cattle, however, had been all driven away. None were taken that I saw, though the quantity which fed in the fields around must have been very great. Poultry and ducks were, however, captured in abundance, and a party of Chasseurs, who had taken a huge wild-looking boar, were in high delight at their fortune, and soon despatched and cut him up into junks with their swords. The furniture was all smashed to pieces; the hens and ducks, captives to the bow and spear of the Gaul, were cackling and quacking piteously as they were carried off in bundles from their homes by Zouaves and Chasseurs. Every house we entered was ransacked, and every cupboard had a pair of red breeches sticking out of it, and a blue coat inside of it. Vessels of stinking oil, bags of sour bread, casks of flour or ham, wretched clothing, old boots, beds ripped up for treasure, the hideous pictures of saints on panelling or paper which adorned every cottage, with lamps suspended before them, were lying on the floors. Droles dressed themselves in faded pieces of calico dresses or aged finery lying hid in old drawers, and danced about the gardens. One house, which had been occupied as a guard-house, and was marked on a board over the door "No. 7 Kardone," was a scene of especial confusion. Its inmates had evidently fled in great disorder, for their greatcoats and uniform jackets strewed the floors, and bags of the black bread filled every corner, as well as an incredible quantity of old boots. A French soldier, who, in his indignation at not finding anything of value, had with great wrath devastated the scanty and nasty-looking furniture, was informing his comrades outside of the atrocities which had been committed, and added, with the most amusing air of virtue in the world, "_Ah, Messieurs, Messieurs! ces brigands! ils ont volés tout!_" No doubt he had settled honourably with the proprietor of a large bundle of living poultry which hung panting over his shoulders, and which were offered to us upon very reasonable terms. We were glad to return from a place which a soldier of the 71st said "A Glasgae beggar wad na tak a gift o'." In the evening the _Spitfire_ buoyed a passage past Kertch towards Yenikale, and the _Miranda_, _Stromboli_, and gunboats ran up the newly marked channel. Next morning (the 25th) the troops after a fatiguing march entered Yenikale. Mr. Williams, master of the _Miranda_, buoyed a channel into the Sea of Azoff. The allied squadrons, commanded by Captain Lyons, _Miranda_, consisted of _Curlew_, _Swallow_, _Stromboli_, _Vesuvius_, _Medina_, _Ardent_, _Recruit_, _Wrangler_, _Beagle_, _Viper_, _Snake_, _Arrow_, and _Lynx_, entered the great Russian lake in the afternoon. Captain Lyons' squadron, in the Sea of Azoff, meantime inflicted tremendous losses on the enemy. Within four days after the squadron passed the Straits of Kertch they had destroyed 245 Russian vessels employed in carrying provisions to the Russian army in the Crimea, many of them of large size, and fully equipped and laden. Some of these ships had been built for this specific purpose. Immense magazines of corn, flour, and breadstuffs were destroyed at Berdiansk and Genitchi, comprising altogether more than 7,000,000 rations, and the stores at Taganrog were set on fire, and much corn consumed. Arabat was bombarded, and the powder magazine blown up, but, as there were no troops on board the vessels, and as the Russians were in force, it seemed more desirable to Captain Lyons to urge on the pursuit of the enemy's vessels than to stay before a place which must very soon fall into our hands. At Berdiansk the enemy were forced to run on shore and burn four war steamers, under the command of Rear-Admiral Wolff. At Kertch the enemy destroyed upwards of 4,000,000lbs. of corn and 500,000lbs. of flour. [Sidenote: A FATIGUING MARCH.] Yenikale derives its importance from its position on a promontory close to the entrance of the Sea of Azoff, at the northern extremity of the Straits of Kertch. Another of the singular banks to be found in this part of the world, shooting from the north-eastern extremity of the Taman Peninsula, runs through the sea in a southerly and westerly direction for seven miles and a half towards Yenikale, and contracts the strait to the breadth of a mile and three-quarters just before it opens into the Sea of Azoff. On this bank, which is full of salt-water marshes, and is two or three miles broad in some places, the Russians had a strong battery commanding the ferry station, armed with long and heavy 36-pounders, and a number of Government buildings of a mean description, and there were great numbers of fishing huts and curing sheds also upon it. The town consisted of two parts--one a suburb of houses close to the water's edge, and commanded by a ridge of high land rising gradually from the sea. The church, a handsome building in the Byzantine style, stood on the hill-side, in the midst of this suburb. The other part consisted of the fort, which was formed by a quadrangular rampart, armed at the angles with bastions and small turrets. Each side of the square was about a quarter of a mile long. The side parallel to the sea-wall was on the top of the ridge, into which the ground rose gradually from the sea, and the sea-wall itself had at its base a broad quay by the water's edge. The ridge once gained, the country extended before one in a spacious plateau, with conical mounds and tumuli, forming natural advanced posts for vedettes in the distance. On the land side the ramparts were provided with embrasures, and were crenellated for musketry; the walls, though very old, were of great solidity, and were tolerably well preserved. Inside the enclosure were the hospital, the Government House, the barrack, the batteries, and the stores and magazines. One of the magazines which was blown up completely destroyed about two hundred feet of the curtain of the work on the land side. There were marks of ancient entrenchments outside the walls, and the moats, ditches, covered ways, &c., very well defined. The march from Ambalaki to Yenikale was most distressing. The heat of the day was overpowering, and water was scanty and bad. Of 864 Marines who landed from the fleet, four-fifths fell out on the march, the men of that gallant corps not being accustomed to such exertions. The Highlanders fell out in great numbers also, and the tailing off was extraordinary, although the distance was not six miles. When the men did arrive it was found that the tents had not come, and the soldiers were exposed to the blaze of the sun, aggravated by scarcity of water and by salt meat. The officers' baggage was left behind at Ambalaki, and many of them had to lie in their clothes on the ground in a season when night dews are heavy and dangerous. The men had their blankets; the officers had nothing. Immense quantities of caviare, of dried sturgeon, and of a coarse-scaled fish like a bream, were found in every village, and were relished by our soldiers, but they had very imperfect means of gratifying the thirst which followed, and the stores of country wine (some of it excellent, in spite of the adulteration of essence of roses) were nearly all drank up. The water of the straits was brackish, and our horses, as well as the native cattle, drank it readily, but its taste was very mawkish and disagreeable. As there was nothing doing at Yenikale, I took an opportunity of paying Kertch a visit. It is only a run of some three or four miles by sea, but the channel is very difficult. As we approached the town, long columns of gray smoke were visible rising from the corn stores, and working parties could be made out on the shore engaged in removing various articles which could be turned to the account of the allies. Sir George Brown took up his quarters in Yenikale. But the town was set on fire in two places, and it required all the exertions of the authorities to prevent the flames spreading and devastating the whole place. The houses were smashed open, the furniture broken to pieces, and "looting" and plundering were the order or the disorder of the day. Two of the 42nd Highlanders, who were in a crowd assembled round a house, were shot in a very extraordinary manner. A French soldier struck at the closed door with the butt of his musket. The concussion discharged the piece, and the ball killed one of the men on the spot, and wounded the other severely. The Austrian flag floated before one house, probably that of the Imperial Consul; but the more significant standards of France and England were waving at either end of the quay, and fluttered from numerous boats glancing over the water. The quays were guarded by a few sailors with drawn cutlasses stationed here and there, and with difficulty holding their own against refractory merchantmen. In every direction, wherever the eye turned, up or down the streets, men could be seen hurrying away with bundles under their arms, with furniture on their backs, or staggering under the influence of drink and bedding down to the line of boats which were lying at the sea-wall, laden to the thwarts with plunder. This kind of work is called by sailors "looting," from our Indian reminiscences. The fate of nearly every house of good condition was soon apparent. The windows were broken, the doors smashed open, and men went in and out like bees in a hive. All the smaller and more valuable articles had been removed, either by the Turks or by the Tartars, but big arm-chairs, pictures of the saints with metallic glories round their heads, large feather-beds, card-tables, and books in unknown tongues and type, seemed to possess a strange infatuation for Jack, and to move him as irresistibly as horseflesh. [Sidenote: TARTAR AND RUSSIAN BEAUTIES.] There were plenty of Tartars in the streets, dressed in black sheepskin cap, or white turban, with handsome jackets and wide breeches of dark silk or fine stuff, and gaudy sashes round their waists. These fellows were of the true Calmuck type--with bullet head, forehead villanously low, dark, piggish, roguish, twinkling eyes, obtuse, obstinate noses, straight lips, and globular chin. Unlike most people, they improve in looks as they grow old, for their beards, which only attain amplitude in age, then give a grisly dignity and patriarchal air to their faces. Groups of men in long lank frock-coats, long waistcoats, trousers tucked into their boots or falling down over slipshod feet, sat on the door-steps, in aspect and attire the very image of a congregation of seedy Puseyites, if such a thing could be imagined. Most of these men wore caps instead of hats, their clothing was of sober snuffy hues, to match their faces, which were sombre and dirty and sallow. Their looks were dejected and miserable, and as an Englishman or a Frenchman came near, they made haste to rise and to salute his mightiness with uncovered head and obsequious noddings and gesticulations. These were the remnants of the Russian population, but there were among them Jews, who might have stepped on any stage amid rounds of applause, in garb and face and aspect so truly Shylock-like were they, cringing, wily, and spiteful, as though they had just been kicked across the Rialto; and there was also a sprinkling of Armenians and Greeks; they were all lean and unhappy alike, and very sorry specimens of Muscovite _bourgeoisie_. Tartar women, scantily covered, were washing clothes in the sea, like tamed Hecates--withered, angular, squalid, and ugly in face and form. The Russian fair, not much more tastily clad, might be seen flitting about with an air of awkward coquetry, mingled with apprehension and dislike of the intruders, their heads covered with shawls, and their bodies with bright Manchester patterns. The boys, like boys all over the world, were merry and mischievous. They hung out of the riggings of the vessels near, pelted the street dogs, "chivied" the cats and pigeons, and rioted in the gutted houses and amid the open storehouses in the highest possible spirits, or fed ravenously on dried fish and "goodies" of various kinds, which they picked up in old drawers and boxes in the houses torn open by the "looters." The houses were well supplied with poultry, nor were pigs, rabbits, cats, dogs, and other domestic animals deficient. Each mansion was complete in itself; they were like those in the older streets of Boulogne, and the interiors were furnished somewhat in the same fashion--plenty of mirrors, and hard, inflexible, highly varnished, unsubstantial furniture, no carpets, lots of windows (doubled, by-the-by, to keep out the cold) and doors, and long corridors; the windows and doors were, however, handsomely mounted with brass work, and locks, bolts, and hinges, of great solidity, of the same metal, were exclusively used in the better rooms. The Russian stove, as a matter of course, was found in each apartment. Spacious vaults underneath the houses were often used as storehouses for corn, and the piles of empty and broken bottles marked the locality of the wine-cellar. Icehouses were attached to many residences, and their contents were very welcome to the ships. The market-place is a large piece of ground of an oval shaper surrounded by a piazza and shops and magazines of an inferior class. Most of them were shut, and fastened up, but butchers displayed some good English-looking beef, and the sounds of English revelry were very distinct from the interior of a wine-shop at the end of an arcade, where some sailors were drinking Russian champagne at 3_s._ a bottle, and smoking cheap and nasty cigars of native manufacture. Amid the distracting alphabetical mysteries of Cyrillus, which were stuck up on most of these doors, where all one's knowledge of other languages led him hopelessly astray, and where P was R, and H was N, there was sometimes an intelligible announcement that Mdlle. So-and-so was a _modiste_ from Paris, or that M. Brugger was a bootmaker "of the first force" from Vienna. The greater number of the houses in the streets were entered through a large courtyard, surrounded by the offices and out-buildings, to which admission was gained by a _porte-cochère_. There were baths, libraries, schools, literary associations, and academies in Kertch of pretensions beyond its size. All the military and civil archives of Kertch since 1824 were discovered in a boat towed by the steamer which the _Snake_ had chased, huddled up with the valuables of the Governor of Kertch. In general our army found but little plunder--they had been reined tightly in; while the French and the merchant sailors had the benefit of the pillage; but the 79th Regiment were a little fortunate in finding at the advanced post to which they were sent, near the Quarantine station, a considerable amount of plate in one of the houses. The hospital was a large, well-built, clean, and excellently ventilated building. It was situated at the outskirts of the town, and was surrounded by iron railings, inside which there was a plantation, which furnished a pleasant shade from the noontide sun to the convalescents. As we entered, some women, who were standing at the gate, retreated, and an old man, with a good clear eye, and an honest soldierly air, came forward to meet us with the word "Hospital," which he had learned as a kind of safeguard and protection against intrusion. He led the way into a dark corridor on the ground floor, on the walls of which the regulations of the establishment (in Russian) were suspended. The wards opened on each side of this corridor. The old man invited us to enter the first: it was spacious and airy, but the hospital smell of wounded men was there. Five wounded Russians and one drunken Englishman were the occupants of the chamber. Two of the Russians had been blown up when the magazines exploded. Their hands and heads were covered with linen bandages, through which holes were cut for the eyes and mouth. What could be seen of these poor wretches gave a horrible impression of their injuries and of the pain which they were enduring, but they gave no outward indication of their sufferings. Their scorched eyes rolled heavily upon the visitors with a kind of listless curiosity. The other men had been shot in various parts of the body, and had probably been sent there from Sebastopol: in one or two I recognized the old Inkerman type of face and expression. The bed and bedclothes were clean and good, and at the head of each bed black tablets of wood were fixed to receive the record of the patient's name, his disease, &c. On reaching the street we found the people returning to the town--that is, the Tartars were flocking back from the villages where they had been hiding, with bundles of property, much of which they had probably stolen from the Russian houses. [Sidenote: GREAT DESTRUCTION OF STORES.] As every wrecked house bore a strong family likeness to its fellow, we entered only one or two, and then wandered through the streets, which were almost deserted by the inhabitants during the heat of the day. Towards evening a number of wounded Russians--forty-seven, I believe--were brought down from Yenikale, whither they had been taken by the gunboats from various places along the coast, and were landed on the quay. They were subsequently sent to the hospital. The Tartar arabas and droschkies were pressed into the service. As each wounded man passed, the women crowded round to look at him out of the houses; but there was more of curiosity than compassion in their looks; and they took care to inform us they were Jews, and had no sympathy with the Muscovite. Once they stared with wonder at the taste and inborn politeness of a French soldier, who joined the group as a Russian was borne by on a litter. The man's eyes were open, and as he went past he caught sight of the Frenchman and smiled feebly, why or wherefore it is impossible for me to say, but the Frenchman at once removed his cap, made a bow to the "brave," and stood with uncovered head till the latter had been carried some yards beyond him. In the evening all the inhabitants remaining in the town flocked out of their houses and conversed at the corners of the streets, or at favourite gossip-posts. They were an unhealthy and by no means well-favoured race, whether Tartars, Greeks, Jews, or Muscovites. It must be remembered, however, that all the people of rank had fled. Some of the tradespeople, with greater confidence in our integrity than could have been expected, kept their shops open. In a well-fitted _apteka_ or apothecary's shop, we got a seidlitzy imitation of soda-water, prepared from a box, marked in English, "Improved Sodaic Powders, for Making Soda-water;" and some of our party fitted themselves at a bootmaker's with very excellent Wellingtons, for which they paid at their discretion, and according to a conqueror's tariff, 15_s._ a pair; the proprietor seemed rather apprehensive that he was not going to receive anything at all. Indeed it would have been well if the inhabitants had remained to guard their houses, instead of flying from them, and leaving them shut up and locked, the very thing to provoke the plunderer. The dockyard magazines at Kertch contained quantities of military and naval stores--boiler plates, lathes, engineers' tools, paint, canvas, hemp and chain cables, bales of greatcoats, uniform jackets, trowsers and caps, knapsacks, belts, bayonets, swords, scabbards, anchors, copper nails and bolts, implements of foundry, brass, rudder-pintles, lead, &c. The French were busy for a few days in taking the clothing, &c., out of the storehouses and destroying it. The valuable stores were divided between the allies, according to their good fortune and energy in appropriation. Numbers of old boats, of large rudders, covered with copper and hung on brass, of small guns, of shot, shell, grape, and canister, were lying in the dockyard. An infernal machine of curious construction attracted a great deal of attention. Like most devices of the kind, it had failed to be of the slightest service. Outside the walls of the dockyard, which was filled with oxen and horses, was another long range of public buildings and storehouses, which had been nearly all gutted and destroyed. Soldiers' caps, belts, coats, trowsers, cartouche-boxes, knapsacks, and canteens, were strewn all over the quay in front of them. In a word, Kertch had ceased to be a military or naval station, and the possession which Russia so eagerly coveted a few years before was of no more use to her than the snows of the Tchatir Dagh. On Friday night the work of destroying Russian stores began; the French hurled guns into the sea, tore up the platforms, and exploded the shells found in the magazines. Parties of boats were sent in all directions to secure and burn prizes, to fire the storehouses and huts on the sandbanks; by day the sky was streaked with lines of smoke, and by night the air was illuminated by the blaze of forts, houses, magazines, and vessels aground on the flats for miles around us. The Austrian Consul was found to have a large store of corn, which he concealed in magazines painted and decorated to pass as part of his dwelling-house. It was all destroyed. Amid the necessary destruction, private plunderers found facility for their work. The scene presented by the town could only be likened to that presented by Palmyra, fresh from the hands of the destroyer, or some other type of desolation. Along the quay there was a long line of walls, which once were the fronts of storehouses, magazines, mansions, and palaces. They were empty shells, hollow and roofless, with fire burning luridly within them by night, and streaks and clouds of parti-coloured smoke arising from them by day. The white walls were barred with black bands where the fire had rushed out of the window-frames. These storehouses belonged to Russians, and were full of corn--these magazines were the enemy's--these mansions belonged to their nobles and governors--and these palaces were the residences of their princes and rulers; and so far we carried on war with all the privileges of war, and used all the consequences of conquest. In the whole lengthened front facing the sea, and the wide quay which bordered it, there was not an edifice untouched but one. This was a fine mansion, with a grand semicircular front, ornamented with rich entablatures and a few Grecian pillars. The windows permitted one to see massive mirrors and the framework of pictures and the glitter of brasswork. Inside the open door an old man in an arm-chair received everybody. How deferential he was! how he bowed! how graceful, deprecatory, and soothing the modulation of his trunk and arms! But these were nothing to his smile. His face seemed a kind of laughing-clock, wound up to act for so many hours. When the machinery was feeble, towards evening, the laugh degenerated into a grin, but he had managed with nods, and cheeks wreathed in smiles, and a little bad German and French, to inform all comers that this house was specially under English and French protection, and thus to save it from plunder and pillage. The house belonged, _on dit_, to Prince Woronzoff, and the guardian angel was an aged servitor of the Prince, who, being paralytic, was left behind, and had done good service in his arm-chair. The silence of places which a few days before were full of people was exceedingly painful and distressing. It reigned in every street, almost in every house, except when the noise of gentlemen playing on pianos with their boot-heels, or breaking up furniture, was heard within the houses, or the flames crackled within the walls. In some instances the people had hoisted the French or Sardinian flag to protect their houses. That poor device was soon detected and frustrated. It was astonishing to find that the humblest dwellings had not escaped. They must have been invaded for the mere purpose of outrage and from the love of mischief, for the most miserable of men could have but little hope of discovering within them booty worthy of his notice. [Sidenote: SPIT OF ARABAT.] It was decided to occupy Pavlovskaia, because it was in a fine position to command the entrance to Kertch and Yenikale, at a place where the channel is narrowed by one of the sandbanks from Taman to the breadth of a mile and a half. Defensive lines were thrown up around Yenikale of the most massive and durable character. They enclosed the ramparts of the old town, and presented on every side towards the land a broad ditch, a steep parapet defended by redoubts, and broken into batteries, which were aided by the fire of the pieces on the walls. The point or bank of Tcherhka, opposite Yenikale, is one of the many extraordinary spits of land which abound in this part of the world, and which are, as far as I know, without example in any other country. Of all these the Spit of Arabat, which is a bank but a few feet above the water, and is in some places only a furlong in breadth, is the most remarkable. It is nearly 70 miles in length, and its average width less than half a mile from sea to sea. The bank of Tcherhka (or Savernaia Rosa), which runs for nearly eight miles in a south-westerly direction from Cape Kammenoi past Yenikale, closes up the Bay of Kertch on the west, and the Gulf of Taman on the east, is a type of these formations, and is sufficiently interesting to deserve a visit. It only differs from Arabat in size, and in the absence of the fresh-water wells which are found at long intervals on the great road from Arabat to Genitchi. It is so low that it is barely six feet above the level of the sea. A bank of sand on both sides of the spit, piled up three or four feet in height, marks the boundary of the beach. The latter, which is a bank of shingle, shells, and fine sand, is only a few yards broad, and is terminated by the sand and rank grass and rushes of the spit, which rises up a foot or two above the beach. In the interior, or on the body of the bank, there are numerous lagunes--narrow strips of water much more salt than that of the adjacent sea. Some of these are only a few yards in length and a few feet in breadth, others extend for a quarter of a mile, and are about 100 yards broad. They are all bounded alike by thick high grass and rushes. The bottom, at the depth of a few feet--often at two or three inches--consists of hard sand covered with slimy green vegetable matter. The water abounds in small flounders and dabs, and in shrimps, which jump about in wild commotion at an approaching footstep. Every lagune is covered with mallards and ducks in pairs, and the fringes of the spit are the resort of pelicans and cormorants innumerable. The silence, the dreary solitude of the scene is beyond description. Even the birds, mute as they are at the season of my visit, appeared to be preternaturally quiet and voiceless. Multitudes of old, crustaceous-looking polypous plants sprang up through the reeds; and bright-coloured flycatchers, with orange breasts and black wings, poised over their nests below them. [Sidenote: PILLAGE OF KERTCH.] The first day I went over, we landed upon the beach close to the battery which the Russians placed on the spit at the Ferry station. It consisted of a quadrangular work of sandbags, constructed in a very durable manner, and evidently not long made. In the centre of the square there was a whitewashed house, which served as a barrack for the garrison. The walls only were left, and the smoke rose from the ashes of the roof and rafters inside the shell. Our men had fired it when they landed. A pool of brackish water was enclosed by the battery, which must have been the head-quarters of ague and misery. The sailors said the house swarmed with vermin, and had a horrible odour. Nothing was found in it but the universal black bread and some salt fish. The garrison, some 30 or 40 men probably, had employed themselves in a rude kind of agriculture, and farming or pasturage. Patches of ground were cleared here and there, and gave feeble indications that young potatoes were struggling for life beneath. Large ricks of reeds and coarse grass had been gathered round the battery, but were reduced to ashes. At the distance of a hundred yards from the battery there was another whitewashed house, or the shell of it, with similar signs of rural life about it, and an unhappy-looking cat trod gingerly among the hot embers, and mewed piteously in the course of her fruitless search for her old corner. The traces of herds of cattle, which were probably driven down from the mainland to feed on the grass round the salt marshes, were abundant. There was a track beaten into the semblance of a road over the sand from the battery to Taman, and it was covered with proofs of the precipitate flight of the garrison. Pieces of uniform, bags containing pieces of the universal black bread, strings of onions, old rags, empty sacks and bottles, were found along the track, and some of our party came upon a large chest, which was full of Government papers, stamps, custom-house and quarantine dockets, stamped paper for Imperial petitions and postage, books of tariff and customs in Russian, French, German, and English, and tables of port dues, which we took away to any amount. The heat of the sun, the vapours from the salt lakes, the mosquitoes, the vermin, and the odour, must have formed a terrible combination of misery in close barracks in the dog-days, and have rendered going out, staying in, lying down, and standing up, equally desperate and uncomfortable. The enemy relied considerably on the shallow water to save him from attack, but he was also prepared with heavy metal for gunboats, such as they were in the old war, and he was no doubt astonished when the large shot from the Lancaster guns began to fall upon his works from the small hulls of our despatch gunboats. One of the gunboats which lay off the fort--a mere hulk, without masts or cordage, of 150 tons burden, with embrasures through her sides on the deck for nine small guns--was found to be filled below with the most complete series of galvanic apparatus, attached to vessels full of powder, intended to explode on contact with the keel of a vessel. The submarine machines with their strange cups and exploding apparatus were recognized by Mr. Deane, the diver, as portions of the same kinds of instruments as those he employed in submarine operations. All were regularly numbered, and, as there was a break in the series, it afforded reason for believing that some of them were actually sunk; but the wires connecting them with the battery on board the ship were cut the night we forced the Straits, and the vessel itself was scuttled subsequently. There were many miles of wire, and the number of cells indicated a very powerful battery. The pillage of Kertch still went on; the inhabitants fled. Even the Tartars were in terror. For two or three days the beach was crowded by women and children, who sat out under the rays of the scorching sun to find safety in numbers. They were starving, and miserably clad, and in charity were taken on board the _Ripon_, which sailed with them for some Russian port. They were about two hundred in number. Mothers had lost their children, and children were without their mothers. In the confusion which prevailed they were separated, and the _Caton_ carried some off to the Sea of Azoff, and the _Ripon_ took others off to Odessa or Yalta. Our attempts to prevent outrage and destruction were of the feeblest and most contemptible character. If a sailor was found carrying any articles--books, or pictures, or furniture--they were taken from him at the beach and cast into the sea. The result was that the men, when they got loose in the town, where there was no control over them, broke to pieces everything that they could lay their hands on. We did not interfere with French or Turks, and our measures against our own men were harsh, ridiculous, and impotent. Prince Woronzoff's house was said to be under the protection of the English and French. Was he protected because he was a Prince, or merely because he was supposed to be friendly to the Englishmen, and connected with some English families? Sir George Brown assuredly had no natural sympathy with pure aristocracy or with anything but pure democratic soldiery and military good fortune. It might have been--nay, it was--right to save Prince Woronzoff's house, but would it not have been equally proper to protect the stock-in-trade of some miserable Russian mechanic who remained in the town trusting to our clemency, and who was ruined by a few brutal sailors? Prince Woronzoff had many palaces. His friendly feelings towards England were at best known to but few, and were certainly of no weight with Frenchmen, because those sentiments, if they existed at all, dated from a period antecedent to the true _entente cordiale_, and were suggestive of anything but good liking towards Frenchmen. However, the house was so far safe, and if we were sorry that the museum was sacked, we might be proud that the palace was spared. The marks of useless destruction and of wanton violence and outrage were too numerous and too distressing to let us rest long on the spectacle of this virgin palace. The following extract from a "General After Order," which came out subsequently, gives a summary of the operations effected by our expeditionary force:-- "Berdiansk has been destroyed, with four war steamers. "Arabat, a fortress mounting thirty guns, after resisting an hour and a half, had its magazine blown up by the fire of our ships. "Genitchi refused to capitulate, and was set fire to by shells. Ninety ships in its harbour were destroyed, with corn and stores to the amount of £100,000. "In these operations the loss to the enemy during four days has amounted to four war steamers, 246 merchant vessels, and corn and magazines to the amount of £150,000. Upwards of 100 guns have been taken. It is estimated that four months' rations for 100,000 men of the Russian army have been destroyed. "On the Circassian coast the enemy evacuated Soudjak Kaleh on the 28th of May, after destroying all the principal buildings and sixty guns and six mortars. "The fort on the road between Soudjak Kaleh and Anapa is also evacuated." [Sidenote: THE FIRST "MONITOR."] Subsequently an attack was made on Taganrog, but the depth of water off the port did not permit the larger vessels to approach near enough to cover the landing of armed parties, to destroy the immense stores of corn effectually; nevertheless a good deal of harm was done to the Russians, and public and private property largely injured. It was on the occasion of the demonstration against this important town, apparently, that the germ of the great idea of the _Monitor_, which has revolutionized the navies of the world, was developed by Lt. Cowper Coles, R.N. He mounted a gun on a raft and defended it with gabions, and he was enabled to bring this floating battery, which he called the _Lady Nancy_, into action with great effect against Taganrog. In the development of that idea called the _Captain_ he lost his life in 1870. These operations along the coasts of the Sea of Azoff certainly caused losses to the enemy, and may have done something to create temporary inconvenience; they were effected in a legitimate if rather barbarous exercise of the rights of war, but when a few months subsequently the British Army before Sebastopol was in such need of corn that contractors were sent out to buy it in the United States, it must have occurred to the authorities that they had countenanced senseless waste, and authorized wanton destruction, to their great eventual detriment. As the naval forces were obliged to retire after each bombardment, and the landing of armed parties was only temporary, the enemy generally claimed the credit of having repulsed them, and Russia was inundated with accounts of the disasters caused by the bravery of priests and peasants, and divine interposition, to the audacious invaders who had ventured to pollute her holy soil. Cheap prints of the defence of Taganrog, &c., were published and sold by the thousand, and the people were excited by accounts of the death of innocent people, of the sacking of undefended cities, and of arson and pillage and wreck. Kertch and Yenikale were placed in a state of defence and garrisoned, and eventually the Turkish Contingent was stationed on the coast and in the town, and a small force of infantry and cavalry was detached from the British to aid them. The Contingent, composed of Turks under British officers, became a highly disciplined body, fit for any duty, but its value and conduct were not exhibited in the field, and it was employed as a corps of defence and observation on the Bay of Kertch till the war was over, when it and the other corps raised abroad under British officers, such as the Swiss Legion, the German Legion, &c., were disbanded. The Russians soon sent a corps to observe the movements of the force stationed at Kertch and Yenikale, and hemmed them in with Cossacks, and some slight affairs of outposts and reconnoitring parties occurred during the autumn and winter, in one of which a party of the 10th Hussars had difficulty in extricating itself, and suffered some loss from a larger body of the enemy. The work of the expedition to Kertch having been accomplished by the occupation of the town and straits, and by obtaining complete command of the entrance of the Sea of Azoff, the Allied fleets returned to Kamiesh and to the anchorage off Sebastopol, to participate as far as they could in the task of the siege. BOOK VI. COMBINED ATTACKS ON THE ENEMY'S COUNTER APPROACHES--CAPTURE OF THE QUARRIES AND MAMELON--THE ASSAULT OF THE 18TH OF JUNE--LORD RAGLAN'S DEATH. CHAPTER I. Preparations for the Attack--Important News--The Assault--The Quarries and the Mamelon--A Desperate Attempt--Plan of another Attack--Assault of the Malakoff and the Great Redan--Failure--Naval Brigade--An Armistice--Inside the Mamelon--Sad Scenes. Whilst I was away with the Kertch expedition, the siege was pressed on by the French with great vigour, and our army was actively employed in preparing for the bombardment which was to precede the fall of the place, as all fondly hoped and believed. There were intervals in the day when you might suppose that "villanous saltpetre" had no more to do with a modern siege than an ancient one, and that all this demonstration of a state of conflict was merely an amicable suit upon an extensive scale. There were times at night when angry and sudden explosions sprang up as if by some unaccountable impulse or conjuration, and continued with an impetuosity which seemed as if it intended to finish the whole business in a moment. There were times when the red fusees turned and tumbled in the air like hot coals belched out of a volcano, and danced successive hornpipes upon nothing; then the clatter of small arms broke upon the ear in distant imitation of the heavy artillery, like a little dog yelping in gratuitous rivalry of a big one. The fighting was done by jerks and starts, and the combatants, like Homer's heroes, stood at ease the best part of the time, and took it coolly, meaning deadly mischief all the while. The sharpest onset was generally on the side of our allies, about the Flagstaff or the Quarantine Battery, where they were sedulously advancing their endless mileage of trench and parallel, and promising themselves a result before long. For the third time our fire was opened along the whole range of positions on the 6th of June. At half-past two o'clock on that day 157 guns and mortars on our side, and above 300 on that of the French, awoke from silence to tumult. [Sidenote: ATTACK ON THE QUARRIES.] The two armies--one might say the four armies, but that the Turks and Sardinians were not expected to take a very prominent part in the trench-work and assault--were in strength equal to any achievement, and in spirits ever chiding the delay, and urging that one touch of the bayonet which made all the world scamper. If the strategic necessity pointed to some more decisive action this time, so, on the other hand, the intention of going beyond a vain cannonade was tolerably plain. Our fire was kept up for the first three hours with excessive rapidity, the Russians answering by no means on an equal scale, though with considerable warmth. On our side the predominance of shells was very manifest, and distinguished the present cannonade in some degree even from the last. The superiority of our fire over the enemy became apparent at various points before nightfall, especially in the Redan, which was under the especial attention of the Naval Brigade. The Russians displayed, however, plenty of determination and bravado. They fired frequent salvos at intervals of four or six guns, and also, by way of reprisals, threw heavy shot up to our Light Division and on to the Picquet-house-hill. After dark the animosity on both sides gave signs of relaxing, but the same relative advantage was maintained by our artillery. It was a sultry day, with the dull mist of extreme heat closing down upon the valleys, and with no air to rend away the curtain of smoke which swayed between the town and our batteries; and at night flashes of lightning in the north-east made a counter-illumination on the rear of our position. A still and sluggish atmosphere, half mist, half gunpowder, hung about the town in the early morning of June the 7th, and the sun enfilading the points of view from the horizon, telescopes were put out of joint. The Redan, however, which rose up boldly in front of the hills that sloped from Cathcart's Mound, gave some evidence of having yielded to rough treatment, the jaws of its embrasures gaping, and its fire being irregular and interrupted. At nine a cool, strong breeze sprang up, and continued throughout the day. The whole range of fire from right to left became visible in a bright sun, that for once was not scorching. The enemy either could not or would not keep up a very vigorous reply. All the early part of the day we had the work very much to ourselves. About eleven o'clock a shell from the Russians exploded a magazine in our eight-gun battery, and a yell of delight followed. Very slight harm resulted--one man was killed, one wounded, and a few scorched a little. As the day wore on, it leaked out that the double attack would probably commence at five or six P.M. An immense concourse of officers and men was gathered on Cathcart's Hill, and along the spines of the heights which wind towards Sebastopol. The fire on our side assumed a sudden fury about three o'clock. Between five and six o'clock Lord Raglan and his staff took up a position on the edge of the hill below the Limekiln, where it commanded our four-gun battery, and looked straight into the teeth of the Redan. About half-past six the head of the French column came into view, as it climbed to the Mamelon. A rocket was thrown up, and instantly our men made a rush at the Quarries. After one slight check they drove out the Russians, and, turning round the gabions, commenced making themselves snug; but the interest was so entirely concentrated upon the more exciting scene, full in view upon the right, that they had to wait a good while before attention was directed to their conflict. [Sidenote: BRILLIANT FIRING.] The French went up the steep to the Mamelon in loose order, and in most beautiful style. Every straining eye was upon their movements, which the declining daylight did not throw out into bold relief. Still their figures, like light shadows flitting across the dun barrier of earthworks, were seen to mount up unfailingly--running, climbing, scrambling up the slopes on to the body of the work, amid a plunging fire from the guns, which did them as yet little damage. As an officer, who saw Bosquet wave them on, said, "They went in like a clever pack of hounds." In a moment some of these dim wraiths shone out clear against the sky. The Zouaves were upon the parapet, the next moment a flag was hoisted up as a rallying-point and defiance, and was seen to sway hither and thither, now up, now down, as the tide of battle raged. It was seven minutes and a half from the commencement. Then there came a rush of the French through the angle, where they had entered, and momentary confusion outside. Groups were collected on the hither side in shelter. But hardly had the need of support become manifest, and a gun or two again flashed from the embrasure, than there was another run in, another sharp fight, and this time the Russians went out spiking their guns. Twice the Russians made head against the current, for they had a large mass of troops in reserve, covered by the guns of the Round Tower; twice they were forced back by the onsweeping flood of French. For ten minutes or so the quick flash and roll of small arms declared how the uncertain fight waxed and waned inside the enclosure. Then the back door, if one may use an humble metaphor, was burst open. The noise of the conflict went away down the descent on the side towards the town, and the arena grew larger. It was apparent by the space over which the battle spread, that the Russians had been reinforced. When the higher ground again became the seat of action,--when there came the second rush of the French back upon their supports, for the former one was a mere reflux or eddy of the stream,--when rocket after rocket went up ominously from the French General's position, and seemed to emphasize by their repetition some very plain command, we began to get nervous. It was growing darker and darker, too, so that with our glasses we could with difficulty distinguish the actual state of affairs. There was even a dispute for some time as to whether our allies were going in or out of the work, and the staff themselves were by no means clear as to what was going on. At last, through the twilight, we discerned that the French were pouring in. After the interval of doubt, our ears could gather that the swell and babble of the fight was once more rolling down the inner face of the hill, and that the Russians were conclusively beaten. "They are well into it this time," says one to another, handing over the glass. The musket flashes were no more to be seen within it. There was no more lightning of the heavy guns from the embrasures. A shapeless hump upon a hull, the Mamelon was an extinct volcano, until such time as it should please our allies to call it again into action. Then, at last, the more hidden struggle of our own men in the hollow on the left came uppermost. "How are our fellows getting on?" says one. "Oh! take my word for it, they're all right," says another. And they were, so far as taking the Quarries was concerned, but they had nevertheless to fight all night. As it grew dark our advanced battery under the Green-hill made very pretty practice by flipping shells over our men's heads at the Russians. From the misshapen outline of the Quarries a fringe of fire kept blazing and sparkling in a waving sort of curve, just like a ring of gas illuminating on a windy night; the attempt to retake them out of hand was desperately pushed, the Russians pouring in musketry, which caused us no small loss, and as it came up the gorge, contending with the fresh wind, sounded in the distance like water gulped simultaneously from a thousand bottles. Meanwhile the fall of the Mamelon did not by any means bring the combat to an end on the side of our allies. The Zouaves, emboldened by their success, carried their prowess too far, and dreamt of getting into the Round Tower by a _coup de main_. A new crop of battle grew up over all the intervening hollow between it and the Mamelon, and the ripple of musket shots plashed and leaped over the broad hill-side. The combatants were not enough for victory there too, but they were enough for a sanguinary and prolonged contest, a contest to the eye far more violent than that which preceded it. The tower itself, or rather the inglorious stump of what was once the Round Tower, took and gave shot and shell and musketry with the most savage ardour and rapidity. The fire of its musketry was like one sheet of flame, rolling backwards and forwards with a dancing movement, and, dwarfed as it was by the distance, and seen by us in profile, could scarcely be compared to anything, small or large, except the notes of a piano flashed into fire throughout some rapid tune. Our gunners, observing the duration and aim of the skirmish, redoubled their exertions, and pitched their shells into the Round Tower with admirable precision, doing immense mischief to the defenders. It was dark, and every one of them came out against the heavens as it rose or swooped. From Gordon's Battery and the Second parallel they streamed and plunged one after another into the enceinte up to which the Zouaves had won their way unsupported, heralded every now and then by the prompt and decisive ring of a round shot. The Russian defence, rather than their defences, crumbled away before this tremendous fire, but, on the other hand, the attack not being fed, as it was not designed, began to languish, and died gradually away. During the night repeated attacks, six in all, were made upon our men in the Quarries, who defended their new acquisition with the utmost courage and pertinacity, and at a great sacrifice of life, against superior numbers, continually replenished. The strength of the party told off for the attack was in all only 1,000, of whom 600 were in support. At the commencement 200 only went in, and another 200 followed. More than once there was a fierce hand-to-hand fight in the position itself, and our fellows had frequently to dash out in front and take their assailants in flank. The most murderous sortie of the enemy took place about three in the morning; then the whole ravine was lighted up with a blaze of fire, and a storm of shot was thrown in from the Strand Battery, and every other spot within range. With a larger body in reserve, it was not doubtful that our men could have been into the Redan. This was asserted freely both by officers and privates, and the latter expressed their opinion in no complimentary manner. They were near enough up to it to see that it was scarcely defended, and one officer lost his life almost within its limits. On our side 365 rank and file, and 35 officers, had been killed and wounded. Our loss in officers killed was great. The 88th were the severest sufferers, having three officers killed, one missing and conjectured to be killed, and four wounded--all indeed who were engaged. The four senior officers of the 62nd were put _hors de combat_. On the French side nearly double the number of officers, and a total of not less than 1,500 men, probably more. It was stated as high as 3,700. When morning dawned, with the wind blowing even stronger than the day before, the position held by both parties was one of expectation. The French were in great force within and on the outer slopes of the Mamelon, and also in possession of two out of the three offsets attached to the Mamelon on the Sapoune-hill. Their dead were seen lying mixed with Russians upon the broken ground outside the Malakoff Tower, and were being carried up to camp in no slack succession. In the rear of the Mamelon their efforts to intrench themselves were occasionally interrupted by shells from the ships in the harbour, and from a battery not previously known to exist further down the hill, while, on their left front, the Round Tower, showing still its formidable platforms of defence and its ragged embrasures above, fired upon their working parties, in the western face, and upon their reserves in the background. The ammunition waggons, the ambulance carts, the French mules, with their panniers full freighted, thronged the ravine below our Light Division, which is the straight or rather the crooked road down to the attack on the right. Troops of wounded men came slowly up, some English, the greater portion French, begrimed with the soil of battle. On the left a party of Zouaves had stopped a while to rest their burden, it being the dead bodies of three of their officers. A little lower an English soldier was down on the grass exhausted and well nigh unconscious from some sudden seizure. A party of French were gathered round him, supporting him on the bank, and offering water from their canteens, which he wildly motioned aside. On the right, lining a deep bay in the gorge, was dotted over half a mile of ground a French reserve, with their muskets piled, attending the signal to move forward. They were partially within view of the Malakoff, and the round shot and shell came plumping down in the hollow, producing every minute or so little commotions of the _sauve qui peut_ order, replaced the next moment by the accustomed nonchalance, and the crack of stale charges, fired off by way of precaution. [Sidenote: AN UNEXPECTED PETITION.] A lively and even pretty vivandière came striding up the ascent, without a symptom of acknowledgment to the racing masses of iron, and smiling as if the honour of her corps had been properly maintained. At ten o'clock the little incidents of the halting war perceptible through the telescope from the crown of the hill below the Picket-house were these:--At the head of the harbour the Russians were busily engaged burying their dead; outside the abattis of the Round Tower several corpses of Zouaves were to be distinguished; about the Mamelon the French troops were hard at work, some of them stripped for coolness to their drawers, and were seen creeping down the declivity on the side towards the Malakoff, and making themselves a deep shelter from its fire. Our people, meanwhile, on the right attack were calmly shelling the Malakoff in a cool matter-of-business sort of way, but the eternal gun on its right, which has been endowed with nine months of strange vitality, launched an indirect response into the Mamelon. From and after eleven o'clock the Russians, as usual, slackened fire, nor was there any duel of artillery on a great scale until after dark. On the 9th a white flag from the Round Tower and another on the left announced that the Russians had a petition to make. It was a grave one to make in the middle of a fierce bombardment with events hanging in the balance, and success, perhaps, depending upon the passing moments; but made it was, and granted. From one o'clock until six in the evening no shot was fired on either side, while the dead bodies which strewed the hill between the Mamelon and the Round Tower, or remained in front of the Quarries, were removed from the field. Both of the French and of the Russians large numbers were scattered over the ground of the chief conflict; among the former a large proportion were swarthy _indigenes_ of Arab blood, or, as they were popularly termed by the French soldiers, Turcos, and to their contingent of the killed some were added from the very inside of the Malakoff, showing how near the impromptu attack was delivering the place into our hands. Of the Russians there lay still upon the spot some 200, a sufficient testimony to the severity of their losses in the struggle. The third battery on the Sapoune-hill was abandoned the night before, and its guns either withdrawn or tumbled down the hill. In the early part of the day there had been a popular impulse to believe that an end of the affair would be made at night by a combined assault upon the Malakoff and the Redan. That both were within scope of capture was considered in camp as proved to demonstration. But the news of the suspension of arms dissipated the hope, and when the divisions got their orders for the night, it was no longer thought that aggression was likely, though defence might be. The enemy, with their wonted perseverance, had been making very comfortable use of their time, and when the firing recommenced, which it did instantly on the flags being lowered, a few minutes before six o'clock, it was plain that the Malakoff and Redan had both received a reinforcement of guns. Six and eleven were the numbers of remounted _bouches de feu_--exactness in such a calculation was not easy, for the Russians were laboriously artful in disguising the strength of their artillery, and frequently by moving guns from one embrasure to another make a single one play dummy for two or three. From six until nine o'clock the duel continued without special incidents; then there came a sudden splash of musketry, which lasted some few minutes and died away as unexpectedly. Another trifling musketry diversion took place about three in the morning, to relieve the monotony of the great artillery, which kept up its savagery throughout the night--ten guns for one of the enemy's--but slacked a little towards morning. We had a great number of casualties during the night in our new position on the left, into which the Russians kept firing grape and canister from the batteries which protect the rear of the Redan. They also occupied the dismantled houses above the ravine, and leisurely took shot at our people from the windows. Not unnaturally, it was a subject of the bitterest anger and complaint among the soldiers that they had to stand still and be riddled, losing day by day a number which was swollen in a week to the dimensions of a battle-roll of killed and wounded. Through the occupation and arming of the White Batteries, situated on the edge of the ridge of Mount Sapoune, the head of the harbour was more or less in our power. The Russians themselves seemed to acknowledge this by taking outside the boom the vessels which had before been lying in that direction, and would have been commanded from the works which the French were then constructing on the site of the White Batteries of the Russians. But this was not all. These new works were to act against the two Strand batteries which the Russians had behind the Mamelon, and which, not being much commanded by any of our works, could do a good deal of harm without being exposed to much danger. The construction of French works on the Mamelon brought us to about 500 yards from the Malakoff works; it gave us a footing on the plateau on which these works lie; it furnished us with the means of approaching the rear of them, and at the same time of operating successfully on the annoying batteries in the rear of the Mamelon, which, taken thus in a cross fire, could not long resist. The Quarry was scarcely more than 200 yards from the Redan. The battery which it contained worked successfully on the six-gun battery in the rear between the Redan and the Malakoff Tower works; and from the advanced posts our riflemen were able to prevent a good number of the guns in the Redan from working. But, for all this, the keeping of the Quarry was, especially in the beginning, not at all an easy thing; not so much, perhaps, from the attempts of the Russians to retake a point of such vital importance to them, but rather on account of the fire to which it was exposed from other Russian batteries besides the Redan. The Garden Battery on our flank, the six-gun battery in the rear, and the Malakoff works could touch it on nearly all sides. Moreover, the work, when it was taken being directed against us, offered very little protection against the riflemen of the Redan, until its face could be converted. [Sidenote: CHANGE OF PLAN OF OPERATIONS.] The French in the Mamelon had to maintain themselves under a not less heavy fire than the English in the Quarries. Some parts of the Malakoff works, the shipping, the Strand batteries behind, and even some of the Inkerman batteries, could bear upon them, and they suffered considerable loss in the first days after their instalment there. Night attacks were commenced by the fleets; on the 16th the _Tribune_, _Highflier_, _Terrible_, _Miranda_, _Niger_, _Arrow_, _Viper_, _Snake_, and _Weser_, stood in at night, and opened a heavy fire upon the town, in company with some French steamers, whilst the _Danube_ and the launches of the _Royal Albert_ fired rockets into the place. On the 17th, the _Sidon_, _Highflier_, _Miranda_, _Viper_, _Snake_, and _Princess Royal_ ran in again, but the enemy had got their range, and hulled some of the ships repeatedly; and we had to mourn the loss of Captain Lyons of the _Miranda_, who was wounded by a piece of shell, of which he died soon afterwards, at the Hospital of Therapia. On the 16th of June it was decided at a council of war that, after three hours' cannonade from the whole of the allied batteries, the assault should take place on the morning of the 18th of June. Our armament consisted of thirty 13-inch mortars, twenty-four 10-inch mortars, seven 8-inch mortars, forty-nine 32-pounders, forty-six 8-inch guns, eight 10-inch guns, eight 68-pounders: total, one hundred and sixty-six guns. The French had about two hundred and eighty _bouches-à-feu_. The despatch of Lord Raglan, dated 19th June, states that it was decided that the fire should be kept up for two hours after dawn; but, on the evening of the 17th, Marshal Pelissier sent over a despatch to our head-quarters, to the effect that, as the French infantry could not be placed in the trenches in the morning without the enemy seeing them, he had decided on attacking the place at daybreak, without any preliminary cannonade in the morning. Lord Raglan accepted this change of the plan of attack, although it was opposed to his private judgment, and sent orders to the divisional generals to carry it out. Sir George Brown, who was understood to be of opinion that an assault against the Redan was very doubtful, was ordered to make the arrangements. The assaulting force, which consisted of detachments of the Light, Second, and Third Divisions, was divided into three columns. Sir John Campbell had charge of the left, Colonel Shadforth, of the 57th Regiment, of the right, and Colonel Lacy Yea, of the 7th Fusileers, of the centre column. Brigadier (afterwards Sir Henry) Barnard was directed to take his brigade of the Third Division down the Woronzoff Ravine, whilst Major-General Eyre moved down his brigade of the same Division still further to the left, with orders to threaten the works on the proper right of the Redan and in front of the Dockyard Creek, and, in case of the assault being successful, to convert the demonstration of his brigade into a serious attack on the place. The right column was destined to attack the left face of the Redan between the flanks of the batteries; the centre column was to assault the salient of the Redan; and the left column was to assault the re-entering angle formed by the right face and flank of the work; the centre column was not to advance till the other columns had well developed their attack. On the French left, assaults under General de Salles were to be directed against the Quarantine Bastion, the Central Bastion, and the Bastion du Mât, each by a division 6,000 strong. On the French right, General d'Autemarre, with a column of 6,000 men, was to assault the Gervais Battery and the right flank of the Malakoff; General Brunet, with a similar force, from the Mamelon, was to attack the left flank of the Malakoff and the little Redan; General Mayran, from the extreme of the French right, was to fall upon the Russian batteries near Careening Creek, and the works connecting No. 1 Bastion with the Little Redan. In order to give greater completeness to the arrangements, it was decided that the French should make a demonstration against the Mackenzie Heights; and General Bosquet, who commanded the Second Corps d'Armée, because it was known that he was unfavourable to an assault, and preferred operations in the field, was displaced from his command by General Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely. It will thus be seen that the French were to assault in six columns, constituting a force of not less than 36,000 men, with reserves of 25,000. Our assaulting columns were only 1,200 men, although there was a force in reserve of nearly 10,000 men. The fire which opened on Sunday morning (the 17th) was marked by great energy and destructiveness. In the first relief the Quarry Battery, commanded by Major Strange, threw no less than 300 8-inch shells into the Redan, which was only 400 yards distant. Throughout Sunday 12,000 rounds, and on the following day 11,946 rounds of shot and shell were fired against Sebastopol from the British lines. [Sidenote: A FATAL ADVANCE.] Early on Monday morning (18th of June), the troops, who had been under arms soon after midnight, moved down to the trenches. Lord Raglan and his staff were stationed in the trench in rear of the Quarries Battery. Marshal Pelissier took up his post in a battery to the rear of the Mamelon and on our right front, a considerable way from Lord Raglan. Just as some faint tinge of light in the east announced the approach of dawn, we heard a very irregular but sharp fire of musketry on our right, close to the Malakoff. In an instant all the Russian works on the right woke up into life, and the roar of artillery, mingled with musketry, became incessant. The column under General Mayran had made a premature attack! A rocket fired unintentionally misled the French general, who fell mortally wounded. In a few minutes the column was driven back with great loss. The musketry ceased. Then three rockets flew up into the gloomy sky. This was the signal for the assault, which Mayran had anticipated with such unfortunate results. General d'Autemarre's column, at the double, made a dash up the ravine which separated the Redan from the Malakoff. General Brunet led his men to attack the left of the work. The Russians received them with a tremendous fire, for the grey dawn just gave light sufficient to indicate the advance of these large masses. General Brunet fell dead, and his column was obliged to retreat, with great loss. The other column on the right of the Malakoff was somewhat more fortunate. They dashed across the ditch and over the parapet of the Gervais Battery, and drove the enemy before them. Some few get into the Malakoff itself; certainly, unless my eyes deceived me, I saw a tricolor flag waving in the centre of the work, and a few French actually reached the dockyard wall. Although it was understood that the English were not to attack until the French had carried the Malakoff, Lord Raglan resolved to assist the French at this stage of the assault, and the two rockets which was the signal for the advance were sent up. At the moment, the French were fighting outside the Malakoff, but were in possession of the Gervais battery on the right flank. Brunet's column had been driven back. A second attack on the extreme right by Mayran's column, though aided by 4,000 of the Imperial Guard under General Mellinet, had completely failed. The Russians, warned by the assault on their left, were prepared; in the Redan, they held a great force in reserve. Their guns, loaded with grape, were manned, and the parapets were thickly lined with infantry. The party to assault the left face of the Redan consisted of 11 officers and 400 men of the 34th Regiment, under Major Gwilt, preceded by a covering party of the Rifle Brigade and a ladder party from the Sailors' Brigade. When the signal was given, the men carrying the ladders and wool-bags rushed out of the trench; they were swept down at once by the tremendous fire. Major Gwilt ordered the 34th to lie down; but on the extreme right the men who did not receive the order advanced in sections at the double, and the whole of the storming party made a run at the re-entering angle of the left face of the Redan. On crossing the trench, our men, instead of coming upon the open in a firm body, were broken into twos and threes. This arose from the want of a temporary step above the berm, which would have enabled the troops to cross the parapet with regularity; instead of which they had to scramble over it as well as they could; and, as the top of the trench was of unequal height and form, their line was quite broken. The moment they came out from the trench the enemy began to direct on their whole front a deliberate and well-aimed _mitraille_, which increased the want of order and unsteadiness caused by the mode of their advance. Yea saw the consequences. Having in vain tried to obviate the evil caused by the broken formation and confusion of his men, who were falling fast around him, he exclaimed, "This will never do! Where's the bugler to call them back?" But, at that critical moment, no bugler was to be found. The gallant officer, by voice and gesture, tried to form and compose his men, but the thunder of the enemy's guns close at hand and the gloom frustrated his efforts; and as he rushed along the troubled mass of troops, endeavouring to get them into order for a rush at the batteries, a charge of their deadly missiles passed, and the noble soldier fell dead in advance of his men, struck at once in head and stomach by grape shot. A fine young officer, Hobson, the adjutant of the 7th, fell along with his chief, mortally wounded. They were thrown into confusion on getting up to the abattis, by finding a formidable barrier before them. When the 34th came up, there was only _one_ ladder at the abattis.[20] Major Gwilt, who was about sixty yards from the abattis, was soon severely wounded and obliged to retire. Colonel Lysons, who now took the command, ordered the men to retire. But ere the 34th regained the trenches, Captain Shiffner, Captain Robinson, and Lieutenant Hurt, were killed; Captain Jordan, Major Gwilt, Lieutenant Harman, Lieutenant Clayton, and Lieutenant Alt, were severely wounded, the last two dying of their injuries. The column on the left told off for the attack of the re-entering angle and flank of the right of the Redan, was exposed to the same fire. There were no scaling ladders at the abattis, much less at the ditch of the Redan, nor could the Rifles keep down the enemy's artillery. Colonel Shadforth was killed whilst leading on his men most gallantly. Sir John Campbell fell dead close to the abattis. In a few moments the assaulting columns had disappeared. On our extreme left, the brigade under Major-General Eyre, consisting of the 18th on the left of the line, of the 9th Regiment and 28th Regiment in reserve, the 38th Regiment and 44th Regiment on the right, advanced to threaten the Dockyard Creek and the Barrack Batteries. Four volunteers from each company, under Major Fielden, of the 44th Regiment, covered the advance. The brigade was turned out before dawn, and marched down the road on the left of the Greenhill Battery to the Cemetery, while the necessary dispositions were being made for the attack. General Eyre, addressing the 18th, said, "I hope, my men, that this morning you will do something that will make every cabin in Ireland ring again!" The reply was a loud cheer, which instantly drew a shower of grape. Just as the general attack began, they rushed at the Cemetery, which was very feebly defended; but the moment the enemy retreated their batteries opened a heavy fire upon it from the left of the Redan and from the Barrack Battery. They also kept up a heavy fire of musketry from a suburb close to the Dockyard Creek, by the side of the Woronzoff Road, and from a number of houses at the other side of the Creek, below the Barrack Battery. The 18th charged and carried the houses. The Russians could not depress their guns sufficiently to fire down upon our men; they directed a severe flanking fire upon them from an angle of the Redan. The 44th made a dash at the houses under the Barrack Battery, and the 38th seized hold of the suburb over the Creek Battery, so that the Russians were obliged to abandon it. While portions of the 9th, 18th, 28th and 44th were in the houses, the 38th kept up a hot fire from the Cemetery on the Russians in the battery. One part of the brigade was exposed to a destructive fire in houses, the upper portion of which crumbled into pieces or fell in, and it was only by keeping in the lower stories, which were vaulted, that they were enabled to hold their own. The rest of the brigade, far advanced from our batteries, were almost unprotected, and were under a constant _mitraille_ and bombardment from guns which our batteries failed to touch. [Sidenote: DEFECTIVE PREPARATIONS FOR THE ASSAULT.] A sergeant and a handful of men actually got possession of a small work, in which there were twelve or fourteen artillerymen; but the Russians, seeing that they were alone, came down upon them and drove them out. An officer and half-a-dozen men got up close to the Flagstaff Battery, and were advancing into it when they saw that they were by themselves, and retreated. About fifteen French soldiers on their left aided them, but they were unsupported and they all had to retire. Another officer with twelve men took one of the Russian rifle-pits, and held possession of it throughout the day. This partial success, however, did not change the fortunes of the day. The French were driven out of the Gervais' Battery because they received no reinforcements, though not till they had held it for upwards of forty minutes. Marshal Pelissier made proposals to Lord Raglan to renew the assault. Lord Raglan, though agreeing with the French General in the practicability of a renewed assault, was of opinion that it ought not to be attempted till a heavy bombardment had been continued for some hours. As there was a considerable distance between them, Lord Raglan had to ride over to Marshal Pelissier, to confer with him on the arrangements for the proposed assault. During the interval, the French, who were suffering heavily from the enemy's fire, became dispirited by their losses and by the inaction which followed the check they had sustained. The Russians were evidently in great force at the Malakoff; and General d'Autemarre was so convinced that the assault would not succeed, that he sent a pressing message to Marshal Pelissier to beg that he would not expose the men in a fruitless assault. Marshal Pelissier was obliged to yield to such an expression of opinion, and, Lord Raglan coinciding with him, the renewal of the assault did not take place. Although the attack upon the Redan had been discussed at a council of war, and the Engineer officers of both our attacks (Colonel Chapman and Colonel Gordon) had been called upon to assist the Generals with their advice, the result proved that the arrangements were defective and inadequate. Our officers were outwitted by the subtlety of the Russians, who had for some time masked their guns, or withdrawn them from the embrasures, as if they were overpowered and silenced by our fire. No more decisive proof of the inefficiency of our force could be afforded than this fact--that in no case did the troops destined to assault and carry the Redan reach the outer part of the work; that no ladders were placed in the ditch; and that a very small portion indeed of the storming party reached the abattis, which was placed many yards in front of the ditch of the Redan. It cannot be said that on this occasion our men exhibited any want of courage; but so abortive and so weak was the attack, that the Russians actually got outside the parapet of the Redan, jeered and laughed at our soldiers as they fired upon them at the abattis, and mockingly invited the "Inglisky" to come nearer. A few dilettanti have since started a theory, which has not even ingenuity to recommend it, and which, if well founded, would convey the weightiest accusation ever yet made against our commanders--and that is, that our assault against the Redan was never meant to be successful, and that it was, in fact, a mere diversion, to assist the French in getting into the Malakoff. To any one acquainted with the facts, or to those who were present, this theory must appear, not only _not ingenious_, but ludicrous and contemptible. Indeed, the truth is, that an assault was not merely intended to be successful, but that it was looked upon as certain to succeed. No one hinted a doubt of the carrying of the Redan, though there was a general expression of opinion, among those who knew the case, that the force detailed for the storm was perilously small, and some few, as I heard, also found fault with the position of the reserves, and thought they were placed too far in the rear to be of service in case of a check. Our losses were severe, and they were not alleviated by the consolations of victory. No less than 22 officers and 247 men were killed, 78 officers and 1,207 men were wounded. The French lost 39 officers killed and 93 wounded; 1,600 rank and file killed or taken prisoners, and about the same number wounded--so that the loss of the Allies, on the 18th of June, amounted to nearly 5,000 officers and men. The Russians admitted a loss of 5,800; but it is remarkable in their return that the proportion of their officers killed is very much less than ours. In our army one officer was killed to every eleven men--one was wounded to every fifteen. In the French army one officer was killed to thirty men, and one was wounded to every sixteen men. In the Russian army the proportion of killed was about one officer to forty-nine men--of wounded, one officer to thirty-one men. General Jones was wounded over the trench. General Eyre was disabled by a severe cut on the head, but kept with his men till they were established in the Cemetery. [Sidenote: HARROWING SCENES.] The detachments from the Naval Brigade consisted of four parties of sixty men each, one for each column, but only two of them went out, the other two being kept in reserve; they were told off to carry scaling-ladders and wool-bags, and to place them for our storming parties. Captain Peel, who commanded, was wounded. His aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Wood, midshipman of H.M.S. _Queen_, though badly wounded, got up to the abattis, and rendered himself so conspicuous for a gallantry of which he had given several proofs on previous occasions, that Lord Hardinge presented him with a commission of the 13th Light Dragoons on his expressing a desire to exchange into the army. In No. 1 party, Lieutenants Urmston, Dalyell, and Parsons, were wounded. In No. 3, Lieutenant Cave was wounded, and Lieutenant Kidd killed. No. 2 and No. 4 party did not advance, and lost no officer. When the men retreated, overwhelmed by the storm from the enemy's battery, several officers and men were left behind wounded. Lieutenant Kidd got into the trench all safe, and was receiving the congratulations of a brother officer, when he saw a wounded soldier lying out in the open. He at once exclaimed--"We must go and save him!" and leaped over the parapet in order to do so. He had scarcely gone a yard when he was shot through the breast, and died an hour after. A private soldier of the 33rd, a native of Cork, named Richard Worrell, displayed the most touching devotion on the same occasion. When the regiment returned to the trenches it was discovered that a young officer named Heyland was missing. The enemy's guns were sweeping the front of the trenches. Worrell did not hesitate for a moment. "I'll go out," said he, "and bring him in if he's wounded, or die beside him." He kept his word. His body was found pierced with balls, close to that of his officer. All the advantage we gained was the capture of the Cemetery, and the small Mamelon near it. The French sent over an engineer to examine the ground, and as that officer expressed an opinion that it was desirable to hold the place with a view to ulterior defensive works being erected upon it, General Eyre was assured that a strong body of men would be marched into it at night. As these troops never arrived, Colonel Adams retired from the Cemetery at night, leaving only a picket, which was also withdrawn in compliance with the instructions General Eyre received from head-quarters, which were to the effect that if the French did not occupy the work our troops were to withdraw. On the following morning, Lieutenant Donnelly of the Engineers heard that the position for which we had paid so dearly was not in our possession. He appreciated its value--he saw that the Russians had not yet advanced to reoccupy it, begged and borrowed some thirty men, with whom he crept into the Cemetery. As soon as the armistice began, the Russians flocked down to the Cemetery, which they supposed to be undefended, but to their great surprise they found our men posted there, and in the evening the party was strengthened, and the Allies constructed most valuable works and batteries there. The natural consequence, in civilized warfare, of such a contest as that recorded above, is an armistice to bury the dead. It was our sad duty to demand it next day, for our dead lay outside our lines, and there were no Russian corpses in front of the Redan or Malakoff. We hoisted a white flag in the forenoon, but there was no such emblem of a temporary peace displayed by the Russians. Officers and soldiers eager to find the bodies of their comrades, waited patiently and sadly for the moment when friendship's last melancholy office could be performed. At last it became known that the armistice was to take place at four o'clock in the afternoon. It was agonizing to see the wounded men lying under a broiling sun, parched with excruciating thirst, racked with fever, and agonized with pain--to behold them waving their caps faintly, or making signals towards our lines, over which they could see the white flag waving. They lay where they fell, or had scrambled into the holes formed by shells; and there they had been for thirty hours! how long and how dreadful in their weariness! A soldier who was close to the abattis saw a few men come out of an embrasure, and fearing he should be unnoticed, raised his cap on a stick and waved it till he fell back exhausted. Again he rose, and managed to tear off his shirt, which he agitated in the air till his strength failed him. His face could be seen through a glass; and my friend, who watched him, said he could never forget the expression of despair with which the poor fellow folded his shirt under his head to await the mercy of Heaven. The red-coats lay thick over the broken ground in front of the abattis of the Redan. Blue and grey coats lay in piles in the raincourses before the Malakoff. I rode down with some companions past the old 13-inch mortar battery in advance of our Picket-house into the Middle Picket Ravine, at the end of which began the French approaches to their old parallel, which was extended up to their recent conquest, the Mamelon. A body of light cavalry moved down the Woronzoff road a little later, and began extending their files right and left in a complete line across the whole of our front, with the object of preventing any, except those who were on duty, getting down to the neutral ground. However, my companions and myself got down into the ravine before the cavalry halted just behind the Picket-house. This ravine was paved with shot and shell. The earth gleamed here and there with bullets and fragments of lead. In one place there was a French picket posted in a bend of the ravine, sleeping under their greatcoats, raised on twigs, to protect them from the sun, smoking or talking gravely. Yes, for a wonder, the men were grave and looked almost sullen; but they were thinking of the comrades whose bodies they would have to inter. By the side of this ravine--your horse must needs tread upon them, if you were not careful in guiding him--was many a mound, some marking the resting-place of individual soldiers, others piled over one of those deep pits where rank and file reposed in their common glory. In the ravine were mules with litters, ambulances, and Land Transport Corps. English and French were mixed together. I saw in one place two of our men, apart from the rest, with melancholy faces. "What are you waiting here for?" said I. "To go out for the Colonel, sir," was the reply. "What Colonel?" "Why, Colonel Yea, to be sure, sir," said the good fellow, who was evidently surprised at my thinking there could be any other colonel in the world. And indeed the Light Division felt his loss. Under brusqueness of manner he concealed a kind heart. A more thorough soldier, one more devoted to his men, to the service, and to his country, never fell in battle than Lacy Yea. Throughout the winter his attention to his regiment was exemplary. His men were the first who had hospital huts. When other regiments were in need of every comfort, and almost of every necessary, the Fusileers, by the care of their colonel, had everything that could be procured by exertion and foresight. Writing of him, and of similar cases, I said, "At Inkerman his gallantry was conspicuous. He and Colonel Egerton are now gone, and there remains in the Light Division but one other officer of the same rank who stands in the same case as they did. Is there nothing to be done? No recognition of their services? No decorations? No order of merit?"[21] Two French soldiers approached, with an English naval officer, whom they were taking off as a spy. He told us he was an officer of the _Viper_, that he walked up to see some friends in the Naval Brigade, got into the Mamelon, and was taken prisoner. The Frenchmen pointed out that the Naval Brigade was not employed on the Mamelon, that spies were abundant and clever; but they were at last satisfied, and let their captive go with the best grace in the world. We were close to the Mamelon, and the frequent reports of rifles and the pinging of the balls proved that the flag of truce had not been hoisted by the enemy. We were in the zigzag, a ditch about six feet broad and six feet deep, with the earth knocked about by shot at the sides, and we met Frenchmen laden with water canteens or carrying large tin cans full of coffee, and tins of meat and soup, cooked in the ravine close at hand, up to the Mamelon. [Sidenote: INTERIOR OF THE MAMELON.] I entered along with them. The parapets were high inside the work, and were of a prodigious thickness. It was evident the Mamelon was overdone. It was filled with traverses and excavations, so that it was impossible to put a large body of men into it, or to get them in order in case of an assault. The stench from the dead, who had been buried as they fell, was fearful; and bones, and arms, and legs stuck out from the piles of rubbish on which you were treading. Many guns were also buried, but they did not decompose. Outside were plenty of those fougasses, which the Russians planted thickly. A strong case containing powder was sunk in the ground, and to it was attached a thin tube of tin or lead, several feet in length; in the upper end of the tube was enclosed a thin glass tube containing sulphuric or nitric acid. This portion of the tube was just laid above the earth, where it could be readily hid by a few blades of grass or a stone. If a person stepped upon it he bent the tin tube and broke the glass tube inside. The acid immediately escaped down the tin tube till it met a few grains of chlorate of potash. The mine exploded, and not only destroyed everything near it, but threw out a quantity of bitumen, with which it was coated, in a state of ignition. I very nearly had a practical experience of the working of these mines, for an English sentry, who kindly warned me off, did not indicate the exact direction till he found he was in danger of my firing it, when he became very communicative upon the subject. They made it disagreeable walking in the space between the works. I turned into the second English parallel on my left, where it joined the left of the French right. What a network of zigzags, and parallels, and traverses! You could see how easy it was for men to be confused at night--how easy to mistake. I walked out of the trench of the Quarries under the Redan, in which we had then established a heavy battery, at the distance of 400 yards from the enemy's embrasures. The ground sloped down for some few hundred yards, and then rose again to the Redan. It was covered with long rank grass and weeds, large stones, tumuli, and holes ranging in depth from three feet and a half or four feet, to a foot, and in diameter from five feet to seven or eight feet, where shells had exploded. It is impossible to give a notion of the manner in which the earth was scarred by explosions, and shot. The grass was seamed in all directions, as if ploughs, large and small, had been constantly drawn over it. The litter-bearers were busy. Most of our dead were close to the abaths of the Redan, and many, no doubt, had been dragged up to it at night for plunder's sake. Colonel Yea's body was found near the abattis on the right of the Redan. His head was greatly swollen, and his features, and a fine manly face it had been, were nearly undistinguishable. Colonel Shadforth's remains were discovered in a similar state. Sir John Campbell lay close up to the abattis. It was but the very evening before his death that I saw him standing within a few feet of his own grave. He had come to the ground in order to attend the funeral of Captain Vaughan, an officer of his own regiment (the 38th), who died of wounds received two days previously in the trenches, and he laughingly invited me to come and lunch with him next day at the Clubhouse of Sebastopol. His sword and boots were taken, but the former was subsequently restored by a Russian officer. The body was interred on Cathcart's Hill--his favourite resort, where every one was sure of a kind word and a cheerful saying from the gallant Brigadier. The bodies of many a brave officer whom I had known in old times--old times of the war, for men's lives were short in the Crimea, and the events of a life were compressed into a few hours--were borne past us in silence, and now and then men with severe wounds were found still living. The spirit of some of these noble fellows triumphed over all their bodily agonies. "General!" exclaimed a sergeant of the 18th Royal Irish to Brigadier Eyre, as he came near the place in the Cemetery where the poor fellow lay with both his legs broken by a round shot, "thank God, _we_ did _our_ work, any way. Had I another pair of legs, the country and you would be welcome to them!" Many men in hospital, after losing leg or arm, said they "would not have cared if they had only beaten the Russians." The wounded lay in holes made by shells, and were fired at by the Russian riflemen when they rolled about. Our men report that the enemy treated them kindly, and even brought them water out of the embrasures. They pulled all the bodies of officers within reach up to the abattis, and took off their epaulettes and boots, but did not strip them. A line of sentries was formed by the Russians so far in front of the abattis, that General Airey was obliged to remonstrate with an aide-de-camp of General Osten-Sacken, who ordered them to retire. These men were remarkably fine, tall, muscular fellows, and one could not but contrast them with the poor weakly-looking boys in our regiments, or with the undergrown men of the French line. They were in clean new uniforms. Many of them wore medals. Their officers turned out with white kid gloves and patent leather boots. One stout elderly Russian of rank asked one of our officers, "How are you off for food?" "Oh! we get everything we want; our fleet secures that." "Yes," remarked the Russian, with a knowing wink, "yes; but there's one thing you're not so well off for, and that your fleet can't supply you with, and that's sleep." [Sidenote: OPPOSITE OPINIONS.] "We're at least as well off for that as you are," was the rejoinder. Another officer asked if we really thought, after our experience of the defence they could make, that we could take Sebastopol. "We must; France and England are determined to take it." "Ah! well," said the other, "Russia is determined France and England shall not have it; and we'll see who has the strongest will, and can lose most men." In the midst of these brief interviews, beginning and ending with bows and salutes, and inaugurated by the concession of favours relating to cigars and lights, the soldiers bore dead bodies by, consigning the privates to the burial-grounds near the trenches, and carrying off the wounded and the bodies of the officers to the camp. The armistice lasted for upwards of two hours. CHAPTER II. Effects of Failure of Assault on Health--General order of Lord Raglan--Death of Lord Raglan--His Character--Orders of General Simpson, successor to Lord Raglan--Personal Qualifications of General Simpson to command the Army--Confirmation as Commander-in-chief by the Queen--Other Appointments. Immediately after the failure of the assault, Sir George Brown, Generals Pennefather, Codrington, Buller, and Estcourt, were obliged to take to their beds, to seek change of air, or to sail for England. Lord Raglan was affected. It was observed by his staff that the failure had "affected his health;" and an officer, writing home to his friends, on the 23rd of June, remarked, "he (Lord Raglan) looks far from well, and has grown very much aged latterly." General Estcourt, Adjutant-General of the Army, died on the morning of the 24th of June, after three days' illness. On the 28th Lord Raglan published the following order:-- "The Field-Marshal has the satisfaction of publishing to the army the following extract from a telegraphic despatch from Lord Panmure, dated the 22nd of June. "'I have Her Majesty's commands to express her grief that so much bravery should not have been rewarded with merited success, and to assure her brave troops that Her Majesty's confidence in them is entire.'" Within a very few hours after the appearance of this order, the electric telegraph brought the startling intelligence to the head-quarters of the various divisions that the Field-Marshal was dead. On Tuesday evening, after his usual devotion to the desk, he was seized with symptoms of a choleraic character, and took to his bed, where he died on the night of the following Thursday. Lord Raglan possessed qualities which, if not those of a great general, were calculated to obtain for the English army more consideration than that to which it was entitled by its numerical strength. Although he was frequently obliged to give way to their councils, in opposition to his declared convictions, his calmness in the field--his dignity of manner--his imperturbable equanimity--exercised their legitimate influence over the generals of the French army. That Lord Raglan was an accomplished gentleman, as brave a soldier as ever drew a sword, an amiable, honourable man, zealous for the public service, of the most unswerving truth, devoted to his duty and to his profession, cannot be denied; but he appears to me to have been a man of strong prejudices and of weak resolution, cold to those whom, like Omar Pasha, he considered "vulgar," coerced without difficulty by the influence of a stronger will, and apt to depend upon those around him where he should have used his own eyes. There was something of the old heroic type in his character, which would have compensated for even graver defects, if their results had not been, in many instances, so unfortunate for our arms; his death on a foreign soil whilst in command of an English army touched the hearts of his countrymen. The following General Orders were issued next day:-- "HEAD-QUARTERS BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _June 29_. "No. 1. It becomes my most painful duty to announce to the army the death of its beloved commander, Field-Marshal Lord Raglan, G.C.B., which melancholy event took place last night about nine o'clock. "No. 2. In the absence of Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown, the command of the troops devolves on me, as the next senior officer present, until further orders are received from England. "No. 3. Generals of Divisions and heads of departments will be pleased to conduct their respective duties as heretofore. "J. SIMPSON, Lieutenant-General." [Sidenote: QUEEN APPOINTS GENERAL SIMPSON COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.] General Simpson was destitute of those acquirements and personal characteristics which in Lord Raglan compensated for a certain apathy and marble calmness. He was a veteran who had seen a year's service in the Peninsula in 1812-13, and in the campaign of 1815, and who thirty years afterwards held the post of Quartermaster-General to Sir C. Napier, in his Indian war of 1845. Lord Raglan had, at all events, by the dignity of his personal character, secured a position for the troops he commanded to which they were not numerically entitled; but no one can say by what sacrifices that position was maintained till the battle of Inkerman forced us to abandon it. It was believed at the time, and it is now notorious, that General Simpson opposed his own appointment, and bore testimony to his own incapacity; but the Government--or Lord Hardinge and Lord Panmure--insisted, and General Simpson became Commander-in-Chief of the British Army. Writing at the time respecting our future General I said:-- "Rumours prevail that a new Commander-in-Chief is to come out from England. Whether this be true I have not yet learnt, but it is to be hoped that the Peninsula and Waterloo, at twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, will not be the only qualification. It seems to all here that the best school for Sebastopol is Sebastopol itself, and that a man who has been six months in the Crimea is more likely to be an efficient general than any one who may be sent out in reliance upon vague reminiscences of campaigns in the field forty years ago. It takes some little time to gain an acquaintance even with the ground, and as autumn is drawing on there is no need for delay. The only reason that can be conceived for sending out a general from England is that some man of European reputation may be appointed, who may give a _status_ to the British army beyond what its present numbers are calculated to obtain for it in the eyes of the world. There is no doubt that Lord Raglan did this. His rank, his high character, his manners, his superiority to petty jealousies, and his abstinence from petty intrigues, commanded the respect of even those who were disposed to question his capacity and energy. If this war be prosecuted for any length of time, and England is not prepared to embark more fully in the struggle with men as well as money, there is some danger that the British Army will be looked upon as a mere contingent. A general of established reputation may add a lustre to the British name, but, after all, the best reliance is upon skill and energy, and there are many men at present before Sebastopol upon whom the command might devolve with satisfaction to the army, and with a reasonable hope of a creditable performance of the duties of the post." On the 21st of July, General Simpson published the following order:-- "General Simpson announces to the army that he has had the honour to receive from her Majesty the Queen the appointment of Commander-in-Chief of the Army in the Crimea. "The Lieutenant-General, though deeply impressed with the responsibility of the position in which he is placed, is most proud of the high and distinguished honour, and of the confidence thus reposed in him by his Sovereign. "It will be the Lieutenant-General's duty to endeavour to follow in the steps of his great predecessor, and he feels confident of the support of the generals, and of the officers and soldiers, in maintaining unimpaired the honour and discipline of this noble army. (Signed) "JAMES SIMPSON, "Lieutenant-General Commanding." The personal Staff of his Excellency consisted of Captain Colville, Rifle Brigade; Captain Lindsay, Scots Fusileer Guards; Major Dowbiggen, 4th Foot (appointed by electric telegraph). Lieut.-Colonel Stephenson was appointed Military Secretary, although Colonel Steele remained at head-quarters; and Colonel Pakenham was confirmed as Adjutant-General, at the request of Lord Raglan, in the last despatch he ever penned. On the 21st, Captain Lushington, who had been promoted to the rank of Admiral, was relieved in the command of the Naval Brigade by Captain the Hon. H. Keppel. Commissary-General Filder, at the same date, returned home on the recommendation of a Medical Board. [Sidenote: RELINQUISHMENT OF A FAVOURABLE POSITION.] BOOK VII. EFFORTS TO RAISE THE SIEGE--BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA--THE SECOND ASSAULT--CAPTURE OF THE MALAKOFF--RETREAT OF THE RUSSIANS TO THE NORTH SIDE. CHAPTER I. Survey of the Position of the Allied Armies--Renewed preparations of the Russians--Operations of the Allied Armies--Their Defectiveness--Renewed defence of the Malakoff--Strength of our Armament--Inactivity of the Allies, especially the Turks--Public feeling respecting the non-participation of the latter in the Siege Operations--Gloomy view of the Position of the Allies--Anticipated renewal of Hostilities--Curious Russian Letter on the Situation--Violent Storm of Wind and Rain--Continuous Supply of Russian Soldiers--Military discipline and composition of Piedmontese Army--Medical board and system of Invaliding--Desultory Russian firing--Eager anticipations by our Army of a general Attack--Arrival of British reinforcements--Turkish demand for Black Mail--French Malpractices. The time is not yet come for the disclosure of all the truth; but it may even now be asked, how it was that on the 6th of February, 1855, we abandoned our ground opposite the Malakoff to the French, if we really knew it to be the key of the Russian position? A change was indeed necessary, and it was evident that the English army was much too weak to occupy the space from the Dockyard Creek ravine on the left, to the valley of the Tchernaya on the right. But why, instead of allowing the French (I use that word "allowing," inasmuch as we are given to understand that Sir John Burgoyne objected to the change)--why, instead of allowing the French to take from us the favourable ground upon our right attack, did we not move to our right, and leave the French to occupy the spot held by our left, which we maintained to the end of the siege? It seems but natural that as we had defended the right of the Allied Army at Inkerman, with so much loss, and so much courage, we should have continued to occupy a position we had rendered glorious for ever. A cession of it to the French appears to be a tacit reproach. By concentrating our left on our right attack, we could have readily carried on the siege works, and have preserved to ourselves the attack against the Malakoff, which was originally opened by us on the 17th of October, 1854. It was said that the French objected to take Chapman's attack, on the plea that they could not serve our artillery. Sir John Burgoyne then offered that our artillerymen should be left to work the English guns; but the objection, if ever it was made, was futile, inasmuch as at a subsequent period of the siege the French demanded and received the loan of more than twenty-four 32-pounders, which they used with great vigour at the final bombardment. The compliance of Sir John Burgoyne upon this point is the more to be wondered at, inasmuch as it was he who discovered the great importance of the position we so readily yielded, and it was he who announced that the Malakoff, of which he relinquished the attack to our Allies, was the veritable key of the whole of the defences of Sebastopol. Between the death of Lord Raglan and the middle of July, no decided progress was made in the siege approaches, and the Russians contented themselves with strenuous preparations to meet another assault. But as sickness diminished, and reinforcements and fresh supplies of material were poured into the Crimea later in the month, the Allies set to work with renewed energy, and not only gained ground before Sebastopol, but began to feel their way towards the left of the enemy's position on the Belbek. At the same time they extended their operations in the direction of Mangoup-Kale, and Kutchuk Sevren, first by way of reconnaissance, and finally by the establishment of standing camps of sufficient strength to defy a sudden attack by any force short of an army. In these operations the French performed the active work. They were aided to some extent by the Sardinians encamped at Komara, and by the Turks, who completed the friendly investment of Balaklava from the Sardinian right to the cliffs over the sea near Cape Aiya. [Sidenote: SEIZURE OF MALAKOFF BY THE RUSSIANS.] After the 18th of June, 1855, it became quite evident that our left attack was utterly useless for the purposes of an assault, and accordingly one would have thought that the whole energy of the chiefs of the British Army and of the Engineers would have been directed to push on our saps in the direction of the only point of attack the British Army had to deal with; but in effect the Redan was not approached much more closely by our Engineers subsequently to the 18th than it had been previously, and most of our efforts were directed to the augmentation of the weight and vigour of our fire from batteries already established, or to the strengthening of the Quarries Battery, which we took on the 7th of June. In fact, we seemed determined to take the place by the fire of artillery alone; and yet, when the time came we combined with it an assault, which was of course an interference with, and an abandonment of, that determination. Although our officers had the Mamelon before their eyes, they overlooked the fact that the Russians could screen a very large body of men inside their casemates and bomb-proofs, and that the garrison would suffer very little from our fire so long as it failed to search out and destroy those retreats. When the garrison of these casemates was warned, by the cessation of our fire, of the coming assault, they swarmed out in masses more numerous than the assailants, who were besides broken, and almost breathless, owing to their run from the trenches, and repulsed them ere they reached the abattis. Whenever the Russians felt our energy was overpowering them at any one particular point they withdrew their guns behind the traverse or parapet, and trusted to the strength of their earthworks, so that it was difficult to say what was the exact effect of our cannonade upon their guns. Thus, on the 18th of June, our soldiers were raked with grape and canister from points where we had imagined the guns were dismounted and silenced, and it was evident that our artillery had not gained that mastery over the enemies' pieces which was requisite to ensure success. We subsequently endeavoured to secure a better chance for our troops, at the next assault, by establishing batteries to crush the flanking fire of the angles of the Redan, and of the curtains in the direction of the salient; but the tackles broke in raising the guns, and these batteries were never armed. From the attack of the 18th of June to the 10th of July, the enemy were employed in strengthening their works; they made such progress at the Redan, that it was judged expedient to open a heavy fire upon them. This commenced at five o'clock on the morning of the 10th of July, and lasted for four hours. Several embrasures were destroyed, and the enemy's reply was feeble; but they did not cease from their labours, and we were obliged to reserve our ammunition for general bombardment. The English cavalry, long inactive, began to look forward to service in the field, as hopes were held out that a movement would be made against the Russian corps on the Upper Belbek. On the 12th July, General Barnard was appointed Chief of the Staff. Major-General Markham arrived on the 19th of July, and assumed the command of the Second Division; but he had materially injured his health by the exertions he made in travelling through India to get to the Crimea, and he did not add to the high reputation he had gained in the East. The arrival of Sir Harry Jones to replace Sir John Burgoyne was regarded with hope, but no change in the plan of attack was originated by that officer, nor did the French engineers at any time appear to appreciate the importance of the ground between them and the Malakoff, till the Russians significantly demonstrated the value of the Mamelon by seizing upon and fortifying it in the spring of the year. Sir Harry Jones, although younger than Sir John Burgoyne, was not blest with the health of that veteran soldier, and for some time the works were carried on without the benefit of his personal supervision. If the ground in front of our trenches and saps towards the Redan was difficult, that through which the French drove their approaches close to the Bastion du Mât, and notably to the Bastion Centrale, was literally a mass of oolite and hard rock. Our armament, on the 17th of June, consisted of thirty 13-inch mortars, seventeen 10-inch mortars, and eight 8-inch mortars; of forty-nine 32-pounders, of forty-six 8-inch guns, of eight 10-inch, and eight 68-pounder guns--an increase of thirty guns and mortars on the armament with which we opened fire on the 7th June; and 2,286 13-inch bombs, 884 10-inch bombs, 9,746 32-lb. shot, 6,712 8-inch shot, 1,706 10-inch shot, 1,350 68-pounder shot, were fired into the town, in the bombardment, previous to the assault. Still, this weight of metal did not crush the fire of the place, and the enemy were enabled to continue to reply, and to mount fresh guns, owing to the constant command of men from the armies outside the town. The capture of Kertch and Yenikale, the command of the Sea of Azoff, the partial possession of the Spit of Arabat, had not produced the results we expected on the resources of the garrison; they received supplies of men and food by Perekop and Tchongar--no matter by what exertions or at what sacrifices the communications might be effected. The Allies advanced from Eupatoria, towards Simpheropol, but invariably found the enemy in superior force, in strong positions, except on the single occasion of General d'Allonville's brilliant affair with the Russian cavalry, under General Korte, near Sak, which ended in the utter rout of the latter and the loss of a battery of field artillery. The nature of the country, the difficulty of transport, and the distance of the base of operations, have all been pleaded as reasons for the failure of the attempts to advance from Eupatoria; but it seems rather strange that no effort was made to march, by either the Buljanak or the Alma, to the capital of the Crimea: the troops of Omar Pasha, instead of being kept idle at Komara or Eupatoria, could have been employed with the French and English in making a serious diversion, which would have paralyzed the energies of the enemy, and which might have led to the fall of Sebastopol. It was not till the 11th July that Omar Pasha, dispirited at the inactivity to which himself and army had been doomed, proposed to General Simpson to embark the Turks from the Crimea, and to land near Kutais, in order to relieve Kars by menacing a march upon Tiflis. On the 15th of July a conference of the Allied Generals was held at General Pelissier's to consider the position of the Turks in Asia Minor, and it was with much difficulty the Turkish Generalissimo succeeded in persuading them that 25,000 Turks operating in Asia were much better employed than if they were doing nothing at Komara. However, it was long ere he could obtain the means of carrying out his plans; and there is no doubt but that his assistance in operating from Eupatoria would have been of the utmost importance during the time he was compelled to maintain an attitude of hopeless inactivity. [Sidenote: GLOOMY FOREBODINGS OF SIR GEORGE BROWN.] It will be observed that all this while the Turks never took part in the siege. The justice of the following remarks, which was apparent enough in July, 1855, seems still more evident at the present moment:--"It is a singular thing, that while the French and British troops consider their most harassing work to be the duty in the trenches, the Turks, who are equally interested in the event of the war, and will be the most benefited by its success, do not take any share in actual siege operations, and amuse themselves with the mere pastime of foraging, or actually sitting in indolence for hours together, following the shadows of their tents as they move from west to east, smoking stolidly, or grinning at the antics of some mountebank comrade. Omar Pasha goes hither and thither without object, merely that his army may seem to be employed; its actual services are of little importance. It is said that an agreement was made between the allied Generals and the Porte that the Turks were not to assist in the siege. But why not? and can such an arrangement be binding when the public good demands a different course? If the Ottoman troops be so excellent behind fortifications, there can be no objection to their relieving their hard-worked allies in some of the less important positions; or they might at least be employed in some more active manner than merely moving to and fro occasionally, as if for the purpose of impressing the mind of Europe with a false idea of activity. "The rumour has spread within the last few days that Omar Pasha is to go to Kars, in order to relieve the place and oppose the advance of the Russians in Asia. But this, if seriously contemplated, can be intended only as a measure of preparation for next year's campaign, and the object will be rather to save Erzeroum than Kars. Should the transportation of the Turkish army to Trebizonde be determined upon, it will not take less than two months, even with the help of the British Navy, to convey it across, a longer term having been required for the transport from Varna to Eupatoria, which places are not so far apart. Allowing a month for the march from Trebizonde to Kars, it would be November before the army could reach its new position; and at that season the lofty table-land of Armenia is deep in snow, and all military operations will be suspended until the ensuing spring. But it is more than probable that the report of the movement has no foundation. It arises from a belief that the affairs of Asia have been grievously neglected, that the present year has not bettered the position of the Turks, and that there is danger lest the Russians should actually succeed in wresting away an important province as well as consolidating their reputation among the inhabitants of Central Asia." The first great phase in the siege had been passed--we found that the Russians could resist the Allied forces with vigour, and that they were capable of acting upon the defensive with greater energy than we gave them credit for, from their conduct at the Alma. The constant passage up the Bosphorus of vessels with troops on board from France, and artillery and material from England, evinced the preparations made by the Allies for the renewal of the struggle; but there were many who thought that the siege would not be over till the following year, and that the Allies would have to undergo the miseries of another winter in the open trenches. Sir George Brown, who had ever entertained a most gloomy view of our position--the falseness and danger of which, in a military sense, he rather exaggerated than undervalued--left the army on sick certificate two days after Lord Raglan's death, and the Generals in command were new and untried men, in comparison with those who first led our army to the Crimean campaign. On the 12th of July, the Turks and French went out foraging and reconnoitring towards Baidar. According to the officers who accompanied this reconnaissance, there was no weak point towards the Belbek, and an attack on the Russian position from Inkerman to Simpheropol was considered hopeless. Nature seems as if she had constructed the plateau they occupied as a vast defensible position which 50,000 men might hold against four times their number. Writing on the 12th of July, I said,--"Of the reduction of Sebastopol proper before the winter I have no kind of doubt. The Russian generals, though brave and determined on an obstinate defence, deserve credit for prudence and forethought. As long as a place can be held with a chance of success, or even of damaging the enemy, they will hold it; but all their proceedings induce the belief that they will not allow their troops to be cut to pieces merely for the credit of having made a desperate resistance, and of having maintained, without advantage, for a short time longer, a position which, in a military sense, is untenable. When they perceive that their retreat is seriously endangered, it is not improbable that they will altogether abandon the southern side, which they can hardly hope to hold should the Allies be able to command the harbour. They, no doubt, count at least on being able to prolong their resistance until the winter sets in; if that be impossible, they will most likely withdraw to the northern side, to which it may be impracticable to lay siege before the spring of 1856." On the night of the 22nd, the Russians, who were either under the impression that the Allies were about to make an assault, or wished to stop our working parties, opened a heavy fire of musketry along their line, and after a great expenditure of ammunition, they retired from the parapets. The casualties in the trenches became so heavy, that the Commander-in-Chief, in several despatches, expressed his regret at the loss, which he attributed to the proximity of the works, the lightness of the nights, and the rocky nature of the ground. From the 27th to the 29th July, thirteen men were killed, and five officers and 108 men were wounded, in addition to casualties in the Naval Brigade. However, some little progress was made--our advanced parallels were strengthened, and our unlucky fifth parallel was deepened. The French engineers were pressing on with indefatigable energy on the right and left of our position, and were close to the Malakoff on the right, and the Central and Flagstaff Bastion on the left; and it was evident that, at the next bombardment, it would scarcely be possible to preserve the town from destruction. The Russians prepared to strike a blow, the influence of which would be felt in the councils of Vienna, and in the Cabinets of every State in Europe. The French had now pushed their works almost to the abattis of the Malakoff, and were so near that a man might throw a stone into the Russian position. It began to be understood by all engaged that the real point of attack would be the Malakoff works, the capture of which would render the Redan untenable, and make the surrender of the south side of the place merely a question of time. [Sidenote: RUSSIAN LETTER TO A SISTER] The following letter, which was found in Laspi, near Baidar, affords a curious insight into the feeling of Russian civilians. It was written from a village close to the north Fort of Sebastopol, and ran thus:-- _May 26_ (_June 7_). "You are not, my dear sister, in a very safe position; according to my judgment, the enemy is only a few steps from you at Foross. The Baidar road is broken up. We have already sent pioneers to the coast to break up the roads in case of the arrival of the enemy; they have taken a sufficient quantity of powder. In your letter of the 12th of May (24th) you said all was quiet about you, but it cannot be so now. Kertch is taken; at Arabat there was a battle, in which we were victorious. They even say that a Russian army is marching upon Paris. Up to to-day all was quiet in Sebastopol. To-day the enemy bombarded heavily, but did nothing but bombard, and will do nothing; they can do nothing at all against us. Mother, who has just come from there, says it is impossible to recognize the town, it is so much changed by the fortification continually added to it. At the Severnaya, you enter as through a gate, with enormous batteries on each side. Mother was there a day when it was quite quiet; she even slept in the town that night. At ten o'clock a shell fell into the gallery near the window; happily it did not fall into the room, or she might have been hurt. * * * They say that the seat of war will soon be transferred to the Danube. It is time that these gentlemen should leave us, and let us have a little rest. As soon as they go, the town of Sebastopol will be built where the Chersonese was, and what is now Sebastopol will be entirely a fortress. How curious it will be, till one gets accustomed to it," &c. The writer goes on to speak of her yellow dress being ready, and of her intention of going in it to Sebastopol in order to have her portrait taken. The Severnaya alluded to in the letter was what we called the Star Fort, or is more probably the name for the whole northern faubourg. After the sortie of the 23rd of July, nothing of importance, or even of interest, occurred. The desultory fire, to which we were accustomed, continued by day, usually swelling into a roar of artillery for a portion of every night. The casualties continued much as before, not very heavy, although some days were unlucky, and on the night of the 28th the Guards had twenty-five or thirty men killed and wounded. Soon after five o'clock on the morning of the 31st of July a most violent storm of wind and rain commenced. It caused much discomfort and actual damage in the camp, over which it raged with combined fury and obstinacy which I do not remember to have seen surpassed. The extensive portion of the camp, of which I commanded a view from my hut, was converted into a lake, the rain descending much faster than it could sink into the earth. Over the surface of this lake the rain was borne in clouds by the driving wind, and formed a sort of watery curtain through which the soaked tents looked dreary and dismal enough. The shelter which they offered, imperfect as it was, was sought, and only here and there a drenched figure was to be seen struggling through the blast. In the pens the mules and horses hung their heads mournfully, enduring, with melancholy philosophy, the inevitable and unwelcome _douche_. In sundry nooks and corners to the leeward of tents, and under the eaves of huts, the camp fowls took refuge, with drooping plumes, and that look of profound discomfort peculiar to poultry under difficulties. Even the furious war of the elements did not arrest the strife between man and man, and from time to time, above the roar of the wind and the plash of the rain, the boom of a gun reached us. I was told by a French officer of Artillery, that General Pelissier, on being asked when offensive siege operations would be again resumed, said, "Well, I don't know: the Russians are losing every day 300 or 400 men by sickness. If we wait a week, they will have lost a brigade; if we wait a month, they will have lost a _corps d'armée_." But if the Russians lost many men by sickness, they managed to replace them. Numbers of stories were in circulation about the formidable forces which had come, and kept coming, and apprehensions of an attack upon the Tchernaya line gained ground daily. On the night of August 2nd, between ten and eleven o'clock, P.M., the Russians sallied out of the town by the Woronzoff Road, and advanced to the heavy iron frieze placed across the Woronzoff Road, between the left and right attacks. The advanced picket at the _chevaux de frise_ was commanded by Lieutenant R. E. Carr, of the 39th Regiment, who behaved with coolness and gallantry. He fell back slowly, keeping up a fire on the Russians, to the advanced trench guard, under Captain Lackie, 39th Regiment. The trench guard on the right of the fourth parallel, under Captain Boyle, 89th, and Captain Turner, 1st Royals, checked the enemy, and they retired after ten minutes' firing, leaving a few men killed behind them, and carrying off a part of the barrier. [Sidenote: COMPOSITION OF PIEDMONTESE ARMY.] Piedmont, placed as it is between two great military Powers--France and Austria--has evidently watched with attention the progress and improvements which have been introduced into the military systems of these two neighbouring empires, and adapted their experiments in these matters to her own advantage. In the autumn of every year a concentration of troops takes place in Lombardy, and before the war of 1848 numbers of Piedmontese officers used to assemble there. The same was, and I think is still, the case whenever a camp is collected in the south of France. Thus they had the opportunity of studying two, in many respects, very different systems. The result is a blending of the two in arms, accoutrements, administration, and movements. For instance, the infantry is dressed in French fashion, with leather gaiters under the trousers, the long coat reaching to the knees; the only exception being the shako, which more resembles the Austrian shako than the French kepi. The cavalry and the artillery, on the contrary, wear the short tunic of the Austrian cavalry and artillery. For the movements of infantry as well as of cavalry the French manual has been exclusively adopted, and at some distance one could scarcely distinguish French cavalry manoeuvring from Piedmontese, were it not for the difference in the seat of the riders. The _manège_ is decidedly Austrian. The spirit of the Piedmontese army--I mean, the relations existing between soldiers and officers, and of the intercourse of the latter with one another--is, however, more analagous to that of the English than to that of either the French or Austrian armies. It is neither the easy familiarity which exists between the French officer and soldier, nor that "beggar-on-horseback"-like tyranny of the officer and the unwilling slavishness of the soldier which characterize the Austrian army. The officers in the Piedmontese, like those in the English Army, belong almost exclusively to the higher classes, and only rarely does an officer rise from the ranks, so that the distance between officer and soldier is not one of mere discipline, but social; and, however the spirit of Republicanism and the longing for equality may be developed in other states of Italy, Piedmont does not seem to be impregnated with it, and the system adopted of choosing for officers men from the higher classes answers very well. On the other hand, the officers themselves associate much in the same manner as in the English Army. When official business is over and social intercourse begins, the difference between the higher and lower officer entirely ceases, and they associate as gentlemen are wont to do. On the 30th of July a medical board was ordered on Lieutenant-General Sir R. England, G.C.B., commanding Third Division, and he was recommended to return to England. He was the last of the generals who left England in command of a division. Major-General Eyre succeeded him in the Third Division. On the 5th, Brigadier Lockyer was in orders for Ceylon, and Colonel Windham, C.B., was nominated to succeed him in the command of the Second Brigade, 2nd Division. On the 3rd of August General Canrobert was recalled. At an early hour on the 7th, General Simpson went round the lines, examining the works. A council of war was held on Wednesday evening, 8th, at the British head-quarters. The principal medical officers of Divisions received orders to clear the hospitals, to send to Balaklava such patients as could safely be moved, and to complete the preparations for the reception of wounded men. Leave of absence continued to be granted to a very large extent. Taking five of the then latest general orders, those of the 3rd, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th of August, we find the names of no less than seventy officers who had received permission to absent themselves. Of these, twenty-nine proceeded to England--twenty-six of them in virtue of medical certificates, and three upon "urgent private affairs," or in consideration of peculiar circumstances: twenty-seven went to Scutari and Therapia for periods varying from two to five weeks; twelve on board ship, and two to the Monastery of St. George, where there were ten rooms fitted up for ailing or convalescent officers. I heard a colonel declare that he had but one captain and three subalterns on duty in his battalion, and that he, consequently, had to send one hundred men into the trenches under charge of a youth of eighteen. If this state of things could not have been helped, it, at least, was very unfortunate. Enough officers did not come out to replace those who went home. The protracted siege--if siege it could be called, which in reality was a tedious struggle between two rows of detached forts--was certainly not popular with the officers of the army, few of whom cared to remain if they had a respectable pretext for returning home, while fewer still desired to return hither when they once got away. I am persuaded that if there had been more movement in the campaign--if, instead of monotonous trench duty we had been engaged in ordinary warfare, manoeuvring, marching, fighting, there would have been both less sickness and fewer seeking leave. I do not attempt to decide the question whether leave was sometimes too easily granted, and more to interest than to necessity. The French were thought to fall into the other extreme, and instances were cited to me in which the lives of valuable officers would have been saved had they been allowed to exchange severe duty (one night out of three in the trenches, independently of ordinary guards and parades, cannot be considered light labour) for a period of relaxation in a more salutary climate. On the 9th the Russians amused themselves by throwing a few round shot into the camp of the Fourth Division. Two of these buried themselves in the ground, close to a hospital hut of the 17th Regiment, shaking the edifice and astonishing the wounded, but doing no other damage; another killed a man of the field-train as he lay in his tent. It was said the missiles were intended for General Bentinck's tents, which were near the Fourth Division flagstaff on Cathcart's Hill. The Duke of Newcastle was staying there. A new kitchen, building for the General, was thought to have attracted the attention of the Muscovite gunners. [Sidenote: DEMAND FOR BLACK MAIL BY TURKS.] Late in the evening of the 13th of August orders were given for the troops to be under arms by three in the morning. Of course, Malakoff was immediately the word, and most persons supposed that the long-talked-of assault was to be made. This, however, was soon found not to be the case. Without tap of drum or sound of bugle, the camp was afoot at the prescribed hour, the troops forming up in profound silence. The entire army was out, including the cavalry and artillery from Balaklava. The first grey of morning found a number of officers and amateurs assembled on Cathcart's Hill, the best point of observation. There was unusually little firing the day before and during the night, and all expected that this tranquillity was quickly to be broken by the din of an engagement. The interest of the situation grew stronger as the morning advanced, and as the scarlet columns became visible, massed along the lines, motionless and expectant. Superior officers, with their staff, moved to and fro; aides-de-camp traversed the heights with orders; here and there, through the still imperfect light, which began to be tinged with the first red flush of sunrise, waved the pennons of a Lancer escort. With broad day, the brief excitement ended. Before the upper edge of the sun's disc rose above the hills, the troops were marching briskly back to their tents. The morning was beautifully clear, and the spectacle was striking. In fine order, in serried columns, looking hardy, active, and cheerful, and up to any work, the Crimean army regained its canvas quarters. For the day, the danger was over--to commence again, it was believed, at night. From certain orders that were given with respect to ammunition, mules, &c., I inferred that the army would again be under arms early the next morning. The officers were warned to be ready at a moment's notice. It was believed that reinforcements had reached Sebastopol. They had been expected for some time previously. Four divisions were talked of, two of them Imperial Guards. Word was sent up from the fleet to head-quarters that large bodies of troops had been seen collecting behind the Redan, and others behind the Tchernaya, and there were grounds for expecting a general attack along our lines. The Generals of Division assembled in the afternoon at the quarters of the Commander-in-Chief. General Simpson was indisposed, and it was reported that he intended going on board ship for a few days. It is not impossible that this turn-out of the Army was a mere rehearsal, intended to ascertain whether all the actors were perfect in their parts, and in case of need would be promptly at their posts. The report in camp was, that the Archduke Michael was in Sebastopol. We learned from deserters that he had been expected. General Pelissier held 40,000 men in readiness to operate on the line of the Tchernaya, which, from its extent, was perhaps the most attackable part of our position; but it was vigilantly guarded. The _Orinoco_ arrived at Balaklava with Dragoons and horses. Mr. Doyne, Superintendent-in-Chief of the Army Working Corps, also arrived. He came as far as Constantinople in the _Simoom_, with 450 of his men, who were to follow him to the Crimea. The casualties from the 10th to the 12th were 19 killed; one officer, and 112 wounded. On the afternoon of the 13th, a distinguished young officer, Major Hugh Drummond, Scots Fusileer Guards, was killed as he was posting his sentries in front of the trenches. Drafts arrived to the Light Division; the 71st Regiment, and one squadron of 1st Dragoon Guards, landed at Balaklava. The troops turned out every morning before dawn, and the Sardinians and French made reconnaissances. The Russian villas in the lovely valley of Baidar suffered, in which the Turks discovered, in a little country-house on the sea-shore, called Laspi, an old French doctor, who had been established many years in Russia. One fine morning a complaint was made to the French General by his countryman, that five Turkish soldiers had come to pay a visit to Laspi. They were received and fed, but before going away they asked for "_madjar_" (Hungarian ducats, the best known foreign money among the Turks). The old doctor, who of course understood nothing of their language, thought it was a polite inquiry about his nationality; and, wishing to rectify the mistake of his guests, pointed to the French cockade which he had fixed on his cap, saying at the same time, "_Je suis Français, Français._" But when one of the soldiers took hold of his watch and chain, and the others began to search the persons of the ladies of the family, he was aware that it was he, and not the Turks, who had made the mistake, and the soldiers departed with objects to the value of about £200. General Pelissier addressed a complaint to the Turkish head-quarters. The answer was, that the Turks had the strictest orders not to plunder; that the marauders could not have been Turkish soldiers; and that the dress and flint muskets must have been borrowed or taken in order to make people believe that they were Turks. After the French and English cavalry occupied the valley, the visits to the country-houses became much more systematic. The Russians having entirely withdrawn from the coast up to Yalta, the whole of the country-houses on the shore were opened to enterprising individuals, and every morning arabas and pack-horses came into camp, loaded with the most heterogeneous objects; chairs, beds, crockery, carpets, pictures, albums, ladies' work-baskets, embroidered cushions, cooking utensils, wine, and hundreds of other things, were brought back and sold all along the road. In order to put a stop to these excursions, an English cavalry picket was stationed at the Phoros Pass, which is erected on the highest point of the Woronzoff Road, just before it begins to descend towards the sea, and nobody was allowed to enter except with a pass. But this mended things only half--that is to say, no English soldier was permitted to indulge in a roaming disposition; but French marauders, as before, came duly provided with a pass, and returned with as much plunder as they could possibly carry. CHAPTER II. Defeat of the Russians--Renewal of hostilities--Bravery of the Allied Armies--Tenacity of Russian Attack--Usual prognostication of Retreat--Letter of Emperor read to Russian troops--Enumeration of troops engaged on the side of the Allies--Despatch of Marshal Pelissier. On the 16th of August the long-threatened attack of the Russians took place, and ended in their complete defeat. Movements of large numbers of troops in the neighbourhood of Sebastopol, the unanimous reports of the deserters, of whom several came in every day, and information gained from Tartars, had given intimation that the Russians intended to try their luck once more in an offensive operation. Although, at first, the line of the Tchernaya suggested itself as the point which the Russians would most probably attack, a supposition which was moreover confirmed by all the deserters, yet, as large numbers of newly-arrived troops were seen concentrated in and about the Russian works, apprehensions were entertained that they might attempt the positions before Sebastopol. [Sidenote: POSITIONS OF THE ARMIES.] Several deserters came in on the 15th, and spoke with the utmost certainty of an intended attack on the Tchernaya; but no particular attention was paid to their reports, and no special orders were given to the troops, except "to be prepared;" and this had been so often repeated that it made no impression. In Baidar, whence the English cavalry had been withdrawn, two regiments of heavy French cavalry, and detachments of Chasseurs and Zouaves, were stationed. On the 15th, General d'Allonville sent word by semaphore, that large numbers of Russian troops were concentrated on the heights, and that he expected to be attacked. Late in the evening, notice of this message was sent to General Della Marmora and Osman Pasha. No additional precautions were taken on the Tchernaya line, and the advance was scarcely less a surprise than that of Inkerman. The first news of the attack was brought about daybreak by some Chasseurs forming part of a patrol who fell into an ambuscade and escaped, while their comrades were taken prisoners. Soon afterwards the outposts across the Tchernaya were driven in, and at daybreak the cannonade began. The Tchernaya, issuing from the narrow gorge in which it runs after leaving the Valley of Baidar, at the Tower of Karlovka, flows between a succession of hillocks, which formed the basis of the position of the allied armies. On the extreme right, the Turks were stationed. They occupied two hillocks, between which are two roads leading from Higher Tchorgoun and the Tower of Karlovka into the Woronzoff Road. The Sardinians leant on the little mountain stream which limited the Turkish position to the left, and on the large hillock above the road from Balaklava to Tchorgoun, and occupied a position of the utmost importance in the defence of the line of the Tchernaya. In front, and divided from it by the aqueduct, was another hillock, smaller but equally steep, accessible from the first by a stone bridge on which the Sardinians had a small _épaulement_. They had outposts at the other side of the Tchernaya, on the hillock near the Mackenzie Road. The French occupied three hillocks to the left of the Sardinians, and guarded the road leading to Balaklava over the Traktir Bridge from Mackenzie's Farm. The first of these, to the right, was separated from the others by the road to the bridge; and the third, on the left, was protected by the basin of the aqueduct. In front of the bridge there was an _épaulement_, beyond which were the outposts. [Illustration PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA AUGUST 16th 1855. Reduced from the Q.M. General's Plan. ] The first attack of the Russians was against the outposts of the Sardinians. Corresponding to the hillocks on the south side of the Tchernaya were three plateaux from which their guns could command not only the ground opposite occupied by the Sardinians and Turks, but the plain which opens towards the French position. A company of infantry, and a company of bersaglieri, formed the Sardinian outposts. They were attacked at dawn. As the troops were not under arms, it was necessary to hold this position for a while, and General Della Marmora sent Major Govone, of the Etat-Major, with a company of bersaglieri, to reinforce the companies. They crossed the aqueduct and the river, and went up the plateau; but, when they arrived on the crest, the two companies had just left the _épaulement_, which had become untenable, as it was swept by the guns which the Russians had brought up on the plateaux, and was exposed to be taken in the rear. The Sardinians retired in good order across the river, and went to reinforce the post which occupied the second hillock on the aqueduct. The cannonade on both sides commenced. Scarcely had the cannonade opened when three compact columns of infantry advanced towards the French position, and attacked the bridge and the hillock to the right. The French outpost beyond the bridge consisted of a company of the 2nd regiment of Zouaves. The other _avant postes_, to the right of the Zouaves up to the Sardinian outposts, were furnished by the 20th _léger_ and the 22nd of the line. The _réveillée_ had not yet gone in camp, when the sentinels were alarmed by hearing the tramp of men, whose forms were yet invisible in the darkness. The posts had not time to stand to their arms ere they were driven across the river; but the desultory firing had given timely warning to the main guards and to the camps, and the men turned out just as a storm of round shot began to rush over the ground. The Russian columns, protected by the fire of their artillery, moved in excellent order down to the river side, notwithstanding the heavy fire of artillery which greeted them in front from the French, and in flank from the Sardinians. At the river the first column detached itself from the rest, and dividing into two parts crossed the river, which is easily fordable in summer. Before the troops were properly under arms the Russians were at the bridge and at the foot of the hillock. The 20th _léger_ and the 2nd battalion of Zouaves had to stand the first shock, and they certainly stood it gallantly. The Russians, without losing time in firing, advanced with an _élan_ scarcely ever seen in Russian troops. They were new troops, belonging, according to the prisoners and wounded, to the 5th division of the 2nd _corps d'armée_, lately arrived from Poland. The aqueduct which ran close to the foot of the hillock, formed the chief defence of the French. About nine or ten feet wide and several feet deep, it skirts the steep hills so close, that it is nearly in all places supported by a high embankment, offering considerable difficulties for an advancing force, and exposing them as soon as they reach the top of the embankment, to commanding musketry fire. Notwithstanding this, the Russians crossed it on the right, and were beginning to scale the heights, when, taken in flank by the Sardinian batteries, which fired with admirable precision, they were swept down wholesale and rolled into the aqueduct. [Sidenote: ORDINARY SIGNAL OF RUSSIAN RETREAT.] This first rush did not last ten minutes. The Russians fell back. Scarcely had they gone a few hundred yards when they were met by a second column, which was advancing at the _pas de charge_, and both united and again rushed forward. This second attempt was more successful than the first. They forded the river on the right and left, at the bridge, and forced its defenders to fall back. The moment the bridge was free two guns of the 5th Light Brigade of Artillery crossed it and took position between two of the hillocks on the road which leads to the plain of Balaklava. A third gun crossed the river by a ford, and all three began to sweep the road and the heights. The infantry, without waiting for the portable bridges, the greater part of which had been thrown away during the advance, rushed breast-deep into the water, climbed up the embankment, and began to scale the heights. They succeeded in getting up more than one-half of the ascent, where the dead and wounded afterwards showed clearly the mark they reached; but by this time the French met them in the most gallant style. The Russians were by degrees forced back, and driven across the bridge, carrying away their guns. While this conflict took place on the bridge, the other column attacked the French right in such a swarm that they could neither be kept back by the aqueduct, nor cowed by the Sardinian guns, which were ploughing long lanes through their ranks. On they came, as it seemed, irresistible, and rushed up the steep hill with such fury that the Zouaves, who lined the sides of it, were obliged to fall back. The officers might be seen leading the way and animating their soldiers. This furious rush brought the advancing column to the crest of the hillock, where it stopped to form. But the French had not been idle. Scarcely did the column of the enemy show its head, ere the guns opened upon it with grape, and a murderous fire was poured in by the French infantry. The column began to waver; but the impetus from those behind was so powerful that the head was pushed forward a few yards more, when the French, giving one mighty cheer, rushed upon the enemy, who, shaken already, immediately turned round and ran. But the mass was so great that all the hurry could not save them, and more than 200 prisoners were taken, the banks of the aqueduct, the aqueduct itself, and the river side were covered and filled with the dead and the wounded. The Sardinian and French artillery poured a murderous cross-fire into the scattered remains of the column. It was a complete rout. The French drove them far across the plain. This defeat completely depressed them; nothing more was attempted against this side. Not so on the bridge. Notwithstanding the heavy loss suffered in the second attack, the Russians collected the scattered remains of the column which had been routed on the right of the French, and brought up all their reserves. They crossed the river, and the aqueduct too, but the French were now thoroughly prepared, and the tenacity of the Russians only served to augment their losses. This last failure was decisive, and immediately the advance of the artillery--the usual Russian preparation for retreat--showed they were on the point of retiring. Three batteries, each of twelve guns, began to open fire, while the remains of the infantry rallied behind a rising ground leading up towards the plateau of Ayker, or Mackenzie's Height. The Sardinians, who, with the exception of the little outpost fight on the opposite side of the Tchernaya, had only supported the French by their artillery, began to move across the aqueduct. The Russian riflemen, after the last defeat on the right, had retired behind the banks of the Tchernaya. A battalion of Piedmontese, preceded by a company of bersaglieri, advanced in beautiful order as if on parade, and soon drove these riflemen from their position. It even advanced some way, but it was not intended to force the heights. The French brought up a new division (Dulac's). The English and French cavalry were in readiness on the ground of the Light Cavalry charge, to receive the enemy if they should debouch on the plain. But General Morris would not risk the cavalry on the plain, intersected as it was by the branches of the river, and defended, as it was still, by the Russian guns on the height; so only two squadrons of Chasseurs d'Afrique followed the retreating enemy. The guns which the Russians had brought up to cover their retreat suffered so much by the fire, which from our side was increased by Captain Mowbray's battery from the open ground between the Sardinian and the French positions, that they made off. As the guns retired, a brilliant line of cavalry appeared from behind the rising ground. I could distinguish five regiments--three in line and two other regiments in second line. They advanced at a gallop, and wheeling round, allowed twelve guns to pass, which again opened fire, but at half-past nine or ten o'clock black lines moving off, through clouds of the dust on the Mackenzie Road, were the only traces which remained of the so long threatened attack of the Russians. Although not quite so obstinate and sanguinary as the Battle of Inkerman, this affair resembled it in many points. The Russians gave up manoeuvring, and confided entirely in the valour of their troops. The difference was in the manner of fighting. At Inkerman the Russians fell under file firing; on the Tchernaya it was the artillery which did the greatest execution. On the banks of the aqueduct particularly, the sight was appalling; the Russians, when scaling the embankment of the aqueduct, were taken in flank by the Sardinian batteries, and the dead and wounded rolled down the embankment, sometimes more than twenty feet in height. According to the account of the prisoners, and judging from the straps on the shoulders of the wounded and dead, three divisions were engaged in the actual attack,--the 5th of the 2nd _corps d'armée_ (of General Paniutin), then lately arrived from Poland, under the command of General Wrangel; the 12th division of the 4th _corps d'armée_ (Osten Sacken's), formerly under the command of General Liprandi, afterwards under General Martinolep; and the 17th division of the 6th _corps d'armée_ (Liprandi's), under Major-General Wassielkosky. Before the attack began, General Gortschakoff, who commanded in person, read a letter from the Emperor before them, in which he expressed a hope that they would prove as valorous as last year when they took the heights of Balaklava; and then there was a large distribution of brandy. Besides the three divisions which attacked, the 7th occupied Tchorgoun and the heights, but was not engaged except in the small outpost affair of the Sardinians. The French had three divisions engaged--the Division Faucheux to the right, the Division d'Herbillon in the centre, and the Division (Camou) on the left of the bridge; their loss was about 1,000 in killed and wounded. The Sardinians had only one division engaged (the Division Trotti), and lost but a few hundred men; they had to regret the loss of a distinguished general officer, the Brigadier-General Count de Montevecchio, who died of his wounds; but they gained great confidence from the day, and were proud of holding their own so well under the eyes of their allies. The battle had been raging for an hour ere I reached the line of the French works at Fedukhine. From the high grounds over which I had to ride, the whole of the battle-field was marked out by rolling columns of smoke, and the irregular thick puffs of the artillery. All our cavalry camps were deserted; but the sun played on the helmets and sabres of the solid squadrons, which were drawn up about two miles in advance of Kadikoi, and just in rear of the line of hills which the French and Sardinians were defending, so as to be ready to charge the Russians should they force the position. The French cavalry, chasseurs, hussars, and two regiments of dragoons, were on our left. Our light and our heavy cavalry brigades were formed in two heavy masses, supported by artillery in the plain behind the second Fedukhine hillock, and seemed in splendid case, and "eager for the fray." The Allies had, in fact, not less than 6,000 very fine cavalry that day in the field; but they were held in check, "for fear" of the artillery, which there is no doubt they could have captured, in addition to many thousands of prisoners, if handled by a Seidlitz or a Murat. But the French General would not permit a charge to be executed, though French and English cavalry leaders were alike eager for it, and so this noble force was rendered ineffective. Having passed by the left of the cavalry, I gained the side of the hill just as a large body of French troops crowned it at the _pas double_, deployed, and at once charged down towards the aqueduct, where a strong column of Russians, protected by a heavy fire of artillery on the crest of the ridge, were making good their ground against the exhausted French. This new regiment attacking them with extraordinary impetuosity on the flank, literally swept the Russians like flies into the aqueduct, or rolled them headlong down its steep banks; and at the same moment a French battery on my right, belonging, I think, to the Imperial Guards, opened on the shattered crowd with grape, and tore them into atoms. This column was the head, so to speak, of the second attack on the lines, and emerging through the flying mass, another body of Russian infantry, with levelled bayonets, advanced with great steadiness towards the aqueduct once more. As far as the eye could see towards the right, the flat caps and grey coats were marching towards the Allied position, or detaching themselves from the distant reserves, which were visible here and there concealed amid the hills. As the French battery opened, a Russian battery was detached to answer it, and to draw off their fire; but our gallant Allies took their pounding with great gallantry and coolness, and were not diverted for a moment from their business of dealing with the infantry column, the head of which was completely knocked to pieces in two minutes. Then the officers halted it, and tried in vain to deploy them--the column, wavering and wriggling like a great serpent, began to spread out from the further extremity like a fan, and to retreat towards the rear. Another crashing volley of grape, and they are retreating over the plain. And now there breaks high over all the roar of battle, heavier thunder. Those are the deep, angry voices of the great English heavy battery of 18-pounders and 32-pounder howitzers, under Mowbray, which search out the reserves. These guns were placed far away on my right, near the Sardinians, and it is acknowledged by all that they did good service upon this eventful day. The advance I had just witnessed was the last effort of the enemy. Their infantry rolled in confused masses over the plain on the other side of the Tchernaya, were pursued by the whole fire of the French batteries and of the 8-inch English howitzers in the Sardinian redoubt, and by a continuous and well-directed fusillade, till they were out of range. Their defeat was announced by the advance of their cavalry, and by the angry volleys of their artillery against the positions of the Allies. Their cavalry, keeping out of range, made a very fair show, with lances and standards, and sabres shining brightly; but beyond that they did nothing--and, indeed, they could do nothing, as we did not give them a chance of action. The Russians were supported by guns, but they did not seem well placed, nor did they occupy a good position at any time of the fight. The infantry formed in square blocks in the rear of this force, and then began to file off towards the Mackenzie Road, and the French rocket battery opened on them from the plateau, and, strange to say, reached them several times. It was about eight o'clock when their regular retreat commenced, and the English cavalry and artillery began to retire also at that hour to their camps, much discontented, because they had had no larger share in the honours of the day. The march of the Russians continued till late in the day--their last column gained the plateau about two o'clock. It must have been a terrible march for them--not a drop of water to be had; and even when they gained their arid camp, it is only too probable that they had nothing to drink; indeed, the prisoners told us the men were encouraged to the attack by being told that if they gained the Tchernaya they would have abundance of water--the greatest inducement that could be held out to them. I rode down towards the _tête-du-pont_. In order to get a good view of the retreat, I descended to the bridge, which was covered with wounded men. Just as I gained the centre of it, a volley of shells was pitched right upon it, and amid the French, who, with their usual humanity, were helping the wounded. Some burst in the shallow stream, the sides of which were crowded with wounded men; others killed poor wretches who were crawling towards the water,--one in particular, to whom I had just an instant before thrown a sandwich; others knocked pieces out of the bridge, or tore up the causeway. As the road was right in the line of fire, I at once turned off the bridge, and pulling sharp round, dashed under an arch just as the battery opened on us a second time, and there I remained for about ten minutes, when the Russians seemed ashamed of themselves, and gave us a respite for a few moments. The next time they fired was with round shot; and as I retreated up the road, to obtain shelter behind the hills, one of these knocked a wounded Zouave to pieces before my eyes. In the rear of the hill, there was a party of about five hundred Russian prisoners _en bivouac_. Many of them were wounded; all were war-worn, dirty, ill-clad,--some in rags, others almost bootless. The French sentries who guarded them seemed to commiserate the poor fellows; but two or three of their own officers, who sat apart, did not look at them, but smoked their cigars with great nonchalance, or talked glibly to the French officers of the fortune of war, &c. In a short time I returned to the front, and saw General Simpson and a few staff-officers descending from the Sardinian position, whence they had watched the battle. They were on their way back to head-quarters; but Captain Colville, aide-de-camp to the General, a young officer of ability and promise, and always of an inquiring turn of mind, turned back with me, and we rode over the bridge. The French were, however, obdurate, and would not let us cross the _tête-du-pont_, as we were _en pleine portée_ of the guns posted behind a white scarp on a hillock on the opposite side. We could see that the Sardinians had recovered their old ground, and occupied the height from which their advanced posts were driven early in the day. Further, we could see the Russian cavalry, but the great mass of infantry was in full retreat; and at nine o'clock the road to Mackenzie's Farm was thronged with a close column of thirsty, footsore, beaten Russians. The aspect of the field, of the aqueduct, and of the river, was horrible beyond description;--the bodies were closely packed in parties, and lay in files two or three deep, where the grape had torn through the columns. For two days the bodies rotted on the ground which lay beyond the French lines, and the first Russian burying party did not come down till the 18th, when the stench was so very great that the men could scarcely perform their loathsome task. General Read was killed early in the battle; and the Russians lost every officer in command of an attacking column. Their total loss was, we estimated, at from 12,000 to 15,000 men. CHAPTER III. Spoil of Camp-followers and Sutlers--Renewal of Cannonade--Nature of Russian Artillery firing--Unwillingness of the Turks to throw up Earthworks--List of British Wounded, Killed and Missing--British Reinforcements--Reports of Russian attack on Balaklava--Rumours of Peace--Peace party in Camp--Tenacity and Endurance of Russians underrated by them--Desire of English Cavalry to avenge their Comrades. After the affair of the 16th, the siege operations monopolized, in great measure, the military interest which the Tchernaya had attracted for one moment. But the Tchernaya became a point of attraction for all curiosity-seeking persons, whose name was legion, in the Allied armies. Officers and soldiers, although numerous enough, were few in proportion to the merchant sailors, suttlers from Balaklava and Kamiesch, and other nondescript camp-followers, who formed a class of themselves, and were as sure to appear after an action was over as vultures. Everything was acceptable. They had little chance of getting hold of medals, amulets, and crosses, and other more valuable spoil, for these disappeared marvellously; but they were not particular. The Russian muskets were most in request--cartridge-boxes, riflemen's swords, bayonets, &c., were taken _faute de mieux_. There were some excellent rifles, with sword-bayonets, which were in great request; they were, as was usually the case with all valuable things, picked up by the Zouaves, who certainly had the best right to them, having won them by their bravery. The Zouaves sold them, and the gendarmes took them away again, leaving the purchaser free to single out the Zouave who sold the rifle, and to get back his purchase-money. But the gendarmes confiscated all arms, whether paid for or not, as, according to the regulations of the French army, they ought to have been collected on the battle-field by the Artillery--a thing which was never done. The fire, which opened at daybreak on Friday, continued the whole of Saturday and Sunday, but slackened on Monday. The progress of the French works was considerable, and the French seemed duly sensible of the service of our cannonade. I heard a French officer say on Saturday evening that it had enabled them to do in four hours what they previously could not have done in fifteen days. Their foremost parallel, which had been begun at the two ends, could not be completed, owing to its near proximity to the Malakoff. As soon as a gabion was put up, a storm of projectiles was hurled against it and the working party; afterwards the extremities were connected under the cover of our fire. The distance was indeed so greatly reduced between the French trenches and the Russian defences, that a vigorous assault seemed certain to succeed. [Sidenote: HARASSING NATURE OF "TURNS-OUTS"] The Russians always considered it a point of honour to go off in great style on the first day of a bombardment; after which they ran their guns behind the parapets, covered them with sandbags, and allowed us to blaze away without making frequent reply. Although earthworks take a deal of hammering before they show its marks, both the Redan and Malakoff began to present a very battered appearance. We had, of course, no means of ascertaining the Russian loss of men. Every night our people kept up the musketry against the proper right and the curtain of the Malakoff to protect the French workmen, and shells and bouquets of shells flew all along the lines right and left--very pretty to look at, but unpleasant to meet. At sunset on Saturday evening, the 18th of August, a party of the Naval Brigade, commanded by Lieutenant Gough, dragged a 68-pounder up to No. 11 Battery left attack to bear on the mole-head and on the bridge across the creek, but it did not appear to impede the movements of the enemy. On the afternoon of the 20th, between five and six o'clock, the French batteries on the left opened a furious fire, to which the Russians warmly replied. General Pelissier, in his open carriage, with his aides-de-camp and usual hussar escort, passed through the English camp and went up to Cathcart's Hill. The fire lasted until nightfall, and then diminished. At midnight it had almost ceased, and one saw but an occasional shell in the air. At 2 A.M. orders came for the army to turn out. This was rapidly done; the troops moved to the front, and remained there until daylight. A line of telegraphic lights had been observed, commencing at Sebastopol, and running along the Inkerman heights, and it was supposed that an attack was intended. These "turns-outs" were frequent and harassing during this period of the siege. The French, who were convinced that in the face of a strong force of the enemy, who might come down with his battalions in a few hours during the night, field fortifications were never _de trop_, threw up three redoubts to command the bridge, which was the weakest point of their defence. They were named Raglan Redoubt, Bizot Redoubt (in honour of the fallen general of Engineers), and La Bussonière Redoubt (in honour of the colonel of Artillery of that name who fell on the 18th of June). The Sardinians strengthened their position. Their works assumed the shape of an entrenched camp, and every variation in the ground was taken advantage of. The hills were particularly suited for fortified lines. The Turks, who occupied the extreme right of our position, and who had to guard the two roads leading from the valley of Varnutka, did nothing in the _tabia_ line. In vain did the Sardinian engineers throw out gentle hints about the propriety of erecting a couple of _épaulements_, and point out divers hills and heights peculiarly suited for a redoubt; they turned a deaf ear to all these suggestions, and, except the works which had been previously thrown up by the Piedmontese, when they held some of the positions guarded by the Turks, not a shovelful of earth was turned up. This would have seemed so much the more surprising, as the Turks had become notorious by their fortification, at Kalafat, Giurgevo, Silistria, and Eupatoria. [Sidenote: WEIGHT AND CALIBRE OF BRITISH MISSILES.] On the 25th, the Highland division under General Cameron encamped close to the Piedmontese. On the same day, General Simpson reconnoitred with great care the position of the enemy, who had massed a considerable number of troops on the Mackenzie Plateau at Taura and Korales, and had pushed forward strong parties as far as Makoul. It was understood from the spies that two regiments of the Grenadier Corps had been sent down in light carts from Simpheropol. At the same time the Russians were busy at a line of earthworks connecting all their defences from the sea to the West Inkerman Lighthouse Hill. Their bridge of boats or pontoons from north to south, across the road, was completed. It passed from the western curve of Fort Nicholas on the south, to the creek between Nachimoff Battery and Fort Michael. From the 20th to the 23rd of August inclusive, we lost 2 sergeants, 24 rank and file killed; 8 officers, 8 sergeants, 168 rank and file wounded--total, 220 _hors de combat_. On the 20th, Lieutenant Home, 48th, was contused on the shoulder; Lieutenant Campbell, 72nd, slightly wounded; Lieutenant McBarnet, 79th, ditto; Captain Dickson, R.A., ditto;--on the 21st, Lieutenant Smith, 28th, ditto;--on the 22nd, Lieutenant Campbell, Scots Fusileer Guards, ditto; Lieutenant Wield, 95th, severely;--on the 23rd, Lieutenant de Winton, R.A., slightly. The casualties from the 24th to the 26th of August were--24 rank and file killed; 9 officers, 6 sergeants, and 137 rank and file wounded and missing. On the 24th, Major Warden, 97th, and Lieutenant Bigge, 23rd, were slightly, and Captain J. F. Browne, R.E., was severely wounded. On the 25th, Captain R. Drummond was dangerously wounded. Colonel Seymour (who was wounded in the thumb at Inkerman) was hit in the head by a piece of a shell. Lieutenant Laurie, 34th, was slightly wounded the same day; on the 26th, Lieutenant Rous, of the 90th, and Captain Arbuthnot, R.A., were wounded severely. On the 28th, Captain Forbes, Grenadier Guards, received a very slight flesh scratch. On the 29th, Captain Farquharson, Scotch Fusileer Guards, and Major Graham, 41st Regiment, were wounded, the first slightly, the latter severely; and on the 30th, Captain Wolsley, of the 90th acting as Engineer, was severely wounded. From the 27th to the 30th August, 1 officer, 1 sergeant, and 20 rank and file were killed; 6 officers, 4 sergeants, and 152 rank and file were wounded. The casualties from 31st August to 2nd September were 1 officer, 1 sergeant, 22 rank and file killed; 6 officers, 7 sergeants, 106 rank and file wounded; 1 officer, 1 rank and file missing. Captain Fraser, 95th, was killed on the 31st, and on the same night Lieutenant Burningheim, of the 3rd Regiment, was slightly, and Lieutenant Forbes, 30th Regiment, mortally wounded; and Captain Ross, of the Buffs, was missing. On 1st September, Lieutenant Price, R.A., was slightly, and Lieutenant Cary, Rifle Brigade, was severely wounded. On the 2nd September, Lieutenant Roberts, R.A., and Captain Smith, 90th, were slightly wounded. On the 4th, the 82nd Regiment disembarked from Corfu, and relieved the 13th at Balaklava. The 56th Regiment, about 800 strong, arrived at Balaklava, and were annexed to the First Division. The army continued to get under arms before daybreak. On the 26th the cavalry turned out 2,950 sabres, and 500 or 600 more could have been brought into the field. Reports that the Russians meditated an attack upon Balaklava caused the Admiral to order the _Leander_ and _Diamond_ to moor by a single cable, and the _Triton_ was ordered to be ready to get steam up at brief notice, in order to tow them out to a position whence their guns could bear on the Marine Heights. Notwithstanding these preparations, there were many rumours of peace. We had a peace party in camp, who reasoned that the Russians could sustain the contest no longer. According to these authorities, in a couple of months the British Army was to go home again. But there is no magic in wishes any more than in words, and these prophets of peace underrated the tenacity and endurance of the Russian Government and people. Our works on the left continued to advance. Several new batteries--one of 15 mortars--were constructed in front of what had been our most advanced positions on that part of the line. The English cavalry came down to the valley every morning, as if haunting the ground where its comrades fell, and watching an opportunity to revenge them. The effect was imposing--perfect, one might say, if anything human could be called so. Horses and men were in excellent condition, as fit for work as any cavalry could be. CHAPTER IV. A few days quietude--Languishment of British firing--Prince Gortschakoff's opinion of our feeble Squibs--Number of little globules thrown into Sebastopol in a Month--Efforts to suppress the number of Sutlers' houses--Conversation with John Bull as to Composition of Allied Forces, &c.--Terrific and Destructive Explosion--Heavy and fierce Cannonading--Rumours of Disorganization in Sebastopol--Heavy Losses in Allied Armies--Naval Theatricals--Crisis of the Siege--Rumours of a last Grand Attack or a Sortie by Russians--Eagerness of Allies for a Battle--Dangerous work of the Trenches--Proposal for a Trench service Decoration--Condition of Sardinians and French--Fatalities amongst New and Amateur Trenchmen--Renewed Musketry and Artillery firing--Crowded state of our Trenches--Effective ruse of the Russians. All the latter part of August passed quietly away: the Russians on the alert to resist an assault--we prepared to meet the rumoured attack upon our lines. After the failure of June 18, our cannonade languished. We talked of it as slackening, and considered it extinct. Prince Gortschakoff assured the world that it was a mere squib, a feeble firework, which did those tough Russians no harm, and caused their troops no inconvenience; and yet, somehow or other, between the 18th of June and 18th of July, not less than eight thousand pretty little globules of iron, eight, ten, and thirteen inches in diameter, and falling with a weight equivalent to fifty and to ninety tons, were deposited inside the lines of Sebastopol, and every one that burst sent forth some six or eight fragments, of several pounds weight each, a distance of two or three hundred yards, unless they were stopped _in transitu_ by traverse or sinew. The authorities took active measures to curtail the proportions of the vast village of suttlers' houses at Kadikoi. As there was a report that the fair was a nest of spies--that strange fires were occasionally lighted up on the hills behind it, towards Karanyi, and were answered by the Russians on the Plateau Mackenzie, and people came and departed as they listed without any interference with their movements, it was resolved to keep its limits more under control and supervision. Some divisions managed to get together a considerable accumulation of stores in advance, and almost in anticipation of the winter, but fuel was brought up _de die in diem_ by a most thriftless process. It was no unusual thing to see a string of fine Spanish mules and ponies, each of which cost a good round sum, coming from Kasatch or Balaklava with a couple of stout boughs lashed to each side of their pack-saddles, the ends trailing on the ground, and the drivers urging them at full speed. The proper load of wood for a mule is 200lb. Judging from the loads I saw weighed, they actually carried less than 100lb., and at the same time the costly pack-saddles were ruined, and the animals distressed and injured by this clumsy mode of carriage. As I could not help exclaiming at the time, "How the money is flying! If Mr. John could but have stood upon one of the hill-tops in the Crimea, and if, after gladdening his heart with the sight of his fine fleet floating grandly on the water outside the 'beleaguered city,'--rejoicing over his brave sons whose white tents studded the brown steppe row after row,--and rubbing his hands with delight at the thunder of his batteries--he would just have wiped his glasses and looked at the less glorious and exciting portions of the scene, he would have some uneasy tinglings in his breeches-pockets, depend on it." "Where are all these horses going to?" "Oh, they're Spanish horses, which have been _cast_ by the artillery, and they're going to be sold as unfit for service." "Why, Lord bless me! it's only a few months since I paid £30,000 for that very lot, and they've done nothing, I hear, but stand at their picket ropes ever since. They cost me, I'm sure, carriage and all, £100 a-piece. What do you think I'll get for them?" "Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I don't think as how they'll fetch more than £10 a-head, if so much." [Sidenote: CONVERSATION WITH JOHN BULL.] To speak plainly, for the old gentleman's peace of mind, I would not advise him to be too inquisitive, and a visit to the camp, when in its most flourishing condition and healthy aspect, might injure his nerves irremediably. "Who are those fellows in that secluded valley, hunting among the vines for some grapes, while their horses are left to wander through the neglected gardens?" "They belong to Division A, or B, or C, or D; see the letter branded upon the horses' flanks. They are Turks, Elamites, Affghans, dwellers in Mesopotamia, Kurds, Parthians, Canaanites, Greeks, for whose services in the Land Transport Corps you, John, pay daily the sum of 3s. per man, and they ought now to be carrying up provisions for your soldiers; but, being philosophers of the Epicurean school, they prefer the pursuit of the grape and the _insouciance_ of the siesta to tramping over dusty roads, or urging their mad career down stony ravines on thy much be-whacked quadrupeds!" "And those miles of mules and carts winding all along the plain, emerging from ravines, ascending hills, and that vast army of drivers in quaint attire, the concentration of the floating vagabondage of the world, the flotsam and jetsam of the social life of every nation, civil and barbarous, on earth--to whom do they belong, and who pays them and for them?" "Even you, my dear sir, and very handsomely too, I can assure you." "And those ships in Balaklava?" "Yours again, sir; but don't be uneasy; things are managed better there now; occasionally the authorities root out a great demurrager, and send her off hopping after she has lain _perdu_ some months doing nothing. The other day the _Walmer Castle_, a fine Indiaman, sir, was sent off at last--she had been in Balaklava since February, doing nothing but affording comfortable lodgings for a few of the authorities. But we won't talk of these things any more, for really the arrangements are much improved." "Who are those officers in blue, with grey, yellow, and red facing's--apparently men of rank, with stars and crowns and lace on their collars?" "They are of the Land Transport Corps--captains and quartermasters of brigade." "Hallo! is there a theatrical company here? Who're the queer-looking chaps with the huntsmen-in-_Der-Freischutz_-caps and tunics, smoking short pipes, and driving their carts like so many Jehus?" "Well, we have the Zouave Theatre and the Sailors' Theatre, but these men belong to Colonel McMurdo, and certainly they have let their hats get cruelly out of shape; they were neat enough and looked well while the rosettes were clean, but now----" "And who are the gentlemen in grey, with black braid and swords, and pouch-belts and telescopes--some new riflemen, eh?--capital dress for sharpshooters." "Why, dear me, sir, don't you know those are harmless civilians, who neither wish to shoot any one or to be shot at themselves? They are civil engineers and civilians belonging to your recently formed Army Works Corps." "Hallo! here's another--what's he? a felt helmet with a spike in it and brass binding--a red frock with black braid--a big horse--a cavalry man, eh?" "Well, he's one of the Mounted Staff Corps, and he gets as much as an Ensign in the line for being ready to go anywhere--when he's wanted." "Who's that drunken fellow--an old soldier in the odd uniform, with medals on his breast?" "Hush! he's the last one left of the Ambulance Corps. They cost a lot of money, and did some good, but McMurdo won't have them now, unless he gets his own way with them, and----" "I beg your pardon, but who is that foreign officer in a white bournous, and attended by a brilliant staff of Generals--him with the blue and silver stripe down his trousers I mean, and gold braid on his waistcoat, and a red and white cap; it must be Pelissier?" "_That!_ why, that's M. Soyer, _chef de nos batteries de cuisine_, and if you go and speak to him, you'll find he'll talk to you for several hours about the way your meat is wasted; and so I wish you good morning, sir, and every success in trade and commerce to enable you to pay all the gentlemen you have seen to-day, as well as a speedy entry into Sebastopol." [Sidenote: JACK TAR'S THEATRE.] At one o'clock on the 30th August the camp was shaken by a prodigious explosion. A tumbrel, from which the French were discharging powder into one of the magazines near the Mamelon, was struck by a shell, which bursting as it crashed through the roof of the carriage, ignited the cartridges; 1400 rounds, 10lbs each, exploded, shattering to atoms the magazine, and surrounding-works, and whirling in all directions over the face of the Mamolen and beyond it, 150 officers and men. Of these, 40 were killed upon the spot, and the rest were scorched and burnt, or wounded by splinters, stones, and the shot and shell which were thrown into the air by the fiery eruption. A bright moon lighted up the whole scene, and shed its rays upon a huge pillar of smoke and dust, which rose into the air from the Mamelon, and, towering to an immense height, unfolded itself and let fall from its clustering waves of smoke and sulphurous vapour a black precipitate of earth, fine dust, and pebbles, mingled with miserable fragments, which dropped like rain upon the works below. There was silence for an instant, and but for an instant, as the sullen thunder rolled slowly away and echoed along the heights of Inkerman and Mackenzie. Then the Russians, leaping to their guns, cheered loudly, but their voices were soon smothered in the crash of the French and English batteries, which played fiercely upon their works. The Russians replied, but they were unable to take any advantage of our mischance, owing to the firmness of the French in the advanced trenches, and the steadiness with which the cannonade was continued. The dark cloud hung like a pall for nearly an hour over the place, reddening every moment with the reflection of the flashes of the artillery, which boomed incessantly till dawn. The musketry was very heavy and fierce all along the advanced trenches, and as no one except those in the parallels near the Mamelon knew the precise nature of the explosion, great anxiety was manifested to learn the truth. Some persons asserted that the Russians had sprung a mine--others, that the French had blown in the counterscarp of the Malakoff--and with the very spot under their eyes, people were conjecturing wildly what had taken place; just like those at home, who did not hesitate to make the boldest assertions respecting the events which occurred in the Crimea, and of which they knew neither the scene nor the circumstance. There were rumours that the garrison of Sebastopol was in an extremely disorganized state. The losses in the town were frightful, and notwithstanding their official and non-official declarations, the Russians suffered from want of water and of spirits. Indeed, it was confidently affirmed that, owing to the deficiency of forage, their cavalry had been compelled to fall back on the road to Bakschiserai. They threw up another battery, close to the Spur Battery, commanding a small path from the Tchernaya. The French constructed strong redoubts on the site of the old redoubts in the plain. These works were in connection with the outer line of defence from Kamara, Traktir, and Tchorgoun, and the Sardinian and Turkish batteries towards Baidar, and behind them were the old batteries defending Balaklava, which became one of the strongest positions in the world. Our allies were losing heavily, in the White Works, which they captured on the 7th of June, where they lost one-half of the men who went into it every day. The 12-gun battery on the north side took them in flank and reverse, the Malakoff enfiladed them on the other side, and they were exposed to the direct fire of the shipping in front. They called the place "l'Abattoir." Our own losses were very heavy, but still the army were full of hope and courage. As for Jack Tar, he can speak for himself. This was the bill of his play:-- THEATRE ROYAL, NAVAL BRIGADE. On Friday Evening, 31st of August, will be Performed DEAF AS A POST! To be followed by THE SILENT WOMAN. The whole to conclude with the laughable Farce, entitled, SLASHER AND CRASHER. Seats to be taken at 7 o'clock. Performance to commence precisely at 8 o'clock. God save the Queen! Rule Britannia! And right well they played. True, the theatre was the amputating house of the Brigade, but no reflections as to its future and past use marred the sense of present enjoyment. The scenes were furnished from the _London_, the actors from the Brigade. There was an agreeable ballet girl, who had to go into the trenches to work a 68-pounder at three o'clock in the morning, and Rosa was impersonated by a prepossessing young boatswain's mate. Songs there were in plenty, with a slight smack of the forecastle, and a refrain of big guns booming down the ravine from the front; but they were all highly appreciated, and the dancing was pronounced to be worthy of Her Majesty's ere Terpsichore and Mr. Lumley retired. Nor were fashionable and illustrious personages wanting to grace the performance with their presence, and to relieve the mass of 2,000 commoners who cheered and laughed and applauded so good-humouredly. The "Duke of Newcastle" paid marked attention to _Deaf as a Post_, and led the _encore_ for a hornpipe. Lord Rokeby was as assiduous as his Grace. The sense of enjoyment was not marred by the long-range guns, which now and then sent a lobbing shot near the theatre; and if the audience were amused, so were the performers, who acted with surprising spirit and taste. What would old Benbow or grim old Cloudesley Shovell have thought of it all? There was a sortie early on the morning of the 1st of September on the advanced trenches of our right attack, and the Russians kept up a very heavy fire upon our working parties. [Sidenote: PROPOSED DECORATION FOR TRENCH SERVICE.] As the crisis of the siege approached, it was affirmed that the enemy were about to try the chances of war once more, in one grand attack, at three or four points between Baidar and the gorge of Inkerman, and to make a sortie in force on our works. Prince Gortschakoff, Generals Liprandi, Paniutin, and Osten-Sacken were mentioned as the generals of the attacking columns. The mass was concentrated on the plateau between Kamishli and Kalankoi, on the south side of the Belbek, supported by divisions echeloned on the road to Bakschiserai. Near Kalankoi a bad and difficult mountain road to Balaklava crosses the Belbek; strikes off to the right to Mackenzie's Farm; descending thence from the plateau, crosses the Tchernaya at the bridge of the Traktir, and sweeps across the plain of Balaklava, intersecting in its course the Woronzoff Road. Several paths or indifferent roads branch from this grand causeway ere it descends the plateau of Mackenzie's Farm, leading by Chuliou and Ozenbasch towards Baidar, and it was thought that the Russians might have put these in tolerable condition, and rendered them available for the passage of troops and artillery. The Russians concentrated considerable masses in and about Upu, Ozenbasch, and Chuliou, and Prince Gortschakoff visited the army destined to operate against the Turks, French, and Sardinians on the rear, and was prodigal of promises and encouragement. The intelligence received by the English, French, and Turkish Generals coincided on these points, and was believed to be entirely trustworthy. It seemed incredible that any General would trust his army among those defiles and mountain-passes, because a failure on the part of the corps on his right to seize Tchorgoun and Kamara would have left him without support, and an active enemy could have easily pursued and crushed him before he could have possibly gained the plateau from which he had descended. Nothing would have given such universal satisfaction to the whole army as another attempt by the enemy to force our position. If the Russians descended into the plain we were sure of success, and the prospect of a sanguinary engagement gave positive pleasure to both officers and men, alike weary of the undistinguished, if not inglorious, service of the trenches. With nearly 3,000 English, and upwards of 5,000 French sabres, we should have made signal examples of our defeated foes in their retreat; and our 56 field guns, all in high efficiency and order, together with the admirable batteries of the French, would have annihilated any artillery which the Russians could have placed in position. As to their cavalry, they were inferior in number to our own, and in dash and pluck they could not have matched the men who charged at Balaklava. As to a sortie, although it might have been made with large bodies of men, it had no better chance of success, for our reserves had been kept in readiness to act at once, and the force in the trenches was greatly augmented. It had been our practice to send only 1,400 men into the trenches of the left attack, of which one-half was of the reserve; and, as the latter were allowed to go back to camp in the day, it frequently happened that only 700 men were left to guard the whole of our extensive works in Chapman's attack. But afterwards our force was increased, and the reserves were maintained in all their integrity, so as to be ready to give efficient support to the trench guard should the enemy make any serious demonstration against our lines. I took the opportunity of referring to this matter to make the following remarks, which many officers at the time assured me conveyed their feelings on the subject: "And here I may be permitted to offer one word on behalf of such officers and men as have not had an opportunity of sharing the honours conferred on those who have been so fortunate as to be engaged in general actions during this war. I am certain that there is a very general feeling in the army that there should be some distinctive decoration for 'service in the trenches.' Men have been decorated for the battles of the Alma, Inkerman, and Balaklava, who were not in the least danger, or even more under fire than if they had remained in their club card-room; but no man goes into the trenches who is not exposed to a heavy fire and to continual danger. The Adjutant-General's returns will show that in a fortnight we lose nearly as many officers and men as are put _hors de combat_ in a regular battle, although it will be observed that the proportion of officers to men killed and wounded is far smaller than it is on occasions of drawn battle. A man who has served thirty nights in the trenches will have undergone more fire than if he had been in the hottest fight of the campaign. Why not let him have a decoration, were it only a bit of iron with the words 'Trenches before Sebastopol' engraved upon it? The arduous nature of our trench service is best indicated by our returns, and by the fact that many young officers who come out from England are rendered unfit or unable to discharge their duties after a few weeks' experience. Although there are many complaints of the rawness of the recruits, they are as nothing compared to the outcry against the crudity of the lads who are despatched as 'officers' to the Crimea, and who perforce must be sent in responsible positions into the trenches. A reference to the daily General Orders will satisfy any one of the truthfulness of that outcry. The number of officers who sicken and are ordered home, or to Scutari, or to go on board ship, is increasing, and it is not found that the recently arrived regiments furnish the smallest portion of those worn out by _ennui_, and reduced from good health to a state of illness by a few days' service. The old officers, of course, grumble, and the grim veterans who have remained with their regiments since the beginning of the campaign are indignant at having as comrades puling boys, who, from no fault of their own, are utterly helpless and inefficient, and soon sicken, and leave the duties of the regiment to be performed by their overworked seniors. Why should not vacancies in regiments out here be filled up from regiments stationed elsewhere? Such a course was pursued in the Chinese war, in our Indian wars, and I believe in the long war, and it secured the services of experienced soldiers. There are many ensigns of four, five, and six years' standing in the latter regiments, while it would be difficult to find many lieutenants who have seen so much service in any regiment which has been here since the beginning of the war. "With all our experience we still permit the existence of absurdities and anomalies. About 100 doctors are sick from overwork or of disgust, and yet we have civil hospitals on the Dardanelles, maintained at some expense, in which the medical men have so little to do that they come up to camp to 'tout' for patients and practice. The surgeons say that, as it is very evident Government will never give them any honour or reward, except mere service promotion and pay, they will look to the latter alone, and it may be easily imagined in what frame of mind they will serve in cases where they can escape the necessity of energetic exertion. With a kind of refined irony, two of the medical officers were 'invited to attend' at the investiture of the K.C.B.'s the other day, as none of them were eligible as C.B.'s. Two commissariat officers were kindly invited to represent their body. These complaints are the echoes of voices in the camp, loud enough to be heard, and as such I report them." The Sardinians, acclimatized, flushed with triumph, and anxious for another opportunity to try their steel, formed a fine corps of about 8,000 effective bayonets, and the Turks could turn out about 13,000 strong. The French, notwithstanding their losses in the capture of the Mamelon, in the assault on the 18th of June, and, above all, in the trenches, where they had on an average 150 _hors de combat_ on "quiet nights," and perhaps twice as many when the enemy were busy, could present 55,000 bayonets to the enemy. [Sidenote: EFFECTIVE RUSE OF THE RUSSIANS.] From the French sap in front of the Mamelon one could at this period _lay his hand on the abattis of the Malakoff_! It was a hazardous experiment sometimes. Major Graham lost his arm in trying it _en amateur_, for he was hit as he was returning up the trench; indeed, it was a subject of remark that amateurs and officers who had then recently come into the trenches were more frequently hit than was consistent with the rules of proportion. Mr. Gambier, a midshipman of the _Curaçoa_, went as an amateur into the advanced parallel of the left attack, and took a shot at a Russian rifleman; he was rewarded by a volley from several of the enemy, and in another instant was going up on a stretcher, with a ball through both his thighs. It was a very common thing to hear it said, "Poor Smith is killed; just imagine--his first night in the trenches." "Jones lost a leg last night; only joined us this week, and his second night on duty," &c. The Russians, of course, suffered in the same way, but I doubt if they had many amateurs. They had quite enough of legitimate fighting, and their losses were prodigious. On the 3rd of September, at a quarter past 9 P.M., a heavy fire of musketry to the left of the Malakoff showed that the enemy were attacking. The night was dark, but clear, and for half an hour our lines were a blaze of quick, intermittent light. The musketry rattled incessantly. Chapman's and Gordon's Batteries opened with all their voices, and the Redan, Malakoff, Garden, and Barrack Batteries replied with roars of ordnance. When the musketry fire flickered and died out, commenced for a quarter of an hour a general whirling of shells, so that the light of the very stars was eclipsed, and their dominion usurped by the wandering flight of these iron orbs. Twenty or thirty of these curves of fire tearing the air asunder and uttering their shrill "tu whit! tu whit! tu whit!" as they described their angry flight in the sky, could be counted and heard at once. While it lasted, it was one of the hottest affairs we have yet experienced. A party of the 97th, under Captain Hutton, was posted in the advanced trench of the left of the Right Attack. The Russians attacked our working party and drove it in. Lieutenant Brinkley and Lieutenant Preston, with 100 of the 97th, were ordered to proceed to the right of the new sap. On arriving at the trench they found it crowded with the 23rd, that it was impossible to keep the party of the 97th together. This crowded state of the trench is said to have arisen from the 23rd not having recommenced working, and remaining in the trench with the covering party of the 77th, when the firing ceased. At 12.30 Lieutenant-Colonel Legh, 97th, was ordered to take his men to Colonel Bunbury, 23rd, who was in advance of the new sap. He collected forty-five rank and file, and telling Lieutenant Preston to advance with the rest, proceeded to the head of the sap. Here Lieutenant Preston was hit, and one man killed. About fifteen yards in front of the sap were stationed Colonel Bunbury and a party of the 77th, under Captain Pechell. That party having been relieved by the 97th, Colonel Legh placed his men in cover, sending out two parties under Sergeants Coleman and O'Grady in advance. The Russians all of a sudden gave a loud cheer, and the 97th stood up, expecting a rush. When the Russians saw the effect of their ruse, they fired a volley, Lieutenant Preston, in front of Colonel Legh, was mortally wounded, and carried to the rear by Sergeant Coleman; Sergeant O'Grady fell dead just as he had demanded permission to take the enemy's rifle-pits. Lieutenants Ware and Whitehead were sent down to assist. Ware was wounded; but Lieutenant Whitehead succeeded in bringing in all the wounded, except Corporal Macks, who was lying close to the rifle-pit with two legs broken. Lieutenant Brinkley came up in support. The Russians retired from the pits before dawn, having put 3 officers and 24 men _hors de combat_. The Russians lost at least 600 men. The French loss was upwards of 300 men _hors de combat_. CHAPTER V. Last Bombardment--Splendid View of the Position from Cathcart's Hill--French Signal for the Attack--An Iron Storm--Paralysation of the Russians--Strength of French and English Batteries--Furious and rapid Cannonade--Perturbed Movements amongst Russians--Joy on Cathcart's Hill--"Ships touched at last!"--One descried to be on Fire--Conjectures amongst Spectators as to the Cause--Agitation in Sebastopol--Partial Silence of Russian Guns--Awful Explosion--Council of Generals--British Losses. At last, on the morning of the 5th of September, the Allied batteries opened fire for the sixth time, and the LAST BOMBARDMENT commenced. A gentle breeze from the south-east, which continued all day, drifted over the steppe, and blew gently into Sebastopol. The sun shone serenely through the vapours of early morning and wreaths of snowy clouds, on the long lines of white houses inside those rugged defences of earth and gabionnade which have so long kept our armies gazing in vain on this "august city." The ships floated on the waters of the roads, which were smooth as a mirror, and reflected the forms of these "monarchs of the main." Outside our own fleet and that of the French were reposing between Kasatch and Constantine as idly as though they were "painted ships upon a painted ocean." [Sidenote: A TERRIFIC AND "SQUELCHING" VOLLEY.] From Cathcart's Hill, therefore, on the right front of the Fourth Division camp, one could gain an admirable view of certain points of the position from the sea on the left to our extreme right at Inkerman. That advantage was, however, rarely obtainable when there was any heavy firing, as the smoke generally hung in thick clouds between the earthworks, not to be easily dispelled, excepting by the aid of a brisk wind. If one of the few persons who were in the secret of the opening of the French batteries had been on Cathcart's Hill on the morning of the 5th he would have beheld then, just before half-past five o'clock, the whole of this scene marked out in keen detail in the clear morning air. The men in our trenches might have been seen sitting down behind the traverses, or strolling about in the rear of the parapets. Small trains of animals and files of men might have been continually observed passing over the ground between the trenches and the camp, and the only smoke that caught the eye rose from the kettles of the soldiery, or from the discharge of a rifle in the advanced works. On the left, however, the French trenches were crowded with men, and their batteries were all manned, though the occupants kept well out of sight of the enemy, and the mantlets and screens were down before the muzzles of some of their guns. The men beneath the parapets swarmed like bees. A few grey-coated Russians might have been noticed repairing the works of the Flagstaff Battery, or engaged in throwing up a new work, which promised to be of considerable strength, in front of the second line of their defences. Suddenly, close to the Bastion du Mât, along the earthen curtain between Nos. 7 and 8 Bastions, three jets of flame sprang up into the air and hurled up as many pillars of earth and dust, a hundred feet high, which were warmed into ruddy hues by the horizontal rays of the sun. The French had exploded three fougasses to blow in the counterscarp, and to serve as a signal to their men. In a moment, from the sea to the Dockyard Creek, a stream of fire three miles in length seemed to run like a train from battery to battery, and fleecy, curling, rich white smoke ascended, as though the earth had suddenly been rent in the throes of an earthquake, and was vomiting forth the material of her volcanoes. The lines of the French trenches were at once covered as though the very clouds of heaven had settled down upon them, and were whirled about in spiral jets, in festoons, in clustering bunches, in columns and in sheets, all commingled, involved together, and uniting as it were by the vehement flames beneath. The crash of such a tremendous fire must have been appalling, but the wind and the peculiar condition of the atmosphere did not permit the sound to produce any great effect in our camp; in the city, for the same reason, the noise must have been terrific and horrible. The iron storm tore over the Russian lines, tossing up, as if in sport, jets of earth and dust, rending asunder gabions, and "squelching" the parapets, or dashing in amongst the houses and ruins in their rear. The terrible files of this flying army, extending about four miles in front, rushed across the plain, carrying death and terror in their train, swept with heavy and irresistible wings the Russian flanks, and searched their centre to the core. A volley so startling, simultaneous, and tremendously powerful, was probably never before discharged since cannon were introduced. The Russians seemed for a while utterly paralysed. Their batteries were not manned with strength enough to enable them to reply to such an overlapping and crushing fire; but the French, leaping to their guns with astounding energy, rapidity, and vigour, kept on filling the very air with the hurling storm, and sent it in unbroken fury against their enemies. More than 200 pieces of artillery of large calibre, admirably served and well directed, played incessantly upon the hostile lines. In a few moments a great veil of smoke--"a war-cloud rolling dun"--spread from the guns on the left of Sebastopol; but the roar of the shot did not cease, and the cannonade now pealed forth in great irregular bursts, now died away into hoarse murmurs, again swelled up into tumult, or rattled from one extremity to the other of the line like the file-fire of infantry. Stone walls at once went down before the discharge, but the earthworks yawned to receive shot and shell alike. However, so swift and incessant was the passage of these missiles through the embrasures and along the top of the parapets, that the enemy had to lie close, and scarcely dare show themselves in the front line of their defences. For a few minutes the French had it all their own way, and appeared to be on the point of sweeping away the place without resistance. This did not last long, as after, they had fired a few rounds from each of their numerous guns, the Russian artillerymen got to work, and began to return the fire. They made good practice, but fired slowly and with precision, as if they could not afford to throw away an ounce of powder. The French were stimulated rather than restrained by such a reply to their astonishing volleys, and sent their shot with greater rapidity along the line of the defences, and among the houses of the town. Our Naval Brigade and siege train maintained their usual destructive and solid "hammering" away at the faces of the Redan and of the Malakoff, and aided our Allies by shell practice on the batteries from the Creek to the Redan. Now two or three mortars from Gordon's, then two or three mortars from Chapman's, hurled 10 and 13-inch shell behind the enemy's works, and connected the discharges by rounds from long 32's or 68's. The French had obtained a great superiority in the number of their guns. On the 5th their armament was as follows:-- FRENCH BATTERIES. Guns. Left Attack.--Against Flagstaff-Bastion 129 " " Central " 134 " " Quarantine " 83 ---- 346 Right Attack.--Against Malakoff, &c. 281 ---- Total French 627 ENGLISH BATTERIES. Guns. 13-inch mortars 34 10-inch " 27 8-inch " 10 Cohorns 20 8-inch guns 37 10-inch " 7 32-pounders 61 68-pounders 6 ---- Total English 202 [Sidenote: COMPARISON BETWEEN FORMER AND PRESENT ARMAMENTS.] It may be as well to add that Batteries Nos. 1, 2, 3, 8, 11, 12, and 13 of the Right Attack bore on the Malakoff; Batteries Nos. 5 9, 10, 11, and 12 bore on front and flanks of Redan and other works. In our Left Attack, Batteries Nos. 1, 2, 7, 9, 11, 12, bore on Barrack and Redan; No. 4 on Bastion du Mât and Garden; No. 3 on Redan; No. 5 on Creek; No. 6 on Garden; No. 8 on Barrack and Lower Garden; No. 10 on Creek, Barrack, Redan, and Malakoff; No. 13 on Garden and Barrack; and No. 14 on Creek and Parrack. It will be observed that there was a great difference in the material of this armament from that with which we began our first attack on Sebastopol. On the 17th of October, 1854, we had but ten mortars, and they were 10-inch. We had also two Lancasters; no 24-pounders. On 17th of October nearly one-half of our guns were 24-pounders. Sixty-one 32-pounders as compared with seven on 17th October, thirty-seven 8-inch guns as compared with sixteen, seven 10-inch guns as compared with nine, six 68-pounders, and three 9-pounders for the heads of the saps. We threw 12,721 bombs into the town as compared with 2,743 in the first bombardment; and we fired 89,540 shot against the place as compared with 19,879 on the same date. In the left attack our batteries had been advanced 2,500 feet towards the front of the old line of fire, but it was impossible to make any further advance by sap for the purpose of assault, as the very steep ravine by which the Woronzoff Road sweeps into the town ran below the plateau on which the attack was placed, and separated it from the Redan. The old parallel of the attack, wherein our Batteries Nos. 3, 4, and 5 were placed at the ridiculous distance of 4,000 feet from the Redan, and our Batteries Nos. 9 and 12 at the same distance from the Flagstaff Bastion works, was now a mere base from which the advanced works had proceeded. The second parallel was 15,000 feet in front of it, and in that parallel were Batteries Nos. 10 and 14, still 2,500 feet from the parapet of the Redan. The third parallel was about 700 feet in front of the second; and as it was found that we could not hope to advance much beyond that position, owing to the nature of the ground, our batteries were placed more towards the proper left face of the Flagstaff Battery, and towards the Garden Battery in the rear of it. In this parallel, Batteries Nos. 7, 8, 13, 14, and 15 were opened. Our fourth parallel, which was unarmed, was about 600 feet in advance of the third, and was filled with infantry and riflemen, who kept up a constant fire on the place, more particularly at night. The ravine in which the Woronzoff Road is made ran between our Left and Right Attack, and separated them completely. The Right Attack, which was by far the most important, was originally commenced at the distance of 4,500 feet from the Redan, and of more than 5,000 feet from the Malakoff. It contained Batteries Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5; at its right was the old Lancaster Battery detached on No. 11; and in an advanced parallel on the left flank of No. 12 was Battery No. 10. In the approach from the first to the twentieth parallel was Battery No. 7. The second parallel was more than 1,000 feet in front of the first parallel; and it contained Batteries Nos. 9, 14, 12, 6, and 15. The Battery No. 8 was in the third parallel, which was a few hundred feet in advance of the second. The fourth parallel, which communicated with the Quarries, was about 1,200 feet in advance of the third parallel. In the Quarries were the Batteries Nos. 16 and 17. The fifth parallel, from which the assault took place, was about 300 feet in front of the Quarries; and there was a feeble attempt at a sixth parallel a few yards in advance. Our Quarry Battery, armed with two mortars and eight cohorns, just 400 yards below the Redan, plied the suburb in the rear of the Malakoff vigorously with bombs, and kept the top of the Redan clear with round shot and grape. Redan and Malakoff were alike silent, ragged, and torn. At most the Redan fired three guns, and the adjoining batteries were equally parsimonious. The parapets were all pitted with shot and shell, and the sides of the embrasures greatly injured, so that the gabions were sticking out, and dislodged in all directions. There was no more of that fine polishing and of that cabinet-maker's work which the Russians bestowed on their batteries; our constant fire by night, the efforts of our riflemen, and incessant shelling, having rather checked their assiduous anxiety as to external appearance. After two hours and a half of furious firing, the artillerymen of our Allies suddenly ceased, in order to let their guns cool and to rest themselves. The Russians crept out to repair damages to their works, and shook sandbags full of earth from the banquette over the outside of their parapets. Their gunners also took advantage of the sudden cessation to open on our Sailors' Batteries in the Left Attack, and caused us some little annoyance from the "Crow's Nest." At ten o'clock, however, having previously exploded some fougasses, as before, the French reopened a fire if possible more rapid and tremendous than their first, and continued to keep it up with the utmost vigour till twelve o'clock at noon, by which time the Russians had only a few guns in the Flagstaff Road and Garden Batteries in a position to reply. We could see them in great agitation sending men and carts to and fro across the bridge, and at nine o'clock a powerful column of infantry crossed over to resist our assault, while a movement towards Inkerman was made by the army of the Belbek. Soon after our fire began, the working parties which go over to the north side every morning were recalled, and marched back again across the bridge to the south, no doubt to be in readiness for our expected assault. From twelve to five o'clock P.M. the firing was slack; the French then resumed their cannonade with the same vigour as at dawn and at ten o'clock, and never ceased their volleys of shot and shell against the place till half-past seven, when darkness set in, whereupon all the mortars and heavy guns, English as well as French, opened with shell against the whole line of defences. [Sidenote: SURMISES AS TO ORIGIN OF CONFLAGRATION.] A description of this scene is impossible. There was not one instant in which the shells did not whistle through the air; not a moment in which the sky was not seamed by their fiery curves or illuminated by their explosion. Every shell burst as it ought, and the lines of the Russian earthworks of the Redan, Malakoff, and of all their batteries, were rendered plainly visible by the constant light of the innumerable explosions. The Russians scarcely attempted a reply. At five o'clock it was observed that a frigate in the second line, near the north side, was smoking, and, as it grew darker, flames were seen to issue from her sides. Men and officers rushed to the front in the greatest delight and excitement, and, as night came on, the whole vessel was enveloped in one grand blaze from stem to stern. The delight of the crowd upon Cathcart's Hill was intense. "Well, this is indeed a sight! to see one of those confounded ships touched at last!" These, and many different and stronger expressions, were audible on all sides, but there were some wise people who thought the Russians had set the ship on fire, or that incendiaries and malcontents were at work, and one gentleman even went so far as to say that he "thought it was merely a signal maybe to recall their cavalry from Eupatoria!" It is not known precisely how the thing was done. Some said it was done by the French; others, by ourselves; and bombs, red-hot shot, and rockets were variously named as the means by which the vessel was set on fire. In spite of the efforts of the Russians, the flames spread, and soon issued from the ports and quarter-gallery. At eight o'clock the light was so great that the houses of the city and the forts on the other side could be distinguished without difficulty. The masts stood long, towering aloft like great pillars of fire; but one after the other they came down; the decks fell in about ten o'clock, and at midnight the frigate had burnt to the water's edge. At night a steady fire was kept up with the view of preventing the Russians repairing damages. At 10 P.M. orders were sent to our batteries to open the following morning, as soon as there was a good light, but they were limited to fifty rounds each gun. At 5.30 A.M. the whole of the batteries from Quarantine to Inkerman began their fire with a grand crash. There were three breaks or lulls in the tempest; one from half-past eight till ten; another from twelve till five; and the third from half-past six till seven--during these intervals the fire was comparatively slack. The agitation in the town was considerable throughout the day; and the enemy seemed to be greatly distressed. They were strengthening their position on the north side--throwing up batteries, dragging guns into position, and preparing to defend themselves should they be obliged to leave the city. They evinced a disposition to rely upon the north side, and were removing their stores by the large bridge of pontoons, and by the second and smaller bridge of boats to the Karabalnayia. Notwithstanding the large number of men in the town, the enemy showed in strength from Inkerman to Mackenzie; and General Pelissier and General Simpson received intelligence which led them to believe that the enemy meditated another attack on the line of the Tchernaya as the only means of averting the fall of the place. The bombardment was renewed on Thursday night at sunset, and continued without intermission till an hour before daybreak on Friday. The trench guards were ordered to keep up a perpetual fusillade on the face of the Russian works, and about 150,000 rounds were expended each night after the opening of the bombardment. At daybreak on Friday, the cannonade was reopened, and continued as before--the Russians made no reply on the centre, but their Inkerman Batteries fired on the French Right Attack. A strong wind from the north blew clouds of dust from the town, and carried back the smoke of the batteries, so that it was very difficult to ascertain the effect of the fire; but now and then the veil opened, and at each interval the amount of destruction disclosed was more evident. A bright flame broke out in the rear of the Redan in the afternoon, and another fire was visible in the town over the Woronzoff Road at a later period of the evening. At 11 P.M. a tremendous explosion took place in the town, but it could not be ascertained exactly where or how it occurred. At dusk, the cannonade ceased, and the bombardment recommenced--the thunder of the bombs bursting from the sea-shore to the Tchernaya sounded like the roll of giant musketry. The Russians replied feebly, threw bouquets into the French trenches, and showers of vertical grape into ours, and lighted up the works now and then with fire-balls and carcasses. Captain John Buckley, Scots Fusileer Guards, was killed in the evening as he was posting his sentries in the ravine between the Malakoff and the Redan in front of our advanced trench of the Right Attack. Major McGowan, 93rd Regiment, was taken prisoner, and Captain Drummond was killed soon afterwards at this spot. Captain Buckley was a young officer of zeal and promise. He was devoted to his profession, and although he was wounded so severely at the Alma that he could have had every excuse and right to go home, he refused to do so, and as soon as he came out of hospital, on board a man-of-war, in which he was present when the attack of the 17th October was made, he returned to his regiment and shared its privations during the winter of '54-5. In twenty-four hours, we lost 1 officer 11 rank and file killed, and 48 rank and file wounded. In addition to the burning ship and the fires in the town, a bright light was observed at the head of the great shears of the Dockyard about four o'clock in the afternoon, and it continued to burn fiercely throughout the night. It was probably intended to light up the Dockyard below, or to serve as a signal, but it was for some time imagined that the shears had been set on fire by a shell.[22] The night was passed in a fever of expectation and anxiety amid the roar of the bombardment, which the wind blew in deafening bursts back on the Allied camp. [Sidenote: FALL OF SEBASTOPOL.] At midday, a council of generals was held at the British headquarters. After the council broke up, orders were sent to the surgeons to clear out the hospitals of patients, and prepare for the reception of wounded. The Guards received orders to occupy the right trenches at night, and were relieved by the Highlanders in the morning--the attack was confided to the Light and Second Divisions. Our losses indeed were becoming so heavy, that even the slaughter of an assault, if attended with success, was preferable to daily decimation. From the 3rd to the 6th, we had 3 officers, 3 sergeants, and 40 rank and file killed; 3 officers, 9 sergeants, and 180 rank and file wounded. Captain Anderson, Acting Engineer, was killed on the 4th; and Captain Snow, R.A., was killed on the 6th. On the 3rd, Lieutenant Chatfield, 49th; on the 5th, Captain Verschoyle, Grenadier Guards, and Lieutenant Phillips, 56th Regiment, were slightly wounded. CHAPTER VI. Preparations for the Assault--Last and decisive Cannonade--Day of the Assault--Plan of Attack--Position of Generals--French rush into the Malakoff--English charge the Redan--Mistakes--Desperate Struggle--Colonel Windham's Gallantry--Conflict at the Left Face of the Redan--Scene at the Salient--Want of Supports--Colonel Windham goes for Reinforcements--The Russians advance--Failure of the English Attack--Contest in the rear of the Malakoff--Additional Details--Cause of the Repulse--Mistakes--Casualties--Duration of the Attack--Ominous Signs--Losses in the Assault. The contest on which the eyes of Europe had been turned so long--the event on which the hopes of so many mighty empires depended, was all but determined. On the 9th September, Sebastopol was in flames! The fleet, the object of so much diplomatic controversy and of so many bloody struggles, had disappeared in the deep! One more great act of carnage was added to the tremendous but glorious tragedy, of which the whole world, from the most civilized nations down to the most barbarous hordes of the East, was the anxious and excited audience. Amid shouts of victory and cries of despair--in frantic rejoicing and passionate sorrow--a pall of black smoke, streaked by the fiery flashings of exploding fortresses, descended upon the stage, on which had been depicted so many varied traits of human misery and of human greatness, such high endurance and calm courage, such littleness and weakness--across which had stalked characters which history may hereafter develope as largely as the struggle in which they were engaged, and swell to gigantic proportions, or which she may dwarf into pettiest dimensions, as unworthy of the parts they played. A dull, strange silence, broken at distant intervals by the crash of citadels and palaces as they were blown into dust, succeeded to the incessant dialogue of the cannon which had spoken so loudly and so angrily throughout an entire year. Tired armies, separated from each other by a sea of fires, rested on their arms, and gazed with varied emotions on all that remained of the object of their conflicts. On the 8th we felt that the great success of our valiant Allies was somewhat tarnished by our own failure, and were doubtful whether the Russians would abandon all hope of retaking the Malakoff. On the next day, ere noon, we were walking about the streets of Sebastopol, and gazing upon its ruins. The weather changed suddenly on the 7th September, and on the morning of the 8th it became bitterly cold. A biting wind right from the north side of Sebastopol blew intolerable clouds of harsh dust into our faces. The sun was obscured; and the sky became of a leaden wintry grey. Early in the morning a strong force of cavalry, under the command of Colonel Hodge, received orders to move up to the front and form a chain of sentries in front of Cathcart's Hill, and all along our lines. No person was allowed to pass this boundary excepting staff officers or those provided with a pass. Another line of sentries in the rear of the camps was intended to stop stragglers and idlers from Balaklava, the object of these arrangements being in all probability to prevent the Russians gathering any intimation of our attack from the unusual accumulation of people on the look-out hills. If so, it would have been better to have kept the cavalry more in the rear, and not to have displayed to the enemy a line of Hussars, Lancers, and Dragoons, along our front. At 11.30 the Highland Brigade, under Brigadier Cameron, marched up from Kamara, and took up its position in reserve at the Right Attack; and the Guards, also in reserve, were posted on the same side of the Woronzoff Road. The first brigade of the Fourth Division served the trenches of the Left Attack the night before, and remained in them. The second brigade of the Fourth Division was in reserve. The Guards, who served the trenches of the Left Attack, and only marched that morning, were turned out again after arriving at their camp, and resumed their place with alacrity. The Third Division, massed on the hill-side before their camp, were also in reserve, in readiness to move down by the Left Attack in case their services were required. General Pelissier, during the night, collected 36,000 men in and about the Mamelon, to form the storming columns for the Malakoff and Little Redan, and to provide the necessary reserves. [Sidenote: A FEARFUL STRUGGLE.] The French were reinforced by 5,000 Sardinians, who marched up from the Tchernaya. It was arranged that the French should attack the Malakoff at noon, and, as soon as their attack succeeded, we were to assault the Redan. Strong columns of French were to make a diversion on the left, and menace the line of Bastion du Mât, Centrale and Quarantine Bastions. The cavalry sentries were posted at 8.30 A.M. At 10.30 A.M. the Second and the Light Division moved down to the trenches, and were placed in the advanced parallels as quietly and unostentatiously as possible. About the same hour, General Simpson and Staff repaired to the second parallel of the Green Hill Battery, where the Engineer officers had placed them for the day. Sir Harry Jones, too ill to move hand or foot, nevertheless insisted on being carried down to witness the assault, and was borne to the trenches on a litter, in which he remained till all was over. The Commander-in-Chief, General Simpson, and Sir Richard Airey, the Quartermaster-General, were stationed close to him.[23] The Duke of Newcastle was stationed at Cathcart's Hill in the early part of the day, and afterwards moved off to the right to the Picket-house look-out over the Woronzoff Road. At 10.45, General Pelissier and his Staff went up to the French Observatory on the right. The French trenches were crowded with men as close as they could be packed, and we could, through the breaks in the clouds of dust, which were most irritating, see our troops all ready in their trenches. The cannonade languished purposely towards noon; but the Russians, catching sight of the cavalry and troops in front, began to shell Cathcart's Hill and the heights, and the bombs and long ranges disturbed the equanimity of some of the spectators by bursting with loud "thuds" right over their heads, and sending "the gunners' pieces" sharply about them. After hours of suspense, the moment came at last. At five minutes before twelve o'clock, the French issued forth from the trenches close to the Malakoff, crossed the seven mètres of ground which separated them from the enemy at a few bounds--scrambled up its face, and were through the embrasures in the twinkling of an eye. They drifted as lightly and quickly as autumn leaves before the wind, battalion after battalion, and in a minute after the head of their column issued from the ditch the tricolour was floating over the Korniloff Bastion. Our Allies took the Russians by surprise, very few of the latter were in the Malakoff; but they soon recovered themselves, from twelve o'clock till past seven in the evening the French had to meet repeated attempts to regain the work: then, weary of the fearful slaughter, despairing of success, the Muscovite General withdrew his exhausted legions, and prepared, with admirable skill, to evacuate the place. As soon as the tricolour was observed waving through the smoke and dust over the parapet of the Malakoff, four rockets were sent up from Chapman's attack one after another, as a signal for our assault upon the Redan. They were almost borne back by the violence of the wind, and the silvery jets of sparks they threw out on exploding were scarcely visible against the raw grey sky. Now, it will be observed that, while we attacked the Redan with two divisions only, a portion of each being virtually in reserve and not engaged in the affair at all, the French made their assault on the Malakoff with four divisions of the second _Corps d'Armée_, the first and fourth divisions forming the storming columns, and the third and fifth being the support, with reserves of 10,000 men. The French had, probably, not less than 30,000 men in the Right Attack on the 7th of September. The divisional orders for the Second Division were very much the same as those for the Light Division. DIVISION ORDERS. _June 17th, 1855._ 1. The Light Division being about to be employed with others in the attack on the Redan, provisions will be issued and cooked this afternoon for to-morrow, and care must be taken that the men's canteens are filled with water this afternoon. Each man will be provided with twenty rounds of additional ammunition, to be carried in his haversack. 2. The whole guard of the trenches will be furnished this evening from the 2nd Brigade, and that portion of the Brigade which is not so employed will be formed in the morning in the first parallel, to the right of the 21-gun Battery, where it will be joined by the reserve of the trenches at daylight. 3. Weakly men and recruits will be selected for the camp guards and general care of the camp, where they are to remain, and will be directed not to show themselves on the high ground in front. 4. The Lieutenant-General having been charged with the columns of attack, the command of the Light Division will for the moment devolve on Major-General Codrington. 5. The officer in command of the guards of the trenches will take care to make such a disposition of his men as shall leave room for the additional troops which it is proposed shall be sent forward to the attack. 6. The right attack will be made by the 1st Brigade, under Colonel Yea, 7th Royal Fusileers, in the following order:-- 100 of 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, under Captain Forman, to form the covering party. The 34th Regiment, consisting of 400 men, under Captain Guilt, the attacking party. The support, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Lysons--300 men of the 7th Fusileers, 300 of the 33rd Regiment, and 200 of the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusileers. Working party, under the command of Major Macdonell--400 of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. DIVISION ORDERS. _September 7th, 1855._ [Sidenote: DIVISION ORDERS.] 1. The Redan will be assaulted after the French have attacked the Malakoff. The Light and Second Divisions will share this important duty, each finding respectively the half of each party. The 2nd Brigade of the Light Division, with an equal number of the Second Division, will form the first body of attack, each Division furnishing, 1st, a covering party of 100 men, under a field-officer; 2nd, a storming party, carrying ladders, of 160 men, under a field-officer (these men to be selected for this especial duty--they will be the first to storm after they have placed the ladders); 3rd, a storming party of 500 men, with two field-officers; 4th, a working party of 100 men, with a field-officer. The support will consist of the remainder of the Brigade, to be immediately in the rear. 2. The covering party will consist of 100 rank and file of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, under the command of Captain Thyers, and will be formed on the extreme left of the fifth parallel, ready to move out steadily in extended order towards the Redan. Their duty will be to cover the advance of the ladder party, and keep down the fire from the parapet. 3. The first storming party of the Light Division will consist of 160 men of the 97th Regiment, under the command of Major Welsford. This party will carry the ladders and will be the first to storm; they will be formed in the New Boyeau running from the centre of the fifth parallel; they will form immediately in rear of the covering party. They must be good men and true to their difficult duty, which is to arrive at the ditch of the Redan and place the ladders down it, to turn twenty ladders for others to come down by. 4. The next storming party will consist of 200 of the 97th Regiment, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel the Hon. H. Hancock, and 300 of the 90th Regiment, under the command of Captain Grove. This party will be stationed in the fifth parallel, and will assault in columns of Divisions at one place. The Light Division will lead the whole column of attack, which will be formed in divisions of twenty files, and so told off. 5. The supports, consisting of 750 men of the 19th Regiment and 88th Regiment (with part of a Brigade of the Second Division on their left), will be placed as they stand in Brigade in the fourth parallel, from whence they will move into the fifth parallel as soon as the assault is made by those in front of them. 6. The working party of 100 men will be furnished by the 90th Regiment, under command of Captain Perrin, and will be placed in No. 2 and 3 Left Boyeau; they will afterwards receive their instructions from an officer of the Royal Engineers. 7. The remainder of the Light and Second Divisions will form a reserve--the Light Division in the Right Boyeaus between the third and fourth parallels, the Second Division in the Left Boyeaus between the third and fourth parallels. 8. The First and Highland Divisions will be formed in that part of the third parallel in communication with the French Right Attack, and in the Middle Ravine. 9. Two days' rations will be drawn and cooked, and issued to the men before 6 A.M. to-morrow. 10. Ten additional rounds of ammunition will be served out to each man on the private parades of regiments to-morrow morning. 11. The men will parade with red coats and forage caps: water-bottles to be quite full. 12. The covering party and first storming party will assemble at the usual place of meeting for the trenches, at 7 A.M. The next storming party, the working party, the supports, and the reserve, will parade, respectively, at the same place, at intervals of half an hour. The covering party consisted of 100 men of the 3rd Buffs, under Captain Lewes, and 100 men of the Second Battalion of the Rifle Brigade, under the command of Captain Hammond. The scaling-ladder party consisted of 160 of the 3rd Buffs, under Captain Maude, 160 of the 97th Regiment, under Welsford. The force of the Second Division consisted of 260 of the 3rd Buffs, 300 of the 41st, 200 of the 62nd, and a working party of 100 men of the 41st. The rest of Windham's Brigade, consisting of the 47th and 49th, were in reserve with Warren's Brigade of the same division, of which the 30th and 55th were called into action and suffered severely. Brigadier Shirley was on board ship, but as soon as he heard of the assault he came up to camp. Colonel Unett, of the 19th Regiment, was the senior officer in Shirley's absence, and on him would have devolved the duty of leading the storming column of the Light Division. Colonel Unett tossed with Colonel Windham, and Colonel Unett won. He looked at the shilling, turned it over, and said, "My choice is made; I'll be the first man into the Redan." But he was badly wounded ere he reached the abattis, although he was not leading the column. It was a few minutes after twelve when our men left the fifth parallel. In less than five minutes the troops, passing over about two hundred and thirty yards from the approach to the parapet of the Redan, had lost a large proportion of their officers. The Riflemen behaved, as usual, admirably; but could not do much to reduce the fire of the guns on the flanks and below the re-entering angles. As they came nearer, the fire became less fatal. They crossed the abattis without difficulty; it was torn to pieces and destroyed by our shot, and the men stepped over and through it with ease. The Light Division made straight for the salient and projecting angle of the Redan, and came to the ditch, at this place about fifteen feet deep. The men, led by their officers, leaped into the ditch, and scrambled up the other side, whence they scaled the parapet almost without opposition; for the few Russians who were in front ran back and got behind their traverses and breastworks, and opened fire upon them as soon as they saw our men on the top. As the Light Division rushed out into the open, the guns of the Barrack Battery, and on the proper right of the Redan, loaded with grape, caused considerable loss ere they reached the salient. [Sidenote: A SCALING PARTY.] Brigadier Shirley, blinded by dust knocked into his eyes by a shot, was obliged to retire; his place was taken by Lieutenant-Colonel Bunbury, of the 23rd Regiment, next in rank to Colonel Unett, already carried to the rear. Brigadier Von Straubenzee received a contusion on the face, and left the field. Colonel Handcock was mortally wounded. Captain Hammond fell dead. Major Welsford was killed as he entered the work through an embrasure. Captain Grove was severely wounded. Only Colonel Windham, Captain Fyers, Captain Lewes, and Captain Maude got into the Redan scatheless from the volleys of grape and balls which swept the flanks of the work. One officer told me the Russians visible in the Redan when we got into it did not exceed 150 men, that we could have carried the breastworks at the base with the greatest ease, if we had only made a rush for it. He expressed his belief that they had no field-pieces from one re-entering angle to the other. Another officer positively assured me that when he got on the top of the parapet he saw, about a hundred yards in advance, a breastwork with gaps, through which were the muzzles of field-pieces, and that in rear of it were compact masses of infantry, the front rank kneeling with fixed bayonets as if prepared to receive a charge of cavalry, while the rear ranks kept up a sharp and destructive fire. The only way to reconcile these discrepancies is to suppose that the first spoke of the earliest stage of the assault, and that the latter referred to a later period, when the Russians, having been reinforced by the fugitives from the Malakoff, and by the troops behind the barracks in the rear, may have opened embrasures in the breastwork. Lamentable as it no doubt is, and incredible almost to those who know how well the British soldier generally behaves in presence of the enemy, the men, when they reached the parapet, were seized by some strange infatuation, and began firing, instead of following their officers, who were now falling fast. Most men stand fire much better than the bayonet--they will keep up a fusillade a few paces off much sooner than they will close with an enemy. It is difficult enough sometimes to get cavalry to charge, if they can find any decent excuse to lay by their swords and take to pistol and carabine, with which they are content to pop away for ever; and when cover of any kind is near, a trench-bred infantry-man finds the charms of the cartridge quite irresistible. The 77th Regiment furnished 160 men for the ladder party, and 200 for the storming party. The former, under the command of Major Welsford, were to proceed to the advanced parallel, and the latter, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Handcock, were to be in the fifth parallel. At 5 A.M. the regiment paraded and marched off. Eight men were told off to each ladder, and they had orders to leave the trench when the appointed signal was made from the Malakoff. They were to be preceded by 100 of the Rifle Brigade, and by some Sappers and Miners to cut down the abattis, and they were to be followed by 160 of the 3rd Buffs, with twenty ladders also. The storming party was to follow the ladder party. A few minutes after twelve, Major Welsford, seeing the signal flying from the Malakoff, gave the word--"Ladders to the front!" The men instantly ran out of the parallel towards the salient of the Redan, and at the same time, Colonel Handcock, with his 200 stormers of the 97th, and 100 of the 90th, left the parallel. The ladders were managed with difficulty, but on entering the place there was little or no resistance. However, the Russians were soon roused out of their casemates, and flocked to the traverses, from which they kept up a heavy fire on the men getting over the parapet or through the embrasures. By a rapidly increasing flanking and direct fire, converging on the salient, the Russians diminished our force; and as we were weakened they were strengthened by parties from both re-entering angles. The leader of the ladder party was killed by a gun fired as he entered the embrasure; Captain Sibthorpe was hit in two places; Lieutenant Fitzgerald and Ensign Hill were wounded; Lieutenant-Colonel Handcock was mortally wounded; M'Gregor fell inside the Redan; Captain Lumley was badly wounded; Lieutenant Goodenough died of his wounds; Captain Woods and Lieutenant Browne were also hit,--so that the 97th Regiment had five officers killed and six wounded, out of a complement of thirteen engaged; and 201 non-commissioned officers and men out of 360. Those officers of the regiment who saw Colonel Windham in the Redan say they were in ten minutes before they observed him. The 3rd Buffs and 41st came in through the embrasures immediately after the 97th and 90th, then the enemy made their rush, and drove the English into the angle, and finally over the parapet to the exterior slope, where men of different regiments of the Light and Second Divisions were packed together firing into the Redan. One hour and a half had elapsed. The Russians had cleared the Redan, but were not in possession of the parapets, when they made a second charge with bayonets under a heavy fire of musketry from the rear, and throwing quantities of stones, grape and round-shot, drove those in front back on the men in the rear, who were precipitated into the ditch. The gabions in the parapets gave way, and rolled down with those upon them; the men in the rear retired precipitately into the fifth parallel. A party of the 30th advanced from this parallel just as Colonel Windham was asking for reinforcements, and ran up to the salient of the Redan, where they suffered severe loss.[24] Captain Rowlands, 41st, made a gallant attempt with a few men, but they were nearly all killed or wounded, and he was obliged to retire. Colonel Legh, Lieutenant Whitehead, Captain Sibthorpe, Lieutenants Browne and Fitzgerald, remained, till only three privates were left in the angle. [Sidenote: A MOST CRITICAL MOMENT.] The storming columns of the Second Division issuing out of the fifth parallel rushed up immediately after the Light Division; but when they came close to the apex, Colonel Windham brought them to the right flank of the Light Division, so as to come on the slope of the proper left face of the Redan. The first embrasure to which they came was in flames, but, moving on to the next, the men leaped into the ditch, and, with the aid of ladders and of each other's hands, scrambled up on the other side, climbed the parapet, or poured in through the embrasure, which was undefended. Colonel Windham was the first or one of the first men to enter, and with him, Pat Mahony, a great grenadier of the 41st, Kennelly and Cornellis, privates of the same regiment. As Mahony entered with a cheer, he was shot through the head by a Russian rifleman, and fell dead; at the same moment Kennelly and Cornellis were wounded. (The latter claimed the reward of 5_l._ offered by Colonel Herbert to the first man of his division who entered the Redan.) Running parallel to the faces of the Redan there was an inner parapet, intended to shield the gunners at the embrasures from the splinters of shell. Cuts in the rear enabled the men to retire, and strong and high traverses ran along the sides. At the base of the Redan, before the re-entering angles, was a breastwork, or, rather, a parapet with an irregular curve, which ran in front of the body of the place to the height of a man's neck. As our men entered through the embrasures, the few Russians who were between the salient and this breastwork retreated behind the latter, or got behind the traverses for protection. From these they poured in a quick fire on the parapet of the salient, which was crowded by the men of the Second and Light Divisions; and they began to return the fire without advancing or charging. There were riflemen behind the lower traverses near the base of the Redan, who kept up a galling fire. The Russians were encouraged to maintain their ground by the immobility of our soldiers and the weakness of a fusillade from the effects of which the enemy were well protected. In vain the officers, by voice and example, urged our soldiers to clear the work. The men, most of whom belonged to regiments which had suffered in the trenches, and were acquainted with the traditions of June 18th, had an impression that the Redan was extensively mined, and that if they advanced they would all be blown up. The officers fell, singled out as a mark for the enemy by their courage. The men of the different regiments got mingled together in inextricable confusion. All the Brigadiers, save Colonel Windham, were wounded, or rendered unfit for the guidance of the attack. This was going on at the proper left face of the Redan, while nearly the same scene was being repeated at the salient. Every moment our men were diminishing in numbers, while the Russians were arriving from the town, and from the Malakoff, which had been occupied by the French. Thrice did Colonel Windham despatch officers to Sir W. Codrington, who was in the fifth parallel, to entreat him to send up supports in formation; all these three officers were wounded as they passed from the ditch of the Redan to the rear. Supports were, indeed, sent up, but they advanced in disorder, and in driblets, only to increase the confusion and the carnage. The narrow neck of the salient was too close to allow of any formation; and the more the men crowded into it, the worse was the disorder, and the more they suffered from the enemy's fire. This miserable work lasted for an hour. Colonel Windham resolved to go to General Codrington himself. Seeing Captain Crealock, of the 90th, he said,[25] "I must go to the General for supports. Now, mind, let it be known, in case I am killed, why I went away." He succeeded in gaining the fifth parallel, through a storm of grape and bullets, and standing on the top of the parapet he again asked for support. Sir W. Codrington asked him if he thought he really could do anything with such supports as he could afford, and said, if he thought so, "he might take the Royals," who were then in the parallel. "Let the officers come out in front--let us advance in order, and if the men keep their formation the Redan is ours," was the Colonel's reply. But at that moment our men were seen leaping into the ditch, or running down the parapet of the salient, and through the embrasures out of the work into the ditch, the Russians following them with the bayonet, musketry, and throwing stones and grape-shot at them as they lay in the ditch. But the solid weight of the advancing mass, urged on and fed each moment from the rear by company after company, and battalion after battalion, prevailed at last against the isolated and disjointed band, which had abandoned that protection which unanimity of courage affords, and had lost the advantages of discipline and obedience. As though some giant rock advanced into the sea, and forced back the agitated waters that buffeted it, so did the Russian columns press down against the spray of soldiery which fretted their edge with fire and steel, and contended in vain against their weight. The struggling band was forced back by the enemy, who moved on, crushing friend and foe beneath their solid tramp. Bleeding, panting, and exhausted, our men lay in heaps in the ditch beneath the parapet, sheltered themselves behind stones and in bomb craters in the external slope of the work, or tried to pass back to our advanced parallel and sap, having to run the gauntlet of a tremendous fire. The scene in the ditch was appalling, although some of the officers assured me that they and the men were laughing at the precipitation with which many fellows plunged headlong upon the mass of bayonets, muskets, and sprawling soldiers, the ladders were all knocked down or broken, so that it was difficult for the men to scale the other side, and the dead, the dying, the wounded, and the uninjured, were all lying in piles together. [Sidenote: A GALLANT DEFENCE.] General Pelissier observed the failure of our attack from the rear of the Malakoff, and sent over to General Simpson to ask if he intended to renew it. The English Commander-in-Chief did not feel in a condition to do so. The Guards and Highlanders, the Third and Fourth Divisions, and most of the reserves, had not been engaged. As soon as we abandoned the assault, the firing slackened along our front; but in the rear of the Malakoff there was a fierce contest going on between masses of Russians, released from the Redan, or drawn from the town, and the French inside the work; and the fight for the Little Redan, on the proper left of the Malakoff, was raging furiously. Clouds of smoke and dust obstructed the view, but the rattle of musketry was incessant, and betokened the severe nature of the struggle below. Through the breaks in the smoke there could be seen now and then a tricolour, surmounted by an eagle, fluttering bravely over the inner parapet of the Malakoff. The storm of battle rolled fiercely round it, and beat against it; but it was sustained by strong arms and stout hearts, and all the assaults of the enemy were vain against it. It would be untrue to say that the result of our assault was not the source of deep grief and mortification to us, which all the glorious successes of our Allies could not wholly alleviate. Even those who thought any attack on the Redan useless and unwise, inasmuch as the possession of the Malakoff would, in their opinion, render the Redan untenable, could not but regret bitterly that, having undertaken the assault, we had not achieved a decisive triumph, and that so much blood had been, if not ingloriously, at least fruitlessly, poured forth. The French, indeed, were generous enough to say that our troops behaved with great bravery, and that they wondered how we kept the Redan so long under such a tremendous fire; but British soldiers are rather accustomed to the _nil admirari_ under such circumstances, and praise like that gives pain as well as pleasure. Many soldiers, entertaining the opinion to which I have alluded, think that we should at once have renewed the attempt. It is but small consolation to them to know that General Simpson intended to attack the Redan the following morning, inasmuch as the Russians by their retreat deprived us of the chance of retrieving our reputation, and at the same time acknowledged the completeness of the success achieved by our Allies, and the tremendous superiority of the fire directed against them. The Second Brigade, Light Division, stormed at noon. The 97th and 90th, 300 of each, commanded, the former by Major Welsford (whose head was blown off as he was mounting an embrasure--the gun was fired by a Russian officer, who immediately gave himself up as a prisoner to a sergeant of the 97th, that entered the moment after, throwing down his sword and saying, "I am a prisoner of war"), the latter by Captain Grove, the senior officer of the regiment present with the service companies. The salient was carried at once, and the men entered the stronghold, which is a work traced on a most obtuse angle, requiring a large mass of men to assault it, not only at the salient, but at the same moment on both flanks, so as to turn them, and to enable the salient storming party to advance down the interior space of the works at once, taking the defenders in front and flank, and indeed in rear, at the same moment. In consequence of attacking the salient only, no front could be formed, on account of the small interior space at that point; the men were forced to advance by driblets, and at the same moment fired on from traverses on either flank, where they could not see their assailants, an evil at once obviated had the attack on the flanks and salient been simultaneous. The handful of men who assaulted and took the salient most gallantly held it against far superior numbers for a considerable time, until their ammunition being nearly expended, and receiving no flank support, which could alone assist them to any purpose, and being rushed on from these flanks by a vastly superior force, they retreated to the extreme side of the parapet, where they remained, and, being reinforced by some fresh men, kept up a heavy and continuous fire on the Russians in the interior of the work. They held their ground on this fast sinking parapet of loose earth, stones and broken gabions, under a most galling fire from both flanks and in front, and continuous showers of vertical grape, from inside the work, for an hour and a half at least, when a sudden rush, made by the enemy, who had crept up the faces by the traverses, obliged the troops to give way, and step by step, pelting each other with huge stones, they retired, slipping and tumbling into the ditch, where many poor fellows were buried alive, from the scarps giving way. Then came the fearful run for life or death, with men rolling over like rabbits, then tumbling into the English trench, where the men lay four deep on each other. The men once in manned the parapet, and kept up a heavy and continuous fire on the enemy on the parapets of the Redan. The rest you know. The Rifles behaved nobly, and where they had tried to creep up the ditch to pick off the Russians on the flanks, they lay four and five deep, all together. Colonel Lysons, of the 23rd, as usual, was all energy, and, though severely wounded through the thigh and unable to stand, remained on the ground cheering on the men. Colonel Handcock, of the 97th, was shot through the head on the crest of the Redan, and died soon after arriving in camp. Captain Preston, and Lieutenants Swift and Wilmer, of the 90th, were all killed inside, where their bodies were found the next morning. Captain Vaughan, of the 90th, was shot in both legs, and taken prisoner when we left the place, it being impossible to get him over the ditch. He was found in a Russian hospital and brought to camp to die. Lieutenant and Adjutant Dyneley, of the 23rd Fusileers, was mortally wounded. Individual deeds of daring were too frequent to particularize. The first dead Russian on the extreme salient was a Russian officer shot through the mouth--a singularly handsome man, with hands and feet white and delicate as a woman's. [Sidenote: THE DANGERS OF DELAY.] The 41st, which followed the Light Division storming party, whose position in advance was determined, as I have already stated by Colonel Windham and Colonel Unett "tossing up for choice," got into the Redan nearly as soon as the 90th and 97th, who formed the leading column of attack on the salient, and the parties of each division were soon inextricably mixed. I do not know the names of the first soldiers of the 90th and 97th who got in, but several soldiers of these regiments lay dead and wounded in advance near the Russian breastwork on the morning of the 9th. The men of the 41st who rushed into the Redan with Colonel Windham, were, Hartnardy, Kennelly, Cornellis, and Pat Mahony; the last, a fine tall grenadier, fell dead in the embrasure by Colonel Windham's side, shot through the heart as he was shouting, "Come on, boys--come on!" His blood spouted over those near him, but the men rushed on till they became confused among the traverses, and then the scene took place which I have tried to describe. The salient, however favourable to the assailants in one sense, was extremely disadvantageous to them in another, inasmuch as it prevented them getting into any kind of formation. It was, of course, the apex of the triangle, and was very narrow, while the enemy firing from the base poured a concentrated fire upon the point, and felled every man who showed boldly from behind the traverses, and the parapet upon which our soldiers were crowded. At the first rush, had Colonel Windham been able to get a handful of men together to charge at the breastwork, the few Russians there must have been routed, and by the time their reinforcements came up our men would have been able to reverse the face of the breastwork, and to close the Redan to their assailants. But seconds of time generate great events in war. Our delay gave the enemy time both to recover from their panic when they were driven from the salient, and to send up strong bodies of men from their bomb-proofs and the cover at the back of the Redan; and by degrees this accumulating mass, advancing from the angles of the breastwork, moved up along the traverses parallel with the parapets of the Redan, and drove our men into the salient, where, by feeble driblets and incapable of formation, they were shot down in spite of the devotion and courage of their leader and the example of their officers. The salient was held by our men for one hour and fifty-six minutes! While General Codrington, who seemed (in the opinion of those around him) to have lost for the time the coolness which characterized him, was hesitating about sending up more men, or was unable to send them up in any formation so as to form a nucleus of resistance and attack, the Redan was lost,[26] and our men, pressed by the bayonet, by heavy fusillades, and by some field guns which the enemy had now brought up, were forced over the parapet into the ditch. Colonel Eman, one of the very best officers in the army,--a man of singular calmness and bravery, who was beloved by his regiment, his officers and men, and whose loss was lamented by all who knew him,--was shot through the lungs as he was getting his men into order. His sword arm was uplifted over his head at the time, and it was thought his lungs were uninjured. The surgeon, when he was carried back, told him so, but he knew too well such hopes were vain. "I feel I am bleeding internally," he said, with a sad smile. He died that night. Two Captains of the same regiment fell beside him--Corry and Lockhart. Captain Rowlands, who very much distinguished himself, had the most extraordinary escapes, and was only slightly wounded, though hit in two places. This detachment lost 184 officers and men. The 49th, who were in reserve, lost 1 officer killed, 2 wounded, 2 privates killed, and 23 wounded. For the last thirty minutes of this contest the English, having exhausted their ammunition, threw stones at their opponents, but the Russians retaliated with terrible effect by 'hand-grape' and small cannon-shot, which they hurled at our men. Captain Rowlands was knocked down and stunned by one of these missiles, which hit him right on the eye. As soon as he recovered and got up, he was struck by another grape-shot in the very same place, and knocked down again. The 30th Regiment was formed in the fourth parallel, left in front, on the right of the 55th; and when the storming party moved out of the fifth parallel the supports occupied it, and were immediately ordered to advance on the salient angle of the Redan, by three companies at a time, from the left. The distance from the place in which they were posted up to the salient considerably exceeded 200 yards; and as the men had to cut across as quickly as they could in order to escape the raking fire of grape, and to support the regiments in front, they were breathless when they arrived at the ditch. When they arrived, all blown by this double, they found only two scaling-ladders at the scarp, and two more at the other side, to climb up to the parapet. They got over, however, and ascended the face of the Redan. By the time the supports got up, the Russians were pushing up their reserves in great force, and had already got some field-pieces up to the breastwork; and the regiment falling into the train of all around them, instead of advancing, began to fire from the parapet and upper traverses till all their ammunition was exhausted, when they commenced pelting the Russians with stones. In this condition no attempts were made to remove the reserves whatever, while the Russians accumulated mass after mass upon them from the open ground in rear of the Redan, and deployed their columns on the breastwork, whence they delivered a severe fire upon us. The whole garrison of the Malakoff and their supports also came down on the left flank of the Redan and added to our assailants; and indeed there was reason to fight, for the possession of the Redan would have destroyed the enemy's chance of escape. In this gallant regiment there were 16 officers, 23 sergeants, &c., and 384 privates. On marching down to the trenches, 1 officer was killed and 10 were wounded, 6 sergeants were wounded, 41 privates were killed and 101 privates were wounded, and 2 officers and 6 privates died of their wounds. [Sidenote: HEAVY LOSSES OF THE FRENCH.] The 55th Regiment was the support along with the 30th, and was stationed in the fourth parallel till the assaulting columns had cleared out of the fifth parallel, which it then occupied, and left soon afterwards to mingle in the _mélée_ at the salient of the Redan. Poor Lieut.-Colonel Cuddy, who assumed the command when Lieut.-Colonel Cure was wounded in the right arm, was killed as he led his men up the open to the face of the Redan; and of the remaining ten officers who went out with the regiment, Captain Morgan, Captain Hume, Lieutenant J. R. Hume, and Lieutenant Johnson were wounded. The regiment went out less than 400 strong, and suffered a loss of 140 officers and men killed and wounded. The 62nd Regiment went into action 245 of all ranks. They were formed into two companies, with four officers to each, and the Colonel, Major, Adjutant, and Acting. Assistant-Surgeon O'Callaghan, and formed part of the storming party. Colonel Tyler was hit in the hand crossing the open space in front of the Redan, and retired. Lieutenant Blakeston was shot in getting through an embrasure of the Redan. Lieutenant Davenport was shot through the nose. On the parapet 2 officers were killed or died of their wounds, and 4 officers were wounded out of a total of 11; 3 sergeants were killed and 4 wounded out of 16; 1 drummer was killed out of 8, and 14 rank and file were killed, and 75 were wounded, out of 210. Such was this heavy day. To show how it fell on our Allies, I give the following _fact_:--The 15th Regiment, Colonel Garrain, went into action 900 strong against the Little Redan, and came out 310. The 2 Chefs-de-Bataillon were killed, 11 officers were killed, and 19 officers were wounded. It was observed that an immense number of the Russian dead in the front were officers. Our attack lasted about an hour and three-quarters, and in that time we lost more men than at Inkerman, where the fighting lasted for seven hours. At 1.48 P.M., which was about the time we retired, there was an explosion either of a tumbrel or of a fougasse between the Mamelon and the Malakoff, to the right, which seemed to blow up several Frenchmen, and soon afterwards the artillery of the Imperial Guard swept across from the rear towards the Little Redan, and gave us indication that our Allies had gained a position from which they could operate against the enemy with their field-pieces. From the opening of the attack the French batteries over Careening Bay had not ceased to thunder against the Russian fleet, which lay silently at anchor below; and a lively cannonade was kept up between them and the Inkerman batteries till the evening, which was interrupted every now and then by the intervention of the English redoubt, and the late Selinghinsk and Volhynia redoubts, which engaged the Russian batteries at the extremity of the harbour. At one o'clock wounded men began to crawl up from the batteries to the camp; they could tell us little or nothing. "Are we in the Redan?" "Oh, yes; but a lot of us is killed, and the Russians are mighty strong." Some were cheerful, others desponding; all seemed proud of their wounds. Half an hour more, and the number of wounded increased; they came up by twos and threes, and--what I had observed before as a bad sign--the number of stragglers accompanying them, under the pretence of rendering assistance, became greater also. Then the ambulances and the cacolets (or mule litters) came in sight along the Woronzoff Road filled with wounded. Every ten minutes added to their numbers, and we could see that every effort was made to hurry them down to the front as soon as they were ready for a fresh load. The litter-bearers now added to the length of the melancholy train. We heard that the temporary hospitals in front were full, and that the surgeons were beginning to get anxious about the extent of their accommodation for the wounded. Another bad sign was, that the enemy never ceased throwing up shell to the front, many of which burst high in the air, over our heads, while the pieces flew with a most unpleasant whir around us. These shells were intended for our reserves; and, although the fusees did not burn long enough for such a range, and they all burst at a considerable elevation, they caused some little injury and annoyance to the troops in the rear, and hit some of our men. The rapidly increasing swarms of wounded men, some of whom had left their arms behind them, at last gave rise to suspicions of the truth; but their answers to many eager questioners were not very decisive or intelligible, and some of them did not even know what they had been attacking. One poor young fellow, who was stumping stiffly up with a broken arm and a ball through his shoulder, carried off his firelock with him, but he made a _naïve_ confession that he had "never fired it off, for he could not." The piece turned out to be in excellent order. It struck one that such men as these, however brave, were scarcely a fit match for the well-drilled soldiers of Russia; and yet we were trusting the honour, reputation, and glory of Great Britain to undisciplined lads from the plough, or the lanes of our towns and villages! As one example of the sort of recruits we received, I may mention that there was a considerable number of men in draughts, which came out to regiments in the Fourth Division, who had only been enlisted a few days, and who had never fired a rifle in their lives! As I wrote at the time--"It must not be imagined that such rawness can be corrected and turned into military efficiency out here; for the fact is, that this siege has been about the worst possible school for developing the courage and manly self-reliance of a soldier; neither does it teach him the value of discipline and of united action. When he goes into the trenches he learns to dodge behind gabions, and to take pot shots from behind stones and parapets, and at the same time he has no opportunity of testing the value of his comrades, or of proving himself against the enemy in the open field. The natural result follows. Nor can it be considered as aught but ominous of evil that there have been two Courts of Inquiry recently held concerning two most distinguished regiments--one, indeed, belonging to the highest rank of our infantry; and the other a well-tried and gallant regiment, which was engaged in this very attack--in consequence of the alleged misconduct of their young soldiers during night affairs in the trenches." [Sidenote: LOSSES IN THE ASSAULT.] The difficulty of obtaining accurate information of the progress of an action cannot be better exemplified than by this fact, that at three o'clock one of our Generals of Division did not know whether we had taken the Redan or not. Towards dusk, the Guards, who had been placed in reserve behind our Right Attack, were marched off to their camp, and a portion of the Highlanders were likewise taken off the ground. The Guards had only arrived from the trenches the very same morning; but, to their great credit be it said, they turned out again without a murmur after a rest of a couple of hours for breakfast, although they had been "on" for forty-eight hours previously. The Third Division and a portion of the Highlanders were sent down to do the trench duties in the evening and night. From the following statement of the loss sustained by the Light Division, it will be seen that this gallant body, which behaved so well at the Alma, and maintained its reputation at Inkerman, suffered as severely as it did in gaining the former great victory; and an examination of the return will, we fear, show that the winter, the trenches, and careless recruiting did their work, and that the officers furnished a noble example of devotion and gallantry. In the Light Division there were 73 officers and 964 men wounded--total, 1,037. The loss of this division was 1,001 in killed and wounded at the Alma. The number of officers killed was 15; of men killed, 94--total, 109. The regiments of the division which furnished storming columns were the 90th (or Perthshire Volunteers) and the 97th (or Earl of Ulster's). In the 90th, Captain Preston and Lieutenants Swift and Wilmer were killed; only 3 men were killed. Lieutenant Swift penetrated the furthest of all those who entered the Redan, and his dead body was discovered far in advance, near the re-entering angle. Captains Grove, Tinling, and Wade, Lieutenants Rattray, Pigott, Deverill, and Sir C. Pigott, and 90 men severely; Captains Perrin and Vaughan, Lieutenants Rous, Graham, and Haydock and 35 men slightly wounded. Total killed, 3 officers, 3 men; wounded, 12 officers, 126 men. In the 97th, Lieutenant-Colonel the Hon. H. R. Handcock, Major Welsford, Captain Hutton, and Lieutenant Douglas M'Gregor, and 1 man were killed. Captain Lumley and 10 men dangerously; Captain Sibthorpe, Lieutenant Goodenough, and 38 men severely; Captain Woods, Lieutenants Hill, Fitzgerald, Brown, and 40 men slightly wounded. Total killed, 4 officers, 1 man; wounded, 7 officers, 88 men. The colonel, having been shot through the head, was carried to his tent, but, the ball having lodged in the brain, he was never sensible, and expired that night. Lieutenant M'Gregor, the son of the Inspector-General of Irish Constabulary, was adjutant of the regiment, and as remarkable for his unostentatious piety and Christian virtues as for his bravery and conduct in the field. The rest of the division was engaged in supporting the storming columns. In the 7th Royal Fusileers, Lieutenants Wright and Colt, and 11 men were killed; Major Turner, Lieutenant-Colonels Heyland and Hibbert, Captain Hickey, and Captain Jones (Alma), were wounded; 67 men were wounded. In the 23rd (Royal Welsh Fusileers), Lieutenants Somerville and Dyneley were killed; Lieutenant-Colonel Lysons was slightly wounded, and the following officers more or less injured by shot, shell, or bayonet:--Captains Vane, Poole, Millett, Holding, Beck, Hall-Dare, Williamson, Tupper, O'Connor, Radcliffe, Perrott, and Beck. Total killed, 2 officers, 1 man; wounded, 13 officers, 130 men. In the 33rd, Lieutenant Donovan, a most promising and dashing officer, lost his life while looking over the parapet at the fight. He went with the regiment as an amateur, in company with his brother, all through Bulgaria, and into action with them at the Alma as a volunteer, where he so much distinguished himself that the colonel recommended him for a commission, which he received without purchase. Lieutenant-Colonel Gough, who was shot through the body at the Alma, was severely wounded; Captain Ellis and Lieutenants Willis and Trent were slightly, and the Adjutant Toseland severely, wounded; 45 men wounded. Total killed, 1 officer; wounded, 5 officers, 45 men. In the 34th, which was in the parallel behind the columns, 3 men were killed. Lieutenants Harris and Laurie were severely wounded, and 62 men were wounded. In the 19th, nearly every officer was touched more or less, 128 men were wounded, and 25 killed. The officers wounded were--Colonel Unett, severely (since dead); Major Warden, slightly; Captain Chippindall, ditto; Lieutenants Godfrey, Goren, and Massey, dangerously; Molesworth severely; Bayley, slightly; Ensign Martin, slightly; and Ensign Young, dangerously. Total killed, 25 men; wounded, 10 officers, 128 men. In the 77th, 42 men were wounded; killed not known; Captain Parker mortally wounded. Wounded, Captain Butts, slightly; Lieutenants Knowles, Leggett, and Watson, ditto. One officer killed; 4 officers, 42 men wounded. In the 88th Regiment, 105 men were wounded. Captain Grogan was killed; Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell, C.B., was wounded twice in the thigh and once in the arm severely. Captains Mauleverer and Beresford, Lieutenants Lambert, Hopton, Scott, and Ensign Walker were wounded severely. Total, 1 officer killed; wounded, 9 officers, 105 men. In the Rifle Brigade, Captain Hammond, who was only three days out from England, and Lieutenant Ryder and 13 men were killed; and Lieutenant Pellew slightly, Lieutenant Eyre severely, Major Woodford slightly, Captain Eccles and Lieutenant Riley severely wounded. Total, 2 officers, 13 men killed; wounded, 8 officers, 125 men. The loss of officers in Windham's Brigade, and in the portion of Warren's Brigade which moved to his support was equally severe. [Sidenote: LOSSES IN THE ASSAULT.] The Second Division had on the General Staff 1 officer, Lieutenant Swire, Aide-de-camp, dangerously; 2 officers, Major Rooke and Lieutenant Morgan, Aide-de-camp, severely; 1 officer, Brigadier Warren, slight scratch in head; and 1 officer, Colonel Percy Herbert, a still slighter scratch. Total, 5 officers wounded. In 1st Royals, 2nd Battalion, 1 man was killed; 2 officers, Major Plunkett and Lieutenant Williams, and 3 men, severely; Captain Gillman, and 2 men, dangerously; Lieutenant Keate, and 13 men slightly, wounded. Total killed, 1; wounded, 4 officers, 18 men. 3rd Buffs, 39 men killed, 76 wounded, 7 officers. Brigadier Straubenzee, a scratch over the eye; Captain Wood Dunbar, Lieutenant Cox, Ensigns Letts and Peachey, wounded. In 41st Foot, 2 officers, Captains Lockhart and Every, 2 men, killed; Colonel Eman, C.B., dangerously (since dead); Lieutenant Kingscote, severely; Major Pratt, Captain Rowlands, Lieutenants Maude and Hamilton, slightly wounded. Total killed, 2 officers, 2 men; wounded, 6 officers, 111 men. In 47th Regiment, 3 men killed, 27 men wounded. In 49th Regiment, Captain Rochfort and 2 men killed; Major King, Ensign Mitchell, and 26 men, wounded. In 55th Regiment, Lieutenant-Colonel Cuddy, killed; Major Cure, Captain R. Hume, Captain J. Hume, Captain Richards, Lieutenant Johnson, and 105 men, wounded. In 62nd Regiment, Captains Cox and Blakeston, killed; Lieutenant-Colonel Tyler, Major Daubeney, Captain Hunter, Lieutenants Dirin and Davenport, and 67 men, wounded. In 95th Foot, Captain Sergeant and Lieutenant Packinton, slightly contused, and 3 men slightly wounded. In the First Division, 2nd Brigade, the 31st Foot lost an excellent officer, Captain Attree, before the assault took place; he was mortally wounded in the trenches. They had two men slightly wounded. In the Scots Fusileer Guards, and 56th Foot, there were only two men slightly wounded--one in each regiment; out of 256 men admitted into the General Hospital, Third Division, camp, 17 died almost immediately. In the Highland Division, the 42nd Foot had 12 men wounded; the 72nd Foot had 1 officer, Quartermaster Maidmont, mortally wounded; 1 man killed, and 17 men wounded; the 79th had 11 men wounded; and the 93rd had 5 men wounded. In the Fourth Division, the 17th Regiment had Lieutenant Thompson and Lieutenant Parker, and 19 men wounded; the 20th Regiment had 6 men wounded; the 21st, 8 men wounded; the 46th Regiment, 1 man wounded; the 48th, 6 men wounded; the 57th, 4 men wounded; the 63rd Regiment, Colonel Lindsay (severely), and 4 men wounded, and 1 killed; the 68th, 1 man wounded; The Rifle Brigade, 1st Battalion, 2 men killed, and 9 men wounded. In the Right Attack of the Royal Artillery Siege Train, Commissary Hayter and 5 men were killed; Captain Fitzroy, Lieutenants Champion and Tyler, and 34 men were wounded. In the Left Attack, Captain Sedley, Major Chapman, Lieutenant Elphinstone, R.E. and 7 Sappers and Miners, were wounded. The regiments in the trenches lost as follows:--Rifle Brigade, 2 wounded; 3rd Foot, 2 ditto; 17th, 1 ditto; 23rd Fusileers, 13 ditto; 41st, 3 ditto; 55th, 1 ditto; 62nd, 2 killed, 3 wounded; 77th, 1 killed, 1 wounded; 88th, 1 wounded; 90th, 1 killed, 11 wounded; 93rd, 1 wounded; 97th, 2 wounded; 19th, 1 killed, 1 wounded. The total given by Sir John Hall was--24 officers, and 129 men killed; 134 officers and 1,897 men wounded. CHAPTER VII. Painful Depression--Tremendous Explosions--Retreat of the Russians--Chronicle of Events--General After-Order--Visit to the City--Strength of the Works--Surprise in Camp--Rush to the City--Plunder--Ghastly Sights--The Dead and the Dying--Inside the Works--Value of the Malakoff--Terrible Picture of the Horrors of War--Hospital of Sebastopol--Heart-rending Scene--Chambers of Horrors--The Great Redan--Wreck and Destruction. There was a feeling of deep depression in camp. We knew the French were in the Malakoff only, and we were painfully aware that our attack had failed. It was an eventful night. The camp was full of wounded men; the hospitals were crowded; sad stories ran from mouth to mouth respecting the losses of the officers and the behaviour of the men. Fatigued and worn out, I lay down to rest, but scarcely to sleep. At my last walk to the front after sunset, nothing was remarkable except the silence of the batteries on both sides. About seven o'clock, an artillery officer in the Quarries observed the enemy pouring across the bridge to the north side, and sent word to that effect to General Simpson. About eleven o'clock my hut was shaken by a violent shock as of an earthquake, but I was so thoroughly tired, that it did not rouse me for more than an instant; having persuaded myself it was "only a magazine," I was asleep again. In another hour these shocks were repeated in quick succession, so that Morpheus himself could not have slumbered on, and I walked up to Cathcart's Hill. Fires blazed in Sebastopol, but they were obscured with smoke, and by the dust which still blew through the night air. As the night wore on, these fires grew and spread, fed at intervals by tremendous explosions. The Russians were abandoning the city they had defended so gallantly and so long. Their fleet was beneath the waters. A continuous stream of soldiery could be seen marching across the bridge to the north, side. And what were we doing? Just looking on. About half past five o'clock General Bentinck came out of his hut, close to Cathcart's Hill, to "see what the matter was." Of course, that careful officer was not in any way concerned in the arrangements for the attack or for the assault. He was only a divisional officer, and could not in any way direct the action of the troops. [Sidenote: RETREAT OF THE RUSSIANS.] At 8 o'clock the night before, the Russians began to withdraw from the town, in which they had stored up combustibles, to render Sebastopol a second Moscow. The general kept up a fire of musketry from his advanced posts, as though he intended to renew his efforts to regain the Malakoff. About 12.30 A.M. the Highland Division on duty in the trenches, surprised at the silence in the Redan, sent some volunteers to creep into it. Nothing could they hear but the breathing and groans of the wounded and dying, who, with the dead, were the sole occupants of the place. As it was thought the Redan was mined, the men came back. By 2 o'clock A.M. the fleet, with the exception of the steamers, had been scuttled and sunk. Flames were observed to break out in different parts of the town. They spread gradually over the principal buildings. At 4 o'clock A.M. a terrible explosion behind the Redan shook the whole camp; it was followed by four other explosions equally startling. The city was enveloped in fire and smoke, and torn asunder by the tremendous shocks of these volcanoes. At 4.45 A.M. the magazine of the Flagstaff and Garden Batteries blew up. At 5.30 A.M. two of the southern forts, the Quarantine and Alexander, went up into the air, and a great number of live shell followed, and burst in all directions. While this was going on, a steady current of infantry was passing to the north side over the bridge. At 6.45 A.M. the last battalion had passed, and the hill-sides opposite the city were alive with Russian troops. At 7.10 A.M. several small explosions took place inside the town. At 7.12 A.M. columns of black smoke began to rise from a steamer in one of the docks. At 7.15 A.M. the connection of the floating-bridge with the south side was severed. At 7.16 A.M. flames began to ascend from Fort Nicholas. At 8.7 A.M. the last part of the bridge was floated off in portions to the north side. At 9 A.M. several violent explosions took place in the works on our left, opposite the French. At 10 A.M. the town was a mass of flames, and the pillar of velvety fat smoke ascending from it seemed to support the very heavens. The French continued to fire, probably to keep out stragglers; but, ere the Russians left the place, the Zouaves and sailors were engaged in plundering. Not a shot was fired to the front and centre. The Russian steamers were very busy towing boats and stores across. His steamers towed his boats across at their leisure, and when every man had been placed in safety, and not till then, the Russians began to dislocate and float off the different portions of their bridge, and to pull it over to the north side. This Redan cost us more lives than the capture of Badajoz, without including those who fell in its trenches and approaches; and, although the enemy evacuated it, we could scarcely claim the credit of having caused them such loss that they retired owing to their dread of a renewed assault. On the contrary, we must, in fairness, admit that the Russians maintained their hold of the place till the French were established in the Malakoff and the key of the position was torn from their grasp. They might, indeed, have remained in the place longer than they did, as the French were scarcely in a condition to molest them from the Malakoff with artillery; but the Russian general possessed too much genius and experience as a soldier to lose men in defending an untenable position, and his retreat was effected with masterly skill and with perfect ease in the face of a victorious enemy. Covering his rear by the flames of the burning city, and by tremendous explosions, which spoke in tones of portentous warning to those who might have wished to cut off his retreat, he led his battalions in narrow files across a deep arm of the sea, which ought to have been commanded by our guns, and in the face of a most powerful fleet. He actually paraded them in our sight as they crossed, and carried off all his most useful stores and munitions of war. He left us few trophies, and many bitter memories. He sank his ships and blew up his forts without molestation; nothing was done to harass him in his retreat, with the exception of some paltry efforts to break down the bridge by cannon-shot, or to shell the troops as they marched over. It was clear that the fire of our artillery was searching out every nook and corner in the town, and that it would have soon become utterly impossible for the Russians to keep any body of men to defend their long line of parapet and battery without such murderous loss as would speedily have annihilated an army. Their enormous bomb-proofs, large and numerous as they were, could not hold the requisite force to resist a general concerted attack made all along the line with rapidity and without previous warning. On the other hand, the strength of the works themselves was prodigious. One heard our engineers feebly saying, "They are badly traced," and that kind of thing; but it was quite evident that the Russian, who is no match for the Allies in the open field, had been enabled to sustain the most tremendous bombardments ever known, and a siege of eleven months; that he was rendered capable of repulsing one general assault, and that a subsequent attack upon him at four points was only successful at one, which fortunately happened to be the key of his position; and the inference is, that his engineers possessed consummate ability, and furnished him with artificial strength that made him equal to our best efforts. It is sufficient to say that of the three or four points attacked--the Little Redan and the Malakoff on the right, and the Bastion Centrale and the re-entering angle of the Flagstaff Work on the left--but one was carried, and that was a closed work. The Great Redan, the Little Redan, and the line of defence on the left were not taken, although the attack was resolute, and the contest obstinate and bloody for both assailants and defenders. Whether we ought to have attacked the Great or Little Redan, or to have touched the left at all, was another question, which was ventilated by many, but which it is not for me to decide. It is certain that the enemy knew his weakness, and was too good a strategist to defend a position of which we held the key. The surprise throughout the camp on the Sunday morning was beyond description when the news spread that Sebastopol was on fire, and that the enemy were retreating. The tremendous explosions, which shook the very ground like so many earthquakes, failed to disturb many of our wearied soldiers. [Sidenote: A YOUNG PRISONER OF WAR.] As the rush from camp became very great, and every one sought to visit the Malakoff and the Redan, which were filled with dead and dying men, a line of English cavalry was posted across the front from our extreme left to the French right. They were stationed in all the ravines and roads to the town and trenches, with orders to keep back all persons except the Generals and Staff, and officers and men on duty, and to stop all our men returning with plunder from the town, and to take it from them. As they did not stop the French, or Turks, or Sardinians, this order gave rise to a good deal of grumbling, particularly when a man, after lugging a heavy chair several miles, or a table, or some such article, was deprived of it by our sentries. The French complained that our Dragoons let English soldiers pass with Russian muskets, and would not permit the French to carry off these trophies; but there was not any foundation for the complaint. There was assuredly no jealousy on one side or the other. It so happened that as the remnants of the French regiments engaged on the left against the Malakoff and Little Redan marched to their tents in the morning, our Second Division was drawn up on the parade-ground in front of their camp, and the French had to pass their lines. The instant the leading regiment of Zouaves came up to the spot where our first regiment was placed, the men, with one spontaneous burst, rent the air with an English cheer. The French officers drew their swords, their men dressed up and marched past as if at a review, while regiment after regiment of the Second Division caught up the cry, and at last our men presented arms to their brave comrades of France, the officers on both sides saluted with their swords, and this continued till the last man had marched by. Mingled with the plunderers from the front were many wounded men. The ambulances never ceased,--now moving heavily and slowly with their burdens, again rattling at a trot to the front for a fresh cargo,--and the ground between the trenches and the camp was studded with cacolets or mule litters. Already the funeral parties had commenced their labours. The Russians all this time were swarming on the north side, and evinced the liveliest interest in the progress of the explosions and conflagrations. They took up ground in their old camps, and spread all over the face of the hills behind the northern forts. Their steamers cast anchor, or were moored close to the shore among the creeks, on the north side, near Fort Catherine. By degrees the Generals, French and English, and the Staff officers, edged down upon the town, but Fort Paul had not yet gone up, and Fort Nicholas was burning, and our engineers declared the place would be unsafe for forty-eight hours. Moving down, however, on the right flank of our cavalry pickets, a small party of us managed to turn them cleverly, and to get out among the French works between the Mamelon and Malakoff. The ground was here literally paved with shot and shell, and the surface was deeply honeycombed by the explosions of the bombs at every square yard. The road was crowded by Frenchmen returning with paltry plunder from Sebastopol, and with files of Russian prisoners, many of them wounded, and all dejected, with the exception of a fine little boy, in a Cossack's cap and a tiny uniform greatcoat, who seemed rather pleased with his kind captors. There was also one stout Russian soldier, who had evidently been indulging in the popularly credited sources of Dutch courage, and who danced all the way into the camp with a Zouave. There were ghastly sights on the way, too--Russians who had died, or were dying as they lay, brought so far towards the hospitals from the fatal Malakoff. Passing through a maze of trenches, of gabionades, and of zigzags and parallels, by which the French had worked their sure and deadly way close to the heart of the Russian defence, and treading gently among the heaps of dead, where the ground bore full tokens of the bloody fray, we came at last to the head of the French sap. It was barely ten yards from that to the base of the huge sloping mound of earth which rose full twenty feet in height above the level, and showed in every direction the grinning muzzles of its guns. The tricolour waved placidly from its highest point, and the French were busy constructing a semaphore on the top. There was a ditch at one's feet, some twenty or twenty-two feet deep, and ten feet broad. That was the place where the French crossed--there was their bridge of planks, and here they swarmed in upon the unsuspecting defenders of the Malakoff. They had not ten yards to go. We had two hundred, and the men were then out of breath. Were not planks better than scaling-ladders? This explains how easily the French crossed. On the right hand, as one issued from the head of the French trench, was a line of gabions on the ground running up to this bridge. That was a flying sap, which the French made the instant they got out of the trench into the Malakoff, so that they were enabled to pour a continuous stream of men into the works, with comparative safety from the flank fire of the enemy. In the same way they at once dug a trench across the work inside, to see if there were any galvanic wires to fire mines. Mount the parapet and descend--of what amazing thickness are these embrasures! From the level of the ground inside to the top of the parapet cannot be less than eighteen feet. There were eight rows of gabions piled one above the other, and as each row receded towards the top, it left in the ledge below an excellent _banquette_ for the defenders. [Sidenote: SICKENING SIGHTS.] Inside the sight was too terrible to dwell upon. The French were carrying away their own and the Russian wounded, and four distinct piles of dead were formed to clear the way. The ground was marked by pools of blood, and the smell was noisome; swarms of flies settled on dead and dying; broken muskets, torn clothes, caps, shakos, swords, bayonets, bags of bread, canteens, and haversacks, were lying in indescribable confusion all over the place, mingled with heaps of shot, of grape, bits of shell, cartridges, case and canister, loose powder, official papers, and cooking tins. The traverses were so high and deep that it was almost impossible to get a view of the whole of the Malakoff from any one spot, and there was a high mound of earth in the middle of the work, either intended as a kind of shell proof, or the remains of the old White Tower. The guns, which to the number of sixty were found in the work, were all ships' guns, and mounted on ships' carriages, and worked in the same way as ships' guns. There were a few old-fashioned, oddly-shaped mortars. On looking around the work, one might see that the strength of the Russian was his weakness--he fell into his own bomb-proofs. In the parapet of the work might be observed several entrances--very narrow outside, but descending and enlarging downwards, and opening into rooms some four or five feet high, and eight or ten square. These were only lighted from the outside by day, and must have been pitch dark at night, unless the men were allowed lanterns. Here the garrison retired when exposed to a heavy bombardment. The odour of these narrow chambers was villanous, and the air reeked with blood and abominations unutterable. There were several of these places, and they might bid defiance to the heaviest mortars in the world: over the roof was a layer of _ships' masts_, cut into junks, and deposited carefully; then there was over them a solid layer of earth, and above that a layer of gabions, and above that a pile of earth again. In one of these dungeons, excavated in the solid rock, and which was probably underneath the old White Tower, the officer commanding seems to have lived. It must have been a dreary residence. The floor and the entrance were littered a foot deep with reports, returns, and perhaps despatches assuring the Czar that the place had sustained no damage. The garrison were in these narrow chambers enjoying their siesta, which they invariably take at twelve o'clock, when the French burst in upon them like a torrent, and, as it were, drowned them in their holes. The Malakoff was a closed work, only open at the rear to the town; and the French having once got in, threw open a passage to their own rear, and closed up the front and the lateral communications with the curtains leading to the Great Redan and to the Little Redan. Thus they were enabled to pour in their supports, in order and without loss, in a continued stream, and to resist the efforts of the Russians, which were desperate and repeated, to retake the place. They brought up their field-guns at once, and swept the Russian reserves and supports, while Strange's batteries from the Quarries carried death through their ranks in every quarter of the Karabelnaïa. With the Malakoff the enemy lost Sebastopol. The ditch outside, towards the north, was full of French and Russians, piled over each other in horrid confusion. On the right, towards the Little Redan, the ground was literally strewn with bodies as thick as they could lie, and in the ditch they were piled over each other. Here the French, victorious in the Malakoff, met with a heavy loss and a series of severe repulses. The Russians lay inside the work in heaps, like carcases in a butcher's cart; and the wounds, the blood--the sight exceeded all I had hitherto witnessed. Descending from the Malakoff, we came upon a suburb of ruined houses open to the sea--it was filled with dead. The Russians had crept away into holes and corners in every house, to die like poisoned rats; artillery horses, with their entrails torn open by shot, were stretched all over the space at the back of the Malakoff, marking the place where the Russians moved up their last column to retake it under the cover of a heavy field battery. Every house, the church, some public buildings, sentry-boxes--all alike were broken and riddled by cannon and mortar. Turning to the left, we proceeded by a very tall snow-white wall of great length to the dockyard gateway. This wall was pierced and broken through and through with cannon. Inside were the docks, which, naval men say, were unequalled in the world. The steamer was blazing merrily in one of them. Gates and store sides were splintered and pierced by shot. There were the stately dockyard buildings on the right, which used to look so clean and white and spruce. Parts of them were knocked to atoms, and hung together in such shreds and patches that it was only wonderful they cohered. The soft white stone of which they and the walls were made was readily knocked to pieces by a cannon-shot. Of all the pictures of the horrors of war which have ever been presented to the world, the hospital of Sebastopol offered the most horrible, heartrending, and revolting. How the poor human body could be mutilated, and yet hold its soul within it, when every limb is shattered, and every vein and artery is pouring out the life-stream, one might study there at every step, and at the same time wonder how little will kill! The building used as an hospital was one of the noble piles inside the dockyard wall, and was situated in the centre of the row, at right angles to the line of the Redan. The whole row was peculiarly exposed to the action of shot and shell bounding over the Redan, and to the missiles directed at the Barrack Battery; and it bore in sides, roof, windows, and doors, frequent and distinctive proofs of the severity of the cannonade. [Sidenote: A PEEP AT THE GREAT REDAN.] Entering one of these doors, I beheld such a sight as few men, thank God, have ever witnessed. In a long, low room, supported by square pillars arched at the top, and dimly lighted through shattered and unglazed window-frames, lay the wounded Russians, who had been abandoned to our mercies by their General. The wounded, did I say? No, but the dead--the rotten and festering corpses of the soldiers, who were left to die in their extreme agony, untended, uncared for, packed as close as they could be stowed, some on the floor, others on wretched trestles and bedsteads, or pallets of straw, sopped and saturated with blood, which oozed and trickled through upon the floor, mingling with the droppings of corruption. With the roar of exploding fortresses in their ears--with shells and shot pouring through the roof and sides of the rooms in which they lay--with the crackling and hissing of fire around them, these poor fellows, who had served their loving friend and master the Czar but too well, were consigned to their terrible fate. Many might have been saved by ordinary care. Many lay, yet alive, with maggots crawling about in their wounds. Many, nearly mad by the scene around them, or seeking escape from it in their extremest agony, had rolled away under the beds, and glared out on the heart-stricken spectator--oh! with such looks! Many, with legs and arms broken and twisted, the jagged splinters sticking through the raw flesh, implored aid, water, food, or pity, or, deprived of speech by the approach of death, or by dreadful injuries in the head or trunk, pointed to the lethal spot. Many seemed bent alone on making their peace with Heaven. The attitudes of some were so hideously fantastic as to appal and root one to the ground by a sort of dreadful fascination. Could that bloody mass of clothing and white bones ever have been a human being, or that burnt black mass of flesh have ever held a human soul? It was fearful to think what the answer must be. The bodies of numbers of men were swollen and bloated to an incredible degree; and the features, distended to a gigantic size, with eyes protruding from the sockets, and the blackened tongue lolling out of the mouth, compressed tightly by the teeth, which had set upon it in the death-rattle, made one shudder and reel round. In the midst of one of these "chambers of horrors"--for there were many of them--were found some dead and some living English soldiers, and among them poor Captain Vaughan, of the 90th, who afterwards died of his wounds. I confess it was impossible for me to stand the sight, which horrified our most experienced surgeons; the deadly, clammy stench, the smell of gangrened wounds, of corrupted blood, of rotting flesh, were intolerable and odious beyond endurance. But what must have the wounded felt, who were obliged to endure all this, and who passed away without a hand to give them a cup of water, or a voice to say one kindly word to them? Most of these men were wounded on Saturday--many, perhaps, on the Friday before--indeed it is impossible to say how long they might have been there. In the hurry of their retreat, the Muscovites seem to have carried in dead men to get them out of the way, and to have put them on pallets in horrid mockery. So that their retreat was secured, the enemy cared but little for their wounded. On Monday only did they receive those whom we sent out to them during a brief armistice for the purpose, which was, I believe, sought by ourselves, as our over-crowded hospitals could not contain, and our over-worked surgeons could not attend to, any more. The Great Redan was next visited. Such a scene of wreck and ruin!--all the houses behind it a mass of broken stones--a clock turret, with a shot right through the clock; a pagoda in ruins; another clock tower, with all the clock destroyed save the dial, with the words, "Barwise, London," thereon; cook-houses, where human blood was running among the utensils; in one place a shell had lodged in the boiler, and blown it and its contents, and probably its attendants, to pieces. Everywhere wreck and destruction. This evidently was a _beau quartier_ once. The oldest inhabitant could not have recognized it on that fatal day. Climbing up to the Redan, which was fearfully cumbered with the dead, we witnessed the scene of the desperate attack and defence, which cost both sides so much blood. The ditch outside made one sick--it was piled up with English dead, some of them scorched and blackened by the explosion, and others lacerated beyond recognition. The quantity of broken gabions and gun-carriages here was extraordinary; the ground was covered with them. The bomb-proofs were the same as in the Malakoff, and in one of them a music-book was found, with a woman's name in it, and a canary bird and a vase of flowers were outside the entrance. CHAPTER VIII. Russian Steamers--Tornado--Destruction of Russian Steamers--Sinope avenged--A Year's Work--Its Effect on the British Army--Destruction of Russian Docks--Opinions of Russian Officers on Prospects of Peace--Medals and Ribands--Celebration of the Alma Anniversary--Honours to French and English Commanders--Encampment of Russian Army--Russian Method of removing Dead and Wounded--Anxiety of British Army and Navy "to do something"--Activity of the Russians--Appearance of Balaklava--What the British Army were doing to kill Time. As the Russian steamers were intact, notwithstanding the efforts of the French battery at the head of the roads near Inkerman to touch them, it was resolved, on the day after the fall of the place, to construct a battery on the ruins of Fort Paul, within 700 yards of the northern shore, under which they had taken refuge. The steamers lay in three irregular lines to the eastward of Fort Catherine, where the deep creeks in the high cliffs gave them some sort of shelter against the fire of the French. There they had been agents of much mischief and injury to the Allies, from the time of the battle of Inkerman. There was the famous _Vladimir_, with her two large funnels and elegant clipper hull; the _Elboeuf_, the steamer which made the celebrated dash into the Black Sea through all our fleet the year before, and burnt some Turkish vessels near Heraclea, just as the _Vladimir_ was seen in Odessa harbour in the month of July, 1854; there was the _Gromonossetz_, which had caused such an annoyance from the Dockyard Creek; the _Chersonese_, and _Odessa_; and there were three others with hard, and to me unknown names, as calmly floating on the water as though no eager eyes were watching from every battery to lay a gun upon them. A number of very capacious dockyard lumps and row-boats were also secured in these creeks, or hung on by the steamers. [Sidenote: DESTRUCTION OF RUSSIAN VESSELS.] On the morning of the 11th, about an hour after midnight, an exceedingly violent storm raged over the camp. The wind blew with such fury as to make the hut in which I was writing rock to and fro, at the same time filling it with fine dust. The fires in Sebastopol, fanned by the wind, spread fast, and the glare of the burning city illuminated the whole arch of the sky towards the north-west. At 2 o'clock A.M. the storm increased in strength, and rain fell heavily; the most dazzling flames of lightning shot over the plateau and lighted up the camp; the peals of thunder were so short and startling as to resemble, while they exceeded in noise, the report of cannon. The rain somewhat lessened the intensity of the fire at Sebastopol, but its flames and those of the lightning at times contended for the mastery. There was, indeed, a great battle raging in the skies, and its thunder mocked to scorn our heaviest cannonade. In the whole course of my life I never heard or saw anything like the deluge of rain which fell at 4 o'clock. It beat on the roof with a noise like that of a cataract: it was a veritable waterspout. The lightning at last grew fainter, and the gusts less violent. At 9.45 the tornado passed over the camp once more--hail, storm, and rain. The ground was converted into a mass of mud. In the course of the afternoon some of the Russian guns in the ruined battery below the Redan were turned on these steamers, and in a few rounds--not more than twelve, I think--succeeded in hulling them eight times. The range was, however, rather long, and it became expedient to move a little nearer. On Tuesday evening, when Lieutenant Gough, of the _London_--who commanded in the Naval Batteries on the Left Attack--came down with his men, he was ordered to take his relief over to the Right Attack and to accompany Lieutenant Anderson, R.E., down to the town, in order to erect a battery for two 95-cwt. guns on the right of St. Paul's Battery. The site of this battery was about 700 yards from Fort Catherine, on the opposite side. The men, although deprived of the quiet night and undisturbed repose they anticipated, set to work with a will, and began throwing up the parapet and filling gabions; and as it was possible that some interruption of the work might take place from the other side, a covering party of 120 men was ordered down from the trenches. There were French sentries in charge of this portion of the place, and the little party found that their Allies were on the _qui vive_, and were keeping a sharp look-out on all sides. The men had been working some time, when it was observed that one of the enemy's steamers had left the north side, and was slowly and noiselessly dropping down to the very spot where the sailors and the covering party were at their labours. The night was dark, but they could clearly make out the steamer edging down upon them, and coming closer and closer. Every moment they expected their guns to open upon them with grape and canister. The men, therefore, lay down upon their faces, and kept as near to the ground as they could, and the steamer came over gently till she was within about 100 yards of the very spot where they had been working. They heard her anchor splash into the water, and then the rattle of her cable as it ran through the hawsehole. Now, certainly, they were "going to catch it," but, no--the Russian opened no port and showed no light, but seemed to be making himself comfortable in his new quarters. Captain Villiers, of the 47th, who commanded the covering party, ordered his men to observe the utmost silence, and the same injunction was given to the seamen. About 2.30 in the morning, when she had been an hour or so in her novel berth, a broad light was perceived in her fore hatchway. The leading steamer on the opposite side in a second afterwards exhibited gleams of equal brightness, and then one! two! three! four! five!--as though from signal guns, the remaining steamers, with one exception, emitted jets of fire. The jets soon became columns of flame and smoke--the wind blew fresh and strong, so the fire soon spread with rapidity, and soon lighted up the whole of the heavens. The masts were speedily licked and warmed into a fiery glow, and the rigging burst out into fitful wavering lines of light, struggling with the wind for life: the yards shed lambent showers of sparks and burning splinters upon the water. The northern works could be readily traced by the light of the conflagration, and the faces of the Russian soldiers and sailors who were scattered about on the face of the cliff shone out now and then, and justified Rembrandt. The vessels were soon nothing but huge arks of blinding light, which hissed and crackled fiercely, and threw up clouds of sparks and embers; the guns, as they became hot, exploded, and shook the crazy hulls to atoms. One after another they went down into the seething waters. At daybreak only one steamer remained. A boat pushed alongside her from the shore, and after remaining about ten minutes regained the shore. Very speedily the vessel began to be seized with a sort of internal convulsion--first she dipped her bows, then her stern, then gave a few uneasy shakes, and at length, after a short quiver, went down bodily, cleverly scuttled. Thus was Sinope avenged. Of the men who planned, the sailors who executed, and the ships which were engaged on that memorable expedition, no trace remained. Korniloff, Nachimoff, Istomine, and their crews, disappeared: their vessels rest at the bottom of the roadstead of Sebastopol. The Russians preferred being agents of their own destruction, and did not give the conqueror a chance of parading the fruits of his victory. We could not delight the good people of Plymouth or Portsmouth by the sight of Russian liners and steamers. We could only drive the enemy to the option of destroying or of doing the work for him, and he invariably preferred the former. [Sidenote: DOUBTFUL PROSPECTS OF PEACE.] In one year we stormed the heights of the Alma, sustained the glorious disaster of Balaklava, fought the great fight of Inkerman, swept the sea of Azoff and its seaboard, wasted Kertch and seized upon Yenikale, witnessed the battle of the Tchernaya, opened seven bombardments upon Sebastopol, held in check every general and every soldier that Russia could spare; and, after the endurance of every ill that an enemy at home and abroad could inflict upon us--after passing through the summer's heat and winter's frost--after being purged in the fire of sickness and death, repulse and disaster, and, above all, in the glow of victory, the British standard floated over Sebastopol! But our army was not the same. Physiologists tell us that we undergo perpetual charge, and that not a bit of the John Smith of 1854 goes into the composition of the same respected individual in 1864; but we had managed to work up tens of hundreds of atoms in our British army between 1854 and 1855, and there were few indeed to be found in the body corporate who landed in the Crimea a twelvemonth before. Some regiments had been thrice renewed, others had been changed twice over. The change was not for the better--the old stuff was better than the new. The old soldiers had disappeared; in some regiments there were not more than fifteen men, in others there were not so many, remaining out of those who moved in magnificent parade to their first bivouac. Those whom the war had swallowed up were not replaced by better men. The Light Division--those steady, noble soldiers of the Rifle Brigade; the gallant Fusileers; the 19th, the 23rd, the 33rd, the 77th, the 88th--the men who drew the teeth of that terrible Russian Battery on the bloody steeps of the Alma--how few of them were then left to think and wonder at the failure in the Redan! The Second Division, old companions of the Light in hard fighting and in hard work, were sadly reduced. The Third Division, though singularly freed from active participation in any of the great battles or sanguinary struggles of the war, had been heavily smitten by sickness, and had borne a large share of the exhausting and harassing duties of the trenches and of the siege, and its old soldiers had been used up, as those of the other corps. The Fourth Division earned for itself a high reputation. In the fierce contest of Inkerman it won imperishable laurels, which few of the winners were left to wear. As to the Guards--those majestic battalions which secured the fluttering wings of victory on the Alma, and with stubborn front withstood the surge of Muscovite infantry which rolled up the ravines of Inkerman--disease and battle had done their work but too surely, notwithstanding the respite from the trenches during our wintry spring-time, which was allowed perforce to their rapidly vanishing columns. The silence in camp was almost alarming; were it not for a gun now and then between the town and the north side, and across the Tchernaya, it would have been appalling. The Naval Brigade was broken up and sent on board ship. Our batteries were disarmed; the Army Works Corps, assisted by soldiers, engaged in the formation of a new road from Balaklava, parallel with the line of railway. Everything around us indicated an intention on the part of the chiefs of putting the army into winter quarters on the site of their encampment. The Sappers and Miners sank mines, to destroy the docks that had cost Russia so much anxiety, money, and bloodshed; and, if it were not that they were intended to be, and had been, accessory to violence, one would have regretted that such splendid memorials of human skill should be shattered to atoms. But the fleet of Sinope sailed thence, in them it was repaired on its return; and these vessels were built, not to foster peace and commerce, but to smite and destroy them. There was an armistice on Tuesday, Sept. 11th, to effect an interchange of letters, for the benefit of the prisoners, and to make inquiries respecting missing officers on both sides. The Russian officer who conducted it, and who was supposed to have been the commander of the _Vladimir_, expressed the same opinion as the Russian Admiral did on Monday, Sept. 10th--"With this before us," pointing to the ruins of Sebastopol, "peace is farther off than ever." The Russians had very large parks of artillery on the north side of the harbour; and the piles of provisions, _matériel_, and coal which were visible, showed that they did not want the means of carrying on the war, as far as such things were concerned. Many of the guns found here were cast at Carron, from the letters on their trunnion heads and breeches. The enemy persisted in casting up formidable earthworks on the north side, and we looked on as we did from September 27 till October 17, 1854, and saw them preparing their defences, with the sure conviction that we should be able to carry them, or sap up to them, or take them in some way or other in a year or two. Meantime, the weather came in with a word of its own, and said to our deliberating Generals, "Stop! as you have waited so long, I won't let you move now." It was on the 19th of September, twelve months before this was written, that the Allied armies marched from Old Fort, and that the Russians drew first blood at Bouljanak. What an eventful year had elapsed! and how few survived through all our sufferings and our glories! The medals and ribands issued to commanding officers were distributed on the 20th of September, about ten medals for each company. As to the riband, there was but one opinion,--that it was unbecoming and _mesquin_ to a degree. Men differed as to the merits of the medal; but a large majority abused it, and the clasps were likened generally to the labels on public-house wine-bottles. The proceedings at the distribution were tame and spiritless. A regiment was drawn up, with the commanding officer in front; beside him stood a sergeant, with a big bag. "John Smith" was called. "Here." The Colonel dipped his hand into the bag, took out a small parcel, and said, "John Smith, you were Alma, Balaklava, and Inkerman?" "Yes." The Colonel handed him the parcel, and John Smith retired to his place in the ranks, carrying the said packet in his hand, which he opened at the "dismiss." Perhaps the John Smith alluded to never saw a shot fired except at a distance. He might have been on peaceful guard at Lord Raglan's head-quarters on the 5th of November; yet he wears the clasp for Inkerman. He might have been engaged in no more sanguinary work than that of killing oxen and sheep for the division in the commissariat slaughter-house, and yet he will show on his breast "Crimea," "Alma," "Balaklava," "Inkerman." This great anniversary was celebrated enthusiastically throughout the army. There were many "Alma dinners" in the regiments, among both officers and men; and music and song kept the camp awake till long after midnight. Many a memory of the dead was revived, many an old wound reopened, at these festive meetings. The French also had their banquets and festivities. They had a grand ceremony early in the morning--a _Missa Solennis_ for the repose of the dead. General Pelissier was made a Marshal of France, and received from Her Majesty the Grand Cross of the Bath. Of the latter order he seemed exceedingly proud, and he signed his name "Pelissier, G.C.B." General Simpson received the distinction of the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. [Sidenote: RESOURCES OF THE RUSSIANS.] At daybreak on the morning of the 21st of September, I saw through the mist on the Mackenzie ridge a numerous line of watch-fires, and later in the early light a strong column of the Russian infantry was visible in bivouac to our right of the telegraph station and to the left of the Spur Battery, near the Mackenzie Road. Part of these marched away again in the course of the day; the rest remained in the same place, and hutted themselves with great skill and alacrity. They were encamped in a sort of chapparell, and they converted the branches into the sides and coverings of their huts. Their arms were piled when they first arrived at the bivouac, but three hours later the glistening barrels and bayonets had disappeared, having possibly been placed in some dry and secure place. Having secured their right flank by the very formidable earthworks and batteries which we permitted the enemy to erect, in addition to their former defences and their regular forts, the Russians directed the bulk of their army to protect their centre, resting on the Tchernaya and Mackenzie, and their left at Aitodor, and on the Upper Belbek to Bakschiserai. They prepared to hold this extensive line; and as the Allies could scarcely spare men enough to send to Eupatoria, and thence to march on Simpheropol, or to force the Russian position on the Belbek by a moving corps to operate against them on the north, and as there was no apparent intention of attacking them from Inkerman or the Tchernaya, the dead lock was likely enough not to be relaxed that winter. The quantity of stores removed by the Russians from the north side to their depôt showed that they were not in want of provisions, unless they took the trouble to carry dummy sacks and fill their carts with "make-believes." It must have been difficult for them to feed their army, but somehow or other they did so. They left considerable quantities of food behind them in the city; large flocks and herds studded the plains near the citadel. The soldiers who fell into the hands of the Sardinians and French on the 16th of August carried abundance of bread and spirits, and they had meat and plenty of everything except water, when they came down to attack the Allies; so that, altogether, I was not so very sanguine as to think the Russians would be forced to abandon their position on the approach of winter. The country around them would supply abundance of wood for fuel, and they were skilled in making comfortable and warm underground huts. The enemy, therefore, would be as well housed as the Allies, supposing the latter succeeded in getting up huts before the winter set in. "Leaving them alone" would never drive a Russian army out of the field; the only thing to do that was the French and English bayonet, and plenty of fighting. The Muscovite generals cannot be accused of any great regard for their killed and wounded, but they have certainly much respect for the prejudices and feelings of their soldiers. We were over and over again astonished at the wonderful way in which the dead and wounded disappeared after the repulse of a sortie in which there were probably 200 of the enemy put _hors de combat_. Except the dead and wounded left in our trenches, none were ever to be seen after such contests when day broke. A soldier of the 68th (M'Geevor), who was taken prisoner in a sortie, and who returned to his regiment after a long and (to others) interesting march in Russia, explained the mystery, such as it was. On the night alluded to it could not be ascertained what the Russian loss was, but it was certain that the firing had been very heavy and the work very warm while it lasted. As this man was being carried to the rear after a stout resistance, he observed that there were hundreds of soldiers without weapons between the reserves and the column of sortie, and that these men were employed exclusively in removing the dead and wounded, who would otherwise have been left in the hands of the British. The most extensive provision we make in such cases is sending one, or at most two, litters to a regiment, except when the ambulances go out for a pitched battle. Perhaps we do not calculate on leaving our ground, but the best General is always prepared for retreat as well as for victory, and if ever we should be placed in the same circumstances as the Russians have been, it would be advisable to follow their example. On the 24th Sir Edmund Lyons and Admiral Stewart, with several post-captains, attended at head-quarters, and it was understood that they, in common with the whole fleet, were most anxious "to do something" ere the season was too far advanced for naval operations. At Eupatoria they found no less than 31,000 Turkish infantry in a fine state of discipline, and in perfect readiness for any military service. These soldiers were all reviewed and inspected on the occasion, and officers of rank, English and French, were alike gratified by the disciplined alertness and efficiency of these neglected and almost useless infantry. It is difficult to imagine that these Turks could not have aided us materially in driving the enemy from Sebastopol if strengthened by an English division and two French divisions, which could have been easily spared from the army before Sebastopol. Moreover, they might have been aided by all our cavalry, which were in very excellent condition, and were of no earthly service at Kadikoi or Baidar. Between French, English, and Sardinians, we could have sent a force of at least 5,500 sabres to the north side of the Alma, which certainly would have had nothing to fear from any Russian cavalry in the Crimea. The Land Transport Corps had more than 10,000 horses and mules. The allied fleet could have embarked and landed the whole force in sixty hours, at any point between Balaklava or Kamiesch and Eupatoria. Army and fleet were alike inactive--the only tokens of military life were displayed on the side of the enemy. The celerity with which they threw up and finished the most formidable-looking redoubts on the land and sea sides was astonishing. The Russians are admirable diggers, and if Marshal Turenne's maxim, that as many battles were won by the spade as by the musket be true, they are good soldiers. The fire across the roads increased in frequency and severity every day, but the mortars of the French caused some injury and impediment to the Russian workmen, and occasionally damaged their magazines. [Sidenote: RECREATIONS OF THE ARMY.] The army, French, English, and Sardinians, as well as the few Turkish troops, prepared for the winter with energy, but no steps were taken to operate against the enemy. Balaklava presented a singular aspect. There were only some dozen of the original houses left scattered amid iron storehouses, mountainous piles of wood, heaps of coal, of corn, of forage, of shot and shell, and of stores multitudinous. The harbour was trenched upon by new quays and landing-places, and two long wooden jetties projected far into its waters at the shallow head of the harbour, and rendered good service in taking the pressure off the quays at the waterside. _The quantity of corn issued for horses, mules, and ponies in the English army was_ 280,000lb. _daily_. Many of the officers were hutted, some constructed semi-subterranean residences, and the camp was studded all over with the dingy roofs, which at a distance looked much like an aggregate of molehills. In order to prevent _ennui_ or listlessness after the great excitement of so many months in the trenches, the Generals of Division began to drill our veterans, and to renew the long-forgotten pleasures of parades, field-days, and inspections. In all parts of the open ground about the camps, the visitor might have seen men with Crimean medals and Balaklava and Inkerman clasps, practising goose-step or going through extension movements, learning, in fact, the A B C of their military education, though they had already seen a good deal of fighting and soldiering. Still there were periods when the most inveterate of martinets rested from their labour, and the soldier, having nothing else to do, availed himself of the time and money at his disposal to indulge in the delights of the canteen. Road-making occupied some leisure hours, but the officers had very little to do, and found it difficult to kill time, riding about Sebastopol, visiting Balaklava, foraging at Kamiesch, or hunting for quail, which were occasionally found in swarms all over the steppe, and formed most grateful additions to the mess-table. There was no excitement in front; the Russians remained immovable in their position at Mackenzie's Farm. The principal streets of Sebastopol lost the charm of novelty and possession. Even Cathcart's Hill was deserted, except by the "look-out officer" for the day, or by a few wandering strangers and visitors. BOOK VIII. THE ATTITUDE OF THE TWO ARMIES--THE DEMONSTRATIONS FROM BAIDAR--THE RECONNAISSANCE--THE MARCH FROM EUPATORIA--ITS FAILURE--THE EXPEDITION TO KINBURN AND ODESSA. CHAPTER I. Strange Inaction--What might have been done--The North Side--Its Fortifications--Sick Officers--French Reconnaissances towards Aitodor--An Ambuscade--The Mounted Staff Corps and the Ambulance Corps disbanded--Comforts for the Sick--Previous Mistakes--Disbandment of the Naval Brigade--Its Services--Rumours of Active Service--Road-making--The Russians Renew the Fire--A Serious Accident--The Sailors' Experiment--An Explosion. The contrast between the actual proceedings of the Allied armies and the fevered dreams in which the public at home, as represented by the press, soon after the capture of the south side, indulged, was as striking as it was painful. The Russians, so far from flying in discomfort over boundless wastes, calmly strengthened their position on the north side. The face of the country bristled with their cannon and their batteries. Day and night the roar of their guns sounded through our camp, and occasionally equalled the noise of the old cannonades, which we hoped had died into silence for ever. There was no sign of any intention on their part to abandon a position on which they had lavished so much care and labour. They retired from the south side when it became untenable; it had been shaken to pieces by a bombardment which it was impracticable for us to renew. In their new position, they had placed between themselves and us a deep arm of the sea, a river, and the sides of a plateau as steep as a wall. We permitted them to get off at their leisure, and looked on, much as we might have gazed on the mimic representation of such a scene at Astley's, while the Russian battalions filed over the narrow bridge, emerging in unbroken order out of that frightful sea of raging fire and smoke, which was tossed up into billows of flame by the frequent explosion of great fortresses and magazines. [Sidenote: THE ARMY HUTTED.] With the aid of a few men the army would have been ready to take the field and to carry provisions and ammunition for our available strength of bayonets detached on a short expedition. As to the French, they had certified their mobility by the rapid demonstration of four divisions on Baidar. Then, why did not the English move? Orders and counter-orders were sent day after day--requisitions on Captain This to know how many mules he had to carry ball cartridge, orders to Captain That to turn out his battery for the purpose of taking the field at daybreak next morning; counter-orders in the evening recountered and retracted at night, till it was hard to say what was to be done; and if the men who gave the commands were in half as confused a state of mind as those who received them, they were indeed in a pitiable plight. Cato with his _Plato_ could not have been at all puzzled like unto them. It was quite evident that the expectations of the people at home were not gratified to the full extent, that we were not in undisputed possession of maritime Sebastopol, that the Russians were not utterly defeated, and that the campaign would have to be renewed the following year by doing what might have been done immediately after the fall of the place. Large parties of our men went down every day to Sebastopol, and returned with timber, doors, window-frames, joists, slabs of marble and stonework, grates, glass, locks, iron, Stourbridge firebricks, of which a large quantity was found, and various other articles of common use in camp, and the huts which arose on every side were models of ingenuity in the adaptation of Russian property to British and French uses. However, the vast majority of the soldiers were under canvas, and were then likely to be so for a couple of months longer. The trenches--those monuments of patient suffering, of endurance, of courage--were fast disappearing. The guns were withdrawn. The gabions were going fast, for the men received permission to use them for fuel. It was melancholy, amid all these sounds of rejoicing and victory, to think that an army had been all but lost and swallowed up in these narrow dykes, and that it was "done by mistake." The firing into the town was occasionally very heavy, and was returned with spirit by the French mortars, and by a few guns in position. The number of sick officers anxious to return home was not on the decrease. Many of those whose names appeared in general orders were, however, sufferers in the attack of the 8th of September. The proportion of men invalided on account of ill-health was about equal to the number of officers. Poor fellows! they, however, had no "private urgent affairs" to attend to, and that was the cause assigned for many "leaves of absence." It is curious and interesting to observe how rank and social position carry with them special cares of business and the labour of affairs from which the lowlier classes are exempted. Thus, the officers of the Guards seemed to be harassed to death by "urgent private affairs," which could no how be settled anywhere but in England, and which required their presence in that land of business from October till just the week after Christmas before there was the smallest chance of their satisfactory adjustment. How the gallant fellows could have managed to stay in the army and attend to their regimental duties with such delicate negotiations to conduct, such stupendous arithmetical investigations to make, such a coil of accounts to examine, such interviews to go through, such a constant pressure of affairs to sustain, is inconceivable! Sometimes no less than three of them succumbed on the same day, and appeared in orders as victims to these cruel urgencies. There were some people in camp who maintained that the killing of grouse, partridges, pheasants, and salmon, is a necessary condition of existence, and that when these were combined with the pleasures of society, with a light course of opera, and the claims of the family, they constituted an urgent private affair quite strong enough to draw any man from the Crimea. No one blamed these officers for feeling so strongly that they were citizens. We should all have liked to get home if it had been consistent with our duty, but some of our officers think they have nothing to do when once the fighting is over. After a time, our Allies began to feel their way towards the enemy's position on our rear and on the right. The position of the armies, with the exception of the movement of the troops towards Baidar, remained unchanged in its larger features. Pelissier seemed inclined to rest upon his bâton for the time. His gaze was fixed, no doubt, upon the Mackenzie plateau, but his courage failed him; nor did he care to repeat his little proverb, which was in his mouth when slaughter and bloodshed were spoken of in his presence in reference to our grand assaults--"On ne peut pas faire des omelettes sans casser des oeufs." The Marshal gave up the manufacture of omelettes: he had plenty of eggs if he had liked to break them. [Sidenote: PREPARATIONS FOR STAGNATION.] After the siege was over, the Mounted Staff Corps and the Ambulance Corps ceased to exist, and the Duke of Newcastle left the camp on a cruise to the coast of Circassia. Of course the Duke of Newcastle's presence had no more to do with the fate of these bodies than it had with the conduct and events of the war, but it was odd enough that the two, which were most lauded at the time of their creation, and at whose birth his Grace presided with parental solicitude, should have come to an end, within the space of a few months, under his very eyes. The service of the ambulance was performed by soldiers detached from the army for that purpose, and officers of the line were employed in command of them at a time when they could be very ill spared from their regiments. Charges of harshness were made by those sent in their charge to Scutari, &c., against some of the old ambulance men; they at all events served as a foil to the allegations that the men were as comfortable as they could be made on all occasions. The stream set the other way, and the authorities vied with one another in providing every accommodation, and even luxury, for the sick and wounded soldier. Dr. Hall at various periods received requisitions for such articles as "Rose water!" "Eau de Cologne!" "Champagne!" Different times these from what the army had the year before, when Sir George Brown, like some great bull of Basan, went bellowing over the camps of the affrighted Light Division, seeking for "medical comforts," that he might devour them in his wrath, and goring and butting Dr. Alexander and Dr. Tice because they would not reduce their store of medicines to that blessed old Peninsular allowance of which Sir George had only the dim recollections of a subaltern, although, with many strange oaths and ancient instances, he affirmed them to be the perfection of pharmaceutical wisdom. Perhaps the public, "the confounded public," as they were sometimes called by certain people, agreed with me in thinking that things might have been, mended when they learned that just two hours before the attack on the Redan the surgeon in the Quarries was "run out" of lint, plaster, and bandages, and could get no one to go up to his principal medical officer for them for a long time, although a great action with the enemy was then just impending, and the Quarries were the very place where a large number of casualties must have been expected. This statement I had on the word of a general officer, to whom the surgeon applied for assistance. Again, some regiments did not take down more litters than on ordinary occasions. This practice, however, would be approved by those who maintain, with considerable strength of argumentation, that no wounded officers or men should be taken off the field at all while an action was going on, inasmuch as every wounded man taken to the rear carries off six or eight combatants, who retire on the pretence of carrying or attending on him, thus affording opportunities for skulking and sneaking away to a few cowardly men who set a bad example to others. The army was amused by rumours of active service, while in camp there were signs of hybernation. The work of the army was actually that of preparation, not for motion, but for stagnation. The men were engaged on great roads from the ports to the front, which will be permanent marks of the occupation of this portion of the Crimea by the Allied armies for centuries; in fact, with so much labour at their disposal, our authorities were determined, if possible, to atone for the apathy of the autumn before. The roads which we made were almost beyond the requirements of an army of temporary occupation. They were broad and well paved--in some places they had been tunnelled through the rock, which here and there could only be removed by heavy blasting charges. The railway assumed an appearance of great activity. Beside it wound the Central Road, and from the new central depôt, removed from the Col de Balaklava to an open space in the rear of the Second Division, and between the Guards' Brigade and the Fourth Division, there were divisional roads, which communicated with the divisional depôts. All these preparations were made to enable the army to exist comfortably in its winter cantonments, to bring up huts, food, clothing, and fuel, and to remove guns, mortars, &c., from the front. For these peaceful labours we were blessed by the most lovely weather. The days were warm, and the air was charmingly fresh and pure. The autumnal or second summer of the Crimea shone upon us with all the delightful influences of repose. The earth teemed again with herbs and flowers of autumn. Numerous bulbous plants sprung up over the steppes, among which the _Colchicum Autumnale_ held a prominent place, and the hill-sides rung with the frequent volleys directed upon innumerable quail, against which our army waged fierce battle. On the 27th of September, a shell sent by the Russians burst close to the barracks, and a merchant sailor ran to look at the crater which it formed in the ground. He then entered the building itself, and sauntered about, smoking his pipe till he came to some loose gunpowder, on which, being of a scientific and experimentalizing turn of mind, he tried the effects of dropping several sparks from the burning tobacco. The powder, as is not unusual in such cases, exploded with violence, and blew up the sailor and a sentry outside. They were both dreadfully burnt. As the floor was covered with cartridges and loose powder, the fire spread to a large quantity of combustible matter, reached the magazine, and blew out the walls and ceilings of the central barrack. The flames set fire to the dry woodwork, and in a short time the whole pile of buildings, which were of admirable construction, was in a blaze. All that remained of the Imperial Barracks of Sebastopol in an hour more was a mass of charred and blackened stones. The Russians, thinking that the accident had been caused by their own fire, plied their guns with increased vigour, and threw shot and shell around the place, but did no damage. The act destroyed not less than 30,000 cartloads of wood, which might have been made available for hutting and fuel. It was, on the whole, a miracle that more accidents of the kind did not occur, owing to the neglect of the authorities and the carelessness of the men. No one seemed to think it necessary to destroy the great quantities of powder, loose and in cartridges, in all the Russian batteries, and in every nook and corner of the place. It was only a day or two before the accident that a naval officer pointed out to me the danger arising from the number of live shell lying inside the Redan. The fuses were simply open tubes of wood, and had no caps, so that a spark setting fire to one fuse would cause all the shells to explode. These live shells were to be seen in all directions, generally nicely imbedded near small magazines or piles of cartridges. CHAPTER II. The Mixed Commission: its Composition and Proceedings--Spoils of War--Doctors in dudgeon--Strength of the Army in October, 1855--State of the Russian Army--The Deserter's Tale--Newspaper Paragraph--Honours to the Commanders--Preparations for an Expedition--Russian Account of the Capture of Sebastopol--General Simpson's Despatch--Wellington's Circular to all Commanding Officers of Divisions and Brigades, dated Frenada, November 28th, 1812. [Sidenote: THE MIXED COMMISSION.] On the 10th of July, 1855, a treaty was entered into between France and England with respect to the distribution of booty and trophies, which authorized the French and English Governments to form a mixed commission for the purpose of classifying and arranging such articles. In compliance with this provision, immediately after the capture of Sebastopol, Marshal Pelissier named the following officers on behalf of the French army:--General of Division Niel, Aide-de-Camp de l'Empéreur, President, and commanding the Engineers; General of Division Thiry, commanding Artillery; Admiral Regault de Genouilly, commanding Marine Artillery; M. Paris, Intendant (Commissary-General); M. Budin, Payeur-Général. General Simpson named the following officers for the English army:--Sir G. Dacres, commanding Royal Artillery; Captain Drummond, R.N.; Colonel Chapman, commanding Royal Engineers; Mr. Drake, Assistant-Commissary-General. It will be observed that the English officers were not equal in rank or numbers to the French members of the Commission. The Commission met on the 15th of September at the quarters of General Niel. Its first act was to order an inventory in detail to be made of everything found in Sebastopol. To effect this the city and forts were divided, and the care of exploring each part devolved upon sub-commissions. The following is a list of the members of the sub-Commissions:-- FRENCH. Mazure, Général d'Artillerie. Feldtrappe, Capitaine du Génie. Laurent, Lieutenant de Vaisseau. Cicoza, Capitaine d'Artillerie. Goutier, Adjoint à l'Intendance. De Calac, Capitaine d'Artillerie. Cadurst, Chef de Bataillon du Génie. Genoux de la Coche, Capitaine de Frégate. La Cabrinière, Sous-intendant. ENGLISH. Captain Drummond, R.N. Brigadier-General Dupuis, R.A. Major Staunton, R.E. Commander F. Martin, R.N. Assistant-Commissary-General Crookshank. Captain Shaw, R.A. A. Rumble, R.M.A. Lieutenant Buller, R.N. Captain Montagu, R.E. Assistant-Commissary-General Lundy. Captain Dickson, R.A. A. W. Johnson, Secretary to the Commission. On the 25th of September the Commission held its second sitting, and all the members were present except General Thiry, who was represented by General Mazare. That officer and Brigadier-General Dupuis, as presidents of the sub-commission, then laid on the table a detailed statement of everything found in Sebastopol. The number of cannon in bronze (brass) was 128; that of iron guns, 3,711; total, 3,839. The President read the convention of the 10th of July, and it was then unanimously agreed that the guns should be divided into two equal parts, paying due regard to the different calibres, and that one-half should be sent to France, the other half to Great Britain, with the exception of two brass field-pieces, which should be offered to General della Marmora, with the approbation of the Commanders-in-chief. It was also resolved that these cannon and guns should remain in Sebastopol, and in the redoubts and fortifications of Kamiesch and Balaklava, till such time as they were not required for the defence of the place, when each Government might do what it liked with its own share. These decisions, taken conformably to the first act of the Convention, left the valuation of the pieces out of the question; but by the 4th article of the same Convention it is agreed that the value of the booty, &c., shall be divided between the two Powers proportionally to the number of men employed by each in the siege. The effective strength of the Anglo-Sardinian army on the 8th of September was 63,715 men, and that of the French army on the same day was 126,705 men. The Commission, therefore, decided that France should have two-thirds, and Great Britain one-third of the _value_ of the booty and trophies. [Sidenote: THE SPOILS OF WAR.] It was declared impossible to fix the value of the guns immediately, in consequence of want of sufficient information and of the necessity of employing the iron guns in the defence of the place. The Commission, therefore, passed on to the partition of the other _matériel_ taken, and divided the following into three parts, two for France, and one-third for England, with the understanding that they are to remain for the supply of the defence:--407,314 round shot; shell, 101,755; canister cases, 24,080; gunpowder, 525,000lb.; ball-cartridges for muskets and carbines, 470,000 in good condition, and 160,000 damaged; waggons, 80; yawls, 6; logs of _lignum vitæ_, 500; anchors of port moorings, 400; anchors of different sizes, 90; grapplings and small anchors, 50; chains for anchors, 200 yards; old copper for sheathing, 104,000lb.; old ropes, 100,000lb.; water-casks, 300; new ropes of different sizes, 50,000lb.; pulleys, 400; spars, 40; tools, 300; bar iron and steel, l,460,000lb.; iron wire, 400lb.; iron checks, 320lb.; sheet iron, 16,000lb.; tin plate, 14,000lb.; red copper, 120,000lb.; nails, 6,000lb.; firwood, a large quantity; pitch and tar, 200 barrels; barrels of paint, 150; small boilers, weighing 6,000lb.; the remains of a steam-engine of 220-horse power, taken out of a steamer burnt by the Russians; large copper boilers, weighing 100,000lb., 8; old copper, 100,000lb.; copper screws, 10,000lb.; old iron, 160,000lb.; large bells, 6; small bells, 10; hospital beds, 350; iron forges, in great numbers; main tackles, 12; coal, 2,000 tons; steam-engines, of 30-horse power, for the basins, 2; large pumps, for the basins, 3; iron boilers, 3; one high-pressure engine of 16-horse power, for the basins; iron cranes, 17; an engine of 12-horse power in the military bakery; two dredging machines of 30-horse power, unserviceable; a still, a clock, six marble statues, two sphinxes, a large basso-relievo; biscuit, 500 tons; flour, 150; barley, 9; buckwheat, 117; oats, 18; millet, 54; wheat, 20; peas, 1-1/2; salt meat, 60; wheat in the granaries, 500 quarters, &c. The Commission having examined the quantity and quality of the breadstuffs found in the magazines, declared them unfit for the use of the Allied armies, and decided that they should be sent to Eupatoria for the support of the Tartars, to whom the Allies furnish subsistence. The French Intendance is charged with the duty of transporting these supplies. They consisted of 11,000 sacks, weighing 500 tons, of black bread, 370 sacks or 150 tons of flour, 100 sacks or 9 tons of barley; 1,300 sacks or 117 tons of black barley, 18 tons of hay, 54 tons of millet, 20 tons of barley, 1-1/2 tons of peas, 60 tons of salt meat, and 500 quarters of barley in the granaries. The Commission decided further that the few objects of art found in the place should be placed at the disposal of the Generals-in-Chief, and finished the sitting by nominating as secretary M. de Genoux, Capitaine de Frégate, Mr. Johnson, Naval Instructor, being named as English Secretary. The third sitting took place on the 30th of September, and the subject of their deliberation was the valuation of the guns. As the calibres of the Russian artillery do not correspond with those of the Allies, it was decided unanimously that in the valuation of the guns they should only estimate the value of the metal, which was fixed at 2f. 50c. per kilogramme for brass guns, and at 10c. for iron guns. One of the members observed, that among the brass guns there were two Turkish field-pieces, and it was at once declared to be the wish of the Commanders to put these guns at the disposal of the Ottoman Porte. It was further decided that, as many of the articles could not be divided, such a distribution should take place as might be best arranged, and, accordingly, a high-pressure engine of 20-horse power, a distilling machine, and a clock were comprised in the French list, and in the English a high-pressure engine of 16-horse power and a furnace. As it would be impossible to divide the wood of the houses and buildings to be demolished, the city itself was portioned out, and to the English was allotted the eastern, and to the French the western part. The following is a part of the English return:-- GUNS IN MALAKOFF, REDAN, &c. Serviceable. Unserviceable. 8-inch guns 38 23 7 to 7-1/2 inch ditto 76 11 6 to 6-1/2 ditto 846 135 5 to 5-1/2 ditto 310 85 Smaller calibres 449 42 13-inch mortars 17 1 10-inch ditto 8 0 Brass cohorns, 6 to 6-1/2 inch 21 0 Brass field-pieces 16 0 Wall pieces 9 0 ----- --- Total guns 1,790 297 297 --- ----- Total 2,087 The return includes eight 8-inch and two 3-7/8-inch brass guns. Number Live Powder and small of shot. Shell. Grape. Shell. Ammunition. 257,314 60,515 13,380 1,240 419,200lb. of powder; 436,000lb. of ammunition. Three small bells and one large one, of fine tones. Two marine condensing steam-engines of 30-horse power, in good condition, nearly new £2,000 Three large pumps for pumping out the docks, in good condition, with gear complete 2,500 Three iron boilers for engines 1,500 Spare gear for the above 700 Blocks, with brass sheaves 10 One 16-horse power engine, for pumping out cofferdam, not complete 800 Three 3 ton cranes, good 1,500 One ditto, not fixed, good 200 One 12-horse power condensing engine, for bakery 200 One 20-horse high pressure engine, incomplete, with gear packed in cases 900 Iron boiler and iron chimney, complete 800 Copper boiler, for steaming plank 336 Pair of 220-horse power marine engines, unfit for use, original value 12,000 Eight copper boilers for ditto, repairable, 50 tons 5,600 Patent ship cradle dredging machine, &c. 3,100 ------ Copper, pumps, forges, hydraulic pump 32,146 Cranes, &c. 13,280 ------ Total £45,426 This, taken with the French return, gives the total in the list; but there were an immense number of small articles which would swell this inventory to a formidable extent. The Karabelnaïa, or English side, it will be observed, contained the largest and most valuable portion of the articles captured. The fourteen bells were divided thus--one of 2500·00 kilos. French Parc de Siége, one 21 cwt. ditto, one 16 cwt. ditto, one 533·00 kilos. at Right Siege Train, another of 146·00 kilos. at ditto, one 88·00 kilos. at French Parc de Siége, one 76·00 kilos. at Right Siege Train, one of 1 cwt. at Parc de Siége, one of 3 qrs. 22lb. at ditto, ditto; one of 3 qrs. 17lb. at Parc du Moulin; one of 36·00 kilos. at Right Siege Train; one of 26·45lb. at French Parc de Siége; one of 9·00 kilos. at General Mazare's office. [Sidenote: ANGRY DOCTORS.] The mixed Commission combined the functions of the three infernal judges with great skill, and was by turns Minos, Æacus, and Rhadamanthus--for, although it condemned no one to death, it consigned many worthless bodies of _matériel_ to destruction. Its deliberations were perturbed, if not suspended, by the attentions of the enemy's cannoneers, for the street in which the house of the commissioners was situate was selected with a view to remind them of the value of guns, balls, and gunpowder, as it was completely enfiladed by the fire of one of the batteries. Sometimes a shot bumped against the walls of the mansion, and shook the bodies corporate, though it did not disturb the nerves of the members. Sometimes a shell blurted into the rooms, and routed outlying artists as they sketched the ruins of Sebastopol. But the commissioners pursued and terminated their labours. It is generally known that Englishmen like to grumble. Is it true that England gives them reason for indulging in their notorious tendencies? Now, for instance, the doctors (in common with nearly every class of officers) were highly indignant at the alleged neglect and indifference of the authorities to their claims. Is it to be understood that English military surgeons are not entitled to any honorary reward? Lord Panmure did not say so, but he let Lord Raglan's shade stand betwixt him and the angry doctors. The case stood thus:--After the publication of the lists of brevets, promotions, and decorations of the Bath, &c., Dr. Hall, urged thereunto by sundry weighty considerations, addressed an energetic and reasonable letter to Dr. Andrew Smith, animadverting upon, or at least pointing distinctly to, the exclusion of the surgeons of the army from the rewards bestowed with no niggard hand upon their comrades of the Staff and of the regiments. Dr. Smith sent that letter to Lord Panmure, and his Lordship, who has not studied polemical divinity for nothing, and is, moreover, a capital hand at finding out a good official excuse, replied to it, and met the case by a plea of confession and avoidance. Nothing would his Lordship be more ready, nothing was he more anxious to do, than to recommend deserving medical officers for promotion, but the fact was, that he was in utter ignorance of the deserts of the gentlemen in question; for, on looking to Lord Raglan's despatches, he found that the Field-Marshal had never said a good word for any of that genus or species of man-militant. They could not even boast of the official damnation of a faint applause from head-quarters, nor was there much solid pudding to compensate for the want of empty praise from which they suffered. Although these officers did not wish to be placed under a system of supervision like that of the French intendance, they felt that such a course would at least relieve them from much responsibility and consequent blame, and that it would secure to them special mention and official recognition of meritorious services or of extraordinary exertion. In one case, at least, I know for a fact that a General of Division, with many of the oaths which he lavished in enforcing professions of earnestness and sincerity, declared to the principal medical officer of his division that he had intended to mention him specially to Lord Raglan, for his zeal and devotion after the battle of the Alma, but that he had unfortunately forgotten to do so in his despatch. "However, he would. He would, by ----, do so at once--write a despatch," and so on. Did he? If he did, Lord Raglan never paid the least attention to it. The wretched jealousies of our system were contagious. The instant a civilian became connected with the army he was caught at once, and became involved with A, B, or C. The military surgeons were jealous of--well, they did not like--the civil surgeons. The latter thought the former assumed too many airs, and that they despised the civil element, which was fresher from the hospitals, and knew a great deal more about the theories of the day than besworded and bespurred fogies who swore by Lawrence or Larrey. There was an internecine battle of "corps," which was chiefly developed in brisk affairs of outposts. What man of the Line or Guards was not "down" on the Engineers? What Engineer had recovered the mortal wounds inflicted on him by lazy soldiers who would not work in the trenches? Was not that "confounded Naval Brigade, that gets all the praise," an eyesore and a stumbling-block to the ill-used Siege Train? Were not the Infantry tickled with ironical mirth at the notion that the Cavalry had done anything? Were not the Cavalry wroth that they should have been turned into draymen, porters, and hewers of wood and drawers of water for the Infantry during the winter? The Royal Horse Artillery had similar grievances. As to the contests between Commissariat officers and Land Transport officers, if smothered by official forms, they blazed below the paper. The Navvies waged _horrida bella_ with the Commissariat department. The Quartermaster-General's department tried to do as little as it could in the way of complying with the requests of the Army Works Corps. The Railway and the Road-making interest were by no means on the best possible terms. The Ambulance Corps, while it still existed in the body, was savagely tickled up, probed, walked into, reported upon, and attacked by the doctors; and as to higher quarters-- "Tantæne animis coelestibus iræ?" In the first week of October the army was in excellent health. It was almost as numerous as that with which the Duke fought the battle of Vittoria. The infantry numbered 27,000; the cavalry 3,500; the artillery 9,000--in fine, General Simpson had under his command not less than 38,000 effective men. There were few matters of complaint; but an army is insatiable, and its providers must be as thoughtful and foreseeing as ants. Vast piles of stores disappeared in a day. To all commissariat officers at Balaklava it might be well said--"_Nulla fronti fides_,"--"Have no faith in the front." [Sidenote: ESPRIT DE CORPS.] Of the condition of the Russian army encamped on the Belbek nothing certain could be known, but now and then one got a glimpse of the world beyond the adverse sentries. There were many races in the Russian army, but none seemed willing to desert except the Poles, and the number of disaffected soldiers who came over to us was very small indeed. The pickets now and then brought in some footsore, ragged, emaciated, sickly-looking deserter, who told a sad tale of want and suffering. Was he a Dolon or not? The last two who arrived at General Simpson's, a Pole and a Russian, were in such a condition as to excite the liveliest compassion among our soldiers. Their clothes were in rags, and the fragments of their boots scarcely clung to their feet. They came from the army near Baidar, and stated that all the men were in the same condition; that all they had to eat was bread or biscuit and barley, that they got no meat, and had only occasional issues of quarter rations of vodka, or spirits; and these two men were observed to laugh and throw up their hands in surprise as they passed the great piles of provisions accumulated at our depôt on the Col. They said they were laughing at the lies which had been told to them. Their officers said that the Allies were starving, and had no forage for their horses. Colonel Blane sent down Sergeant Gillespie, of the Provost Marshal's department, under whose immediate control all prisoners were placed, to the Russian stores of Sebastopol, to get them greatcoats and clothing, but he could not find any boots; it was observed that there were no boots in store when the place was taken, and that the sixty-two prisoners, who were found drunk and asleep amid the ruins, were badly dressed and ill provided with shoes or boots. The men taken in affairs of outposts by the Sardinians were in the same state, and it was evident that the Russians were rapidly declining in condition. They got 3lb. of bread or 1-1/2lb. of biscuit a day, and a little barley, which they boiled into a kind of soup; this constituted their rations. They were kept alive by assurances that the Allies must soon go, and then they would have the spoils of the English camp, which was rich in everything but food. Most of these men were exceedingly tractable, and were excellent servants so long as they were not allowed rum. One of them, a Polish non-commissioned officer, was of great use, but he was seized with an unconquerable desire to join the Polish Legion at Varna, and got as far as Odessa, when he was recognized and shot as a deserter. For some time the actual work of the army consisted in preparations for the winter on the plateau, dismantling the houses of the city for wood, and destroying the trenches for the sake of the gabions, which burned well and saved fuel. Sebastopol gradually came up piecemeal to the camp. Doors, windows, locks, hinges, fireplaces, stoves, pictures, chairs, tables, beams of wood, roofing, ceiling, flooring, sheet-lead, rolled copper, cut stone, crockery, and innumerable articles of every description, were brought up by carts, horses, ponies, and by men, every day in great quantities, and were found most useful in the construction and ornamentation of our huts. There were very few officers who had not got some trophies; arms of various descriptions, greatcoats, and helmets are the most common; but pictures of saints, often embellished by the finders with grotesque adornments of moustachios, short pipes, and eye-glasses, and portraits of the late Czar, which had not quite escaped the spirit of improvement manifested by our soldiery, were very common. Many articles of English workmanship abounded, and canary birds sang and flowers bloomed amid all the murky horrors of these blood-stained casements. All the shot and shell were collected, and the French gave their soldiers about 3-1/2_d._ or 4_d._ for each 13-inch shell or large shot which they brought up to certain depôts indicated for the purpose. The road made great progress. Upwards of 6,000 men were engaged upon it daily, and if Mr. Doyne could have procured more tools from the Quartermaster-General, the work would have gone on still faster; but he experienced considerable difficulty in getting the authorities to comply with his requisitions, although he handed over the _matériel_ of the Corps to them when he arrived in the Crimea. Labour was ample, and was not denied; the tools were, however, worn out and worthless, and we were guilty of the very bad economy, in a country like the Crimea, where skilled labour cost so much, of repairing implements which had been damaged or used up, instead of issuing new ones. Many of these tools belonged to the Engineers' department, and were completely worked up by the Sappers and Miners during the siege. No, we were _not_ perfect even yet. Though Sebastopol was ours, there _were_ little blurs and blotches which might have been removed from our administrative escutcheon by very small labour. We borrowed flour from the French, and from the Sardinians, and, as we had been liberal lenders, they could not complain of our making small requisitions upon them now and then. [Sidenote: FLAGS OF TRUCE.] Although Forts Alexander and Nicholas were nearly intact, the Russians resolved not to spare them, and the effect of their practice upon them proved that the stone of which they were composed would not resist a lengthened and continuous fire at close quarters. When their shot hit the stones at the angle of the fort, they generally split and broke the outer masonry. The stones were of white freestone, cut in long parallelograms, and if a shot struck the middle of a block it generally split it right through, so that a few projectiles at any one point would speedily destroy all cohesion, and crumble the wall into a breach. Still, the forts were beautifully built, and were of very great strength, notwithstanding the inferior nature of the building material. They were all reared upon capacious vaults of solid masonry, and the casemates, curtains, and parapets were of prodigious thickness, and of very superior finish and workmanship. If a line-of-battle ship could have got alongside, she could soon have destroyed Fort Alexander, or any fort built of similar material. The enemy suspected that the French were making a battery behind Fort Alexander, and they shelled frequently in that direction; and, knowing the position of the mortar battery behind Fort Nicholas, they directed a pretty constant vertical fire on the guard behind that work. A boat was sent round from Kamiesch to the harbour whenever a flag of truce appeared. Gortschakoff being pleased to consider that the south side of Sebastopol belonged to the Allies, suggested that it would save much time and inconvenience if a boat was kept in the Dockyard Harbour, near Fort Paul, so as to be ready to go out with or for communications in cases of armistice, several of which, relating to prisoners' property, exchange of letters, &c., had then recently taken place. The Russians always came across, in very well-appointed, handsome boats, manned with picked crews of well-dressed, clean-looking sailors, and the officers sent on the duty were generally very accomplished linguists and agreeable men. They were, however, very strict and very sharp in their practice as regards flags of truce, being extremely jealous of the smallest informality, and quick in firing the instant the flag of truce was hauled down. They insisted that the Malakoff had been taken by a surprise, and that all the garrison, except those who could get into the casemates, had gone off to enjoy their _siesta_ when the French rushed in; but they admitted that the town was getting too hot to hold them, and that our fire was too heavy to be much longer withstood. Had they possessed mortars with which to reply to our vertical fire, they say they would have held out for another year at least, "but the army of defence, with a deep seaway in its rear, with one flank menaced by a fleet, and the other by the works at Inkerman, so that in reality its centre was only effective, could not strategically resist an army of attack which had such advantages of position." Our Siege-Train and Artillery and Naval Brigade, according to the Russians, took the town, as by their fire they made its defence impossible. During the last two bombardments from French and English, the garrison "lived in holes like rats," and the telling-off of reliefs and moving of reserves were always attended with danger and certain loss. Was it old Turenne who said, "More battles were won by the spade than by the musket?" We won all ours by the bayonet and musket alone, and we certainly suffered great loss and were exposed to much disadvantage from not being able to approach within 200 yards of the Redan, whereas the French got up to the abattis of the Malakoff, and within 25 mètres of the parapet. Our gallant Allies could, indeed, spare more men to work, and could afford to lose more in the approaches, than we could. That their labours were not light, or their casualties trifling, we may infer from the fact that they lost not less than 64 officers of Engineers in the siege, of whom 30 were killed. As labourers, our soldiers are not equal to the French, and are far inferior to the Russians. Our Engineers complained that the only regiments that worked well were the Guards and some of the Rifle Brigade, and that the Irish and Scotch regiments did not know how to handle the tools used in military works. In fact, only those soldiers who were originally agricultural labourers, and were therefore used to the spade and pick, can get through the labours usually required for the construction of approaches or defences. Herdsmen, gillies, sworddancers, huntsmen, deer-stalkers, mowers, hodmen, mechanics, and town labourers, however strong, active, and willing, and wherever they come from, cannot use the implements which are put into their hands by Sappers and Miners, and it would be exceedingly desirable to teach men who may be employed in such works how to work and what to do with the tools. General Simpson's despatch respecting the operations on the 8th of September gave considerable satisfaction. It afforded evidence that the Commander-in-Chief could rise above the very dead level of the uninteresting General Orders which will make the records of this army intolerable to the patience and not easy to the digestion of the most resolute and hardy antiquarian in times to come. Who will venture to publish our despatches? And yet we had notable penmen at head-quarters, who were at their vocation night and day, and who injured their tempers and manners by incessant scrivenery, the results of which were buried in the pigeon-holes of Whitehall, never to be seen even in the lively pages of a blue-book. The French authorities entered less into detail and exhibited less penmanship. If an Englishman presented himself at the French head-quarters, or made any application in writing for passes to the trenches, or such slight facilities, he was presented with them at once, in a manner which enhanced the value of the obligation. If he wrote to the Adjutant-General of the English army, the chances were that he would never receive any answer to his letter, although his request were of the smallest kind, unless indeed he happened to belong to the _dii minores_, or possessed such recommendations as had full consideration in the eyes of that dignitary of the army. And even now it is not too late to reproduce a despatch of a very different character from those we read of in the _London Gazette_ or in General Orders. It was, indeed, no less applicable to our army than it was when it was written, and the truths it contained were as patent and as pregnant with value and interest as they had been nearly half a century ago. The writer says,-- "I have no hesitation in attributing these evils--of irregularities, of bad cooking, and of want of discipline--to the habitual inattention of the officers of regiments to their duty, as prescribed by the standing regulations of the service and by the orders of this army. [Sidenote: BRITISH OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS.] "I am far from questioning the zeal, still less the gallantry and spirit, of the officers of the army; and I am quite certain that if their minds can be convinced of the necessity of minute and constant attention to understand, recollect, and carry into execution the orders which have been issued for the performance of their duty, and that the strict performance of this duty is necessary to enable the army to serve the country as it ought to be served, they will in future give their attention to these points. "Unfortunately, the inexperience of the officers of the army has induced many to consider that the period during which an army is on service is one of relaxation from all rule, instead of being, as it is, the period during which, of all others, every rule for the regulation and control of the conduct of the soldier, for the inspection and care of his arms, ammunition, accoutrements, necessaries, and field equipments, and his horse and horse appointments--for the receipt, and issue, and care of his provisions, and the regulation of all that belongs to his food and the forage for his horse--must be most strictly attended to by the officers of his company or troop, if it is intended that an army--a British army in particular--shall be brought into the field of battle in a state of efficiency to meet the enemy on the day of trial. "These are the points, then, to which I most earnestly entreat you to turn your attention and the attention of the officers of the regiments under your command--Portuguese as well as English--during the period in which it may be in my power to leave the troops in their cantonments. The commanding officers of regiments must enforce the orders of the army regarding the constant inspection and superintendence of the officers over the conduct of the men of their companies in their cantonments; and they must endeavour to inspire the non-commissioned officers with the sense of their situation and authority; and the non-commissioned officers must be forced to their duty, by being constantly under the view and superintendence of the officers. By these means, the frequent and discreditable recourse to the authority of the provost, and to punishments by the sentence of courts-martial, will be prevented, and the soldiers will not dare to commit the offences and outrages of which there are too many complaints, when they well know that their officers and their non-commissioned officers have their eyes and attention turned towards them. "The commanding officers of regiments must likewise enforce the orders of the army regarding the constant, real inspection of the soldiers' arms, ammunition, accoutrements, and necessaries, in order to prevent at all times the shameful waste of ammunition, and the sale of that article and of the soldiers' necessaries. With this view both should be inspected daily. "_In regard to the food of the soldier, I have frequently observed and lamented in the late campaign the facility and celerity with which the French soldiers cooked in comparison with those of our army._ "The cause of this disadvantage is the same with that of every other description--the want of attention of the officers to the orders of the army, and the conduct of their men, and the consequent want of authority over their conduct. Certain men of each company should be appointed to cut and bring in wood; others to fetch water, and others to get the meat, &c., to be cooked; and it will soon be found that, if this practice were daily enforced, and a particular hour for seeing the dinners and for the men dining named, as it ought to be, equally as for parade, the cooking would no longer require the inconvenient length of time which it has lately been found to take, and the soldiers would not be exposed to the privation of their food at the moment at which the army might be engaged in operations with the enemy. "You will, of course, give your attention to the field exercise and discipline of the troops. It is very desirable that the soldiers should not lose the habits of marching, and the division should march ten or twelve miles twice in each week, if the weather should permit, and the roads in the neighbourhood of the cantonments of the division should be dry." Now, the writer of this "offensive production" was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, and it is an extract of a circular addressed to all commanding officers of divisions and brigades, dated Frenada, Nov. 28, 1812. It was not the Duke's province to inquire into the reason of "this want of attention to the men" of which he complains; but in a service in which there were only two captains in a regiment, and all the other officers except the colonel and major were boys who had seen but a few weeks' service, intent only on champagne, tarts, good grub, dog-hunts, and horse-races, it was not wonderful if the same thing occurred in the Crimea in 1855. The testimony of Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Bentinck to the good conduct and services of the Fourth Division, during the period he commanded it, was read with interest:-- EXTRACT FROM DIVISIONAL ORDERS, DATED _October 13_. "Private and important family affairs compelling Lieutenant-General Sir H. Bentinck, K.C.B., to return to England, he cannot relinquish the command of the Fourth Division without expressing the great regret with which he does so. "Although he has only had the command of it for the short period of little more than four months (but during a very eventful period), he has witnessed with great satisfaction the manner in which all ranks have conducted most difficult, arduous, and dangerous duties, with a spirit, energy, and good humour not to be surpassed. [Sidenote: EXPEDITION TO ODESSA.] "Having already expressed to Brigadier-General Garrett on his quitting the division, and to Brigadier-General the Honourable A. Spencer and the First Brigade, on the morning of their departure on another expedition, his opinion of their services, it only remains for Sir Henry Bentinck to thank Colonel Wood, the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of the Royal Artillery, and the commanding officers, officers, and non-commissioned officers and men of the Second Brigade, for the assistance they have at all times rendered him; and he cannot refrain from expressing his high approbation of the manner in which all ranks have done their duty to their Queen and country. "The Lieutenant-General begs to thank the Staff officers of the division for their zeal and energy in the discharge of their duties, and he cannot conclude without expressing also his satisfaction at the manner in which Dr. Roberts has performed his; to the Commissariat Department and Land Transport Corps of the division, to whom it is indebted for their supplies, and with a regularity seldom equalled, and reflecting great credit on the officers of those departments. "The Lieutenant-General has only further, in taking leave of the division, to wish it renewed glory, and he will always feel the greatest interest in its proceedings generally, and of the regiments composing it particularly. "By order, "G. ELLIOTT, "Deputy-Acting-Adjutant-General." CHAPTER III. Expedition to Kinburn--Off Odessa--Objects of the Expedition--Appearance of the Fleets--The English Portion of the Expedition--Odessa from the Sea--Alarm on Shore--The eternal Cossacks--Clouds, Fog and Vapours--Signal Gun--The Fog thickens--Arrangements for the Attack--Order of Formation--Plan of Attack on Kinburn--Proceedings of the Advanced Squadron for Buoying the Dangers--A Skirmish. At last it was determined by the Allied Governments that it was a mere waste of power to keep the armies and fleets inactive, and that "something must be done." The Light Brigade, under Lord George Paget, received orders to hold themselves in readiness to embark for Eupatoria. A small corps of infantry was told off for the expedition which had been organized to make an attack upon Kinburn in conjunction with the French. The English portion of the expedition was constituted as follows:-- +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | LINE-OF-BATTLE SHIPS. | | | | Guns. | Captains |Troops on Board. | Royal | | | commanding. | |Marines.| +-------------------------+--------------+------------------+--------+ |_Royal Albert_, } | | | | | Sir E. Lyons, } | | | | | G.C.B. &c., } | | | | | having on board } | | | | | Brigadier-General } | | | | | Spencer commanding} 121 |W. R. Mends |17th Regiment 800 | 80 | |_Hannibal_, Sir H. } | | | | | Stewart, K.C.B., } | | | | | second in command } 90 |J. Hay |21st Regiment 670 | 80 | |[A]_Agamemnon_ 90 |Sir J. Pasley | | | |_Algiers_ 90 |C. Talbot |20th Regiment 500 | 80 | |_St. Jean d'Acre_ 101 |G. King | | 1030 | |_Princess Royal_ 91 |L. Jones |63rd Regiment 700 | 80 | | --- | | ---- | ---- | | 583 | | 2670 | 1350 | | | | STEAM FRIGATES, SLOOPS, ETC. | | | |_Curaçoa_ 30 |G. F. Hastings| | | |_Dauntless_ 33 |A. P. Ryder | | | |_Firebrand_ 6 |E. Inglefield | | | |[A]_Furious_ 16 |W. Loring | | | |_Gladiator_ 6 |C. Hillyar | | | | | {|Left wing, 57th, | | |_Leopard_ 18 |G. Giffard {|and reserve | | | | {|ammunition 370| | |_Odin_ 16 |J. Wilcox | | | | | {|Right wing, 57th, | | |_Sidon_ 22 |G. Goldsmith {|and reserve | | | | {|ammunition 300| | |_Sphinx_ 6 |A. Wilmott | | | |_Spiteful_ 6 |F. Shortt | | | |_Spitfire_ 5 |T. Spratt | | | |_Stromboli_ 6 |R. Hall | | | |_Terrible_ 21 |J. M'Cleverty | | | |_Tribune_ 31 |J. R. Drummond| | | |_Triton_ 3 |A.W.D.Fletcher| | | |[27]_Valorous_ 16 |C. Buckle | | | |_Vulcan_ 6 |E. Van Donop | | | | --- | | ----| ---- | | Totals 830 | | 3340| 1350 | +-------------------------+--------------+------------------+--------+ THE BRITISH FLOTILLA. SMALLER VESSELS. Gun-boats. Guns. Commanders. 1. _Arrow_ 4 Lt. W. K. Jolliffe. 2. _Clinker_ 1 Lt. Hudson. 3. _Cracker_ 1 Lt. Marryat. 4. _Fancy_ 1 Lt. Grylls. 5. _Moslem_ 1 ---- 6. _Lynx_ 4 Lt. C. M. Aynsley. 7. _Viper_ 4 Lt. H. Comber. 8. _Wrangler_ 4 Lt. Burgoyne. 9. _Beagle_ 4 Lt. Howitt. 10. _Snake_ 4 Lt. Buckley. MORTAR-VESSELS--(CAPTAIN DIGBY COMMANDING.) 1. _Firm_ Lt. Leet, _St. Jean d'Acre_ Lt. Hewitt, R.M.A. 2. _Hardy_ Pierson, Mate, _Princess Royal_ Lt. Foster, R.M.A. 3. _Camel_ Vaughan, Mate, ditto Lt. Starr, R.M.A. 4. _Flamer_ Lt. Creagh, _St. Jean d'Acre_ Lt. Brookes, R.M.A. 5. _Magnet_ Blunt, Mate, _Algiers_ Lt. Pitman, R.M.A. 6. _Raven_ Hunt, Mate, _Hannibal_ Lt. Festing, R.M.A. STEAM TENDERS, ETC. _Banshee._ _Danube._ _Brenda._ TRANSPORTS. No. Freight, &c. _Prince Alfred_ 126 Royal Artillery. _Arabia_ 83 Royal Artillery, &c. _Orient_ 78 Medical Staff--Hospital Ship. _Lady Alice Lambton_ 99 Stores. _Durham_ 179 Miscellaneous. _Indian_ 197 Commissariat Staff, &c. _Charity_ 140 Civil Land Transport Corps and Commissariat Stores. _Colombo_ .. Shot and shell, &c. _Zebra_ 211 Fuel. _Arthur Gordon_ 238 Stores. Dr. Gordon, in medical charge of the expedition, Surgeon Foaker, second in charge, and a number of medical officers, embarked on board the _Orient_. Deputy-Commissary-General (in charge of the expedition) Tyrone Power, Assistant-Commissary-General Cumming, Deputy-Assistant-Commissary-General Sutherland, and Commissariat Clerk Robinson; Lieutenant Wardlaw, and twenty Dragoons, Captain Nicholson, R.E., Lieutenant Gordon, R.E., and Lieutenant Scratchley, R.E., in command of the Sappers and Miners, embarked on board the _Orient_. Major Bent, Royal Engineers, embarked on board the _Royal Albert_. The First Brigade of the Fourth Division marched down to Kazatch on the 4th October, and proceeded to embark on board after they had been inspected by Sir Henry Bentinck, K.C.B., commanding the Division. Brigadier-General Spencer commanded the Brigade, which was in very fine order, and formed a body of 3,300 men, many of them tried soldiers. The embarkation of the artillery and stores continued on October 5th. A large body of the Royal Marine Light Infantry, so long encamped on the heights of Balaklava, were marched down to the water's edge, and embarked on board the _St. Jean d'Acre_, to which they were conveyed in the _Wallace_ steam-tug. Her Majesty's steamer _Triton_, Lieutenant A. D. W. Fletcher commanding, received orders to join the expedition, Captain Leopold Heath, R.N., the Superintendent of Transports, shifted his flag to the _Bucephalus_ transport. On the 7th October, the Allied squadrons, with a large flotilla of gun-boats, bomb-vessels, and small steamers, stretching in two lines in front of Kazatch and Kamiesch, must have displayed to the garrisons of the north side of Sebastopol a spectacle of portentous grandeur. We could see the enemy manning their batteries on the north side, and their troops under arms in front of their camps. It is likely they believed the Allies were about to make a descent in their rear. The French had four line-of-battle ships, several steam frigates, and a number of gun and mortar boats. In addition to that force they had a formidably ugly armament of three floating steam batteries; but England, with all her maritime and mechanical resources, could not aid her ally by even one of these tremendous fortresses! These French floating batteries, called the _Devastation_, _Lave_, and _Tonnant_, curiously unprepossessing in appearance, and painted of a bluish stone colour, as if to increase the gloominess of their aspect, showed eleven or twelve ports a-side, and carried twenty-two fifty-pounders (French) each. They were crowded with men, and were remarkably steady on the water, but the French bomb-vessels and gun-boats rolled heavily on the smallest provocation. The men-of-war had their ports triced up and guns run in, so as to give air to the soldiers between decks, and presented long lines of kepis and red trousers from stem to stern. The day was very fine, and the wind was scarcely strong enough to blow away the black and white wreaths of smoke and steam from the funnels of the fleet as they slowly got in motion. Each steamer had a mortar-vessel or gun-boat in tow. At 11.15 the _Royal Albert_ set driver and fore and aft canvas, and slowly forged ahead, followed by the _Hannibal_ and the rest of the squadron; the French division, led by the _Montebello_, moving on in a parallel line with us, on the port or left hand. [Sidenote: MENACE ODESSA.] As the fleets drew off from the land, leaving behind them the forts of Sebastopol, both north and south, between which the usual daily duel of cannon and mortar was going on, the French went somewhat to the westward, and steered NW. by W., while we kept on a course N. by W. The Admiral made signal to the fleet that "the rendezvous" was to be "five miles S. by E. of Odessa," and it was immediately conjectured that the object of visiting that place was to induce the Russians to take away their forces from Nicholaieff and Cherson, in the expectation of a descent upon them at Odessa. The speed of the squadron was not very great, as most of the vessels had heavy boats in tow, and the signal was made from the Admiral, "Steer four miles an hour--course NW. by N." The _Triton_ was ordered to keep close to the Admiral, and not to follow the signals of smaller vessels, and at 2.10 the flagship signalled that "the Admiral's course was no longer to be regarded by the fleet," but that they were to keep in their proper direction, as already indicated. At four o'clock the _Triton_ was ordered not to exceed four knots an hour, the Admiral's ship began to press on in front, and before evening was well in advance of the squadron, attended by a despatch gun-boat. The French, detained by their heavy batteries, made the best of their way on our port quarter. The night was fine, and the fleet moved slowly, and in extended order, for fear of collisions, but just before dawn the _Stromboli_ made a slight dint in the huge bulk of the _St. Jean d'Acre_, and carried away one of the boats. On Monday, the 8th of October, a hot bright sun lighted up the round mirror of sea of which the fleet formed the centre. The sea gives a poor human creature a curious sense of his own importance. Wherever it is not broken in upon the land, it concedes to the vessel that has the honour of bearing him the position, or at least the sensation, of being the very centre and navel of the universe; if it has not already smitten him down on some cruel deck or wobegone cot, by its own peculiar protest against the arrogance of mankind. Although many big ships were near, and a great flotilla was moving all round the edges of our great circle, Her Majesty's ship _Innominata_ appeared on this fine Monday morning to be the central point on a bright, flickering, shivering mirror, fringed by columns of smoke, or framed in by the masts of the distant fleet, fine as cobwebs on the edge of some ancient cheval glass of Louis Quatorze. The French fleet was away hull down on the port quarter, the grand, showy, big tricolors at the peak just topping the horizon, and the English fleet we could not see, for the reason assigned in the _Critic_, which I have never heard disputed, and shall therefore give in preference to any other. About 8.30 something very like a three-decker under full sail, suffering terribly from refraction, came in view--a tall white column standing out of the sea. The haze gradually expanded as we advanced, and at last "land" was reported from the bows, and a hapless wight was despatched up into the clouds, to make any statements which might strike him as to the general configuration and geographical characteristics of the coast we were approaching, and to look out for "the British fleet at anchor," or afloat, as the case might be. I am not aware that his information was important or curious, and he only confirmed the profound observation of Sir Fretful Plagiary, after a lengthened sojourn among the sea-gulls; but, at about nine o'clock, even landsmen could make out "land" with good telescopes, and were obliged to abandon the secret joys in which they had indulged at the disappointment of the Quartermaster, when he found that "a regular fog-bank" had been mistaken by him for _terra firma_, and to admit that the "cloud," after all, was a "material guarantee" of the Czar, and belonged indeed to Russland. The canvas of the line-of-battle ship gradually resolved itself into a tall, snow-white pillar, some 200 feet above the level of the sea, which marks Cape Fontana, south of Odessa, and by degrees, as we rose the land, a white light-house, a guard-house, a white telegraph-house and station, white farmhouses, white villas embowered in green trees, pagodas, minarets, domes, and church spires appeared in view, and clustered together, till we had a day-dream of Constantinople and Naples together with a dash of Boulogne in it, and Odessa came in sight. As I am neither a voluntary tourist, a universal gazetteer, nor a photographer, I shall not attempt to describe the city, which must, indeed, be well known to Englishmen, though few artists can do justice to it. These barbarous Russians have a rare knack of building graceful, light, cheerful, and clean-looking cities, which even the "_Stones of Venice_" might not utterly despise; and, if it be distance which lends enchantment to the view, they have at least the satisfaction, denied to more civilized people, of saying there is one point of view from which their cities win the senses. [Sidenote: APPEARANCE OFF ODESSA.] As we slowly drew up to our inevitable "five miles S. by E. of Odessa," we passed a wonderful creation, which, compared to the slow efforts of our ancient builders, seemed almost the work of enchantment. There stood an extensive city, built on the curve of a high sea-shore, with descending terraces and broad flights of steps, to the beach, which was enclosed by broad quays and the walls of ports and casemated batteries, all shining brightly in the morning sun. Broad esplanades, or boulevards, lined with trees towards the sea-front, ran along the top of the bank, with a background of stately mansions, worthy of the best "rows" near the Regent's Park, and we could see a numerous and gaily-dressed crowd of men and women passing along the promenade, gazing on the dark clouds of smoke which were slowly drifting in on them from the distance. Behind, and in continuation of this esplanade, are splendid residences, with pillared porticoes and ornamented peristyles, magnificent public institutions--the temples erected by Despotism to Civilization, in hope of making peace with her--barracks, palaces, governor's house, prisons, rising in front of a confused but graceful mass of domes, columns, steeples, and spires. One huge dome is of an intense ultramarine blue, and is topped by a gilt cupola; another is of bright green, surmounted by a golden star; here is a Greek temple, there a Tartaresque-looking mosque; there an unmistakable "little Bethel," here a Byzantine church; again, an Eastern minaret-like spire; farther on, an indubitable Sir Christopher Wren steeple; and, next to it, a grand dome and cupola, which at once reminded you of St. Peter's or St. Paul's. This beautiful city is surrounded on the left by woods, bestudded with the houses of Princes and Counts engaged in the corn trade, and of merchants deeply interested in the state of the English barometer. There is one dismantled three-masted vessel inside the port, but the quay at the upper end of the harbour encloses a considerable number of small coasting vessels; and even now we can see some boats creeping down for shelter along the coast under the batteries. At the distance of about three miles from the town, we found the _Valorous_ and _Furious_ at anchor, and a French steam-squadron beside them of great force, with an Admiral's flag flying from the _Asmodée_; indeed, the French vessels, to the number of four pendants from large steamers, and of ten pendants from gun and mortar vessels, had already arrived, or had preceded us. The esplanade was, as I said, crowded with people. The city was as peaceful as a drop-scene at the theatre, but the operations of war were going on, nevertheless, and little could we tell what alarm, confusion, terror, and dread, dwelt within that beautiful capital on which we gazed so placidly. As the first ship of the English squadron cast anchor, a long line of dust was observed rising over the hilly coast to the north of Odessa and by the beach, which is lined with trees and a thick hedge of bushes, and we soon made out bayonets glistening in the sun, and a strong body of Russian infantry, with field-pieces and baggage, consisting of some five or six thousand men, marching in all haste towards the city. Two small camps could be seen on the hill-side towards the north, and a part of this column halted and encamped outside Odessa. A number of mounted officers accompanied the men, and some of them rode out through the gaps in the hedge, upon the beach, and reconnoitred the fleet, which was drawing up towards the harbour. The eternal Cossacks, in groups of two or three, were standing by their horses as vedettes, beside the numerous signal and telegraph stations which line the coast at intervals, and are in connection with a semaphore in Odessa, which was tossing about its arms like Niobe gone mad. Others were galloping over the fertile steppe, appearing and disappearing over the low lines of hills, and numerous herds of cattle all over the country afforded proof that we had exaggerated the general exhaustion of the enemy's resources, if any were needed in addition to the prosperous appearance of all the white farmhouses and hamlets, with their enormous stacks of hay and corn around the homesteads. Some of the inhabitants seemed to be moving away from the place by the north road, and many waggons and carts were visible going to and fro by the road to the northward. The French fleet approached towards their anchorage from the south at the moment that the top-gallant masts and smoke-wreaths of the British fleet peered above the horizon, and at 3.30 the _Royal Albert_, followed at intervals by the rest of the ships, came up with signals flying for the anchoring of all at two cables' length, in order of seniority. This noble vessel let drop her bower in thirteen fathoms water, about three and a half miles from Odessa, soon after four o'clock, P.M. The smaller steamers and gun-boats were then disposed of, the tows cast loose and secured, and with the beams of the bright setting sun lighting up the whole of this tremendous array of batteries, with their polished muzzles grinning from innumerable ports, the people of Odessa saw the fleets of England and France anchor in their bay, and exhibit to them upwards of eighty vessels of war, ready at a moment's notice to lay their homes in the dust. The evening passed quietly; the Admiral made but few signals, but it was known that nothing would be done, and that till the work of sounding off Kinburn and laying down buoys for the fleet had been accomplished, the attack would not come off. The _Viper_ received orders to start at dawn for Kinburn, whither the _Spitfire_ had already proceeded, for the purpose of making the requisite surveys. On the morning of October 9th, the wind came round from the SSW., and brought with it clouds, fog, and vapours, which quite shut out the sun from us. The shore could not be seen in detail, and the day was so murky that we were unable to ascertain if the inhabitants of Odessa were "flitting," as the more prudent would assuredly do, with such a tremendous armada floating before them. The sky was of a dark leaden grey, and seemed surcharged with rain and storm. Now and then a solitary ray broke through this veil, and lighted up a patch of houses in the stately city, or illuminated bits of the seaboard, displaying for a moment the Cossack pickets and vedettes on the cliffs, and snug farmhouses, surrounded by numerous stacks of hay and corn; small detachments of troops on the march over the steppes, and _eilwagen_, or lumbering Germanesque-looking diligences, traversing the coast-road, a few stray horsemen riding at full speed across country, and herds dotting the wide-spread plains. [Sidenote: DIVIDED COUNCILS.] The fleet must have presented a spectacle full of grandeur and menace to the Odessans. It extended for the space of five miles in front of their town,--a dense array of hulls and masts, yards and rigging, which, from shore, looked as if it were one unbroken network of ships resting on the water. The nine line-of-battle ships towered aloft in the centre, and the heavy steamers, gunboats, bomb-vessels, and transports, to the number of sixty, filled up the intervals, and extended along the flanks of the flotilla. The esplanade in front of a magnificent pile of public buildings was covered with a crowd of people, among whom were many officers and soldiers and well-dressed women; and the gunners all ready for action, inside the parapets of the long low batteries which guard this Queen of the Euxine, were visible to us all on board. These glimpses of the city were, however, infrequent, and were soon denied to us altogether, for down came the Black Sea fog, and wrapped us all in its clammy, unctuous, and chill embrace so closely that we could not see much beyond the limits of our own ship. The ever active and indefatigable little _Spitfire_ joined the fleet. She had been away somewhere or other taking soundings and bearings as usual, and her appearance was a sure sign that some place on the enemy's coast was to be favoured by a visit before long. Captain Spratt no doubt had a useful little budget of information for Sir Edmund Lyons when he went on board the _Royal Albert_. In the forenoon Sir Edmund Lyons left the flagship in his barge, and was towed by the _Danube_ to the French Admiral's ship, where he remained for some time. Subsequently to the Admiral's return, he signalled to each ship to notify her draught of water. This was done accordingly by signal, and the people of Odessa must have seen dimly a brave show of bunting in our armada, as it required many flags to express the various draughts forward and aft of each ship. In the afternoon the wind freshened and the sea rose a little, causing that peculiar ground swell which distinguishes this part of the Euxine. The fog settled down on the water about three o'clock, slowly descending from the sky above, and distilled itself into drops of rain, which ran down the masts and fell from spars and rigging. Before it became so very thick, our only amusement had been watching a considerable force of cavalry and horse artillery, drawn up on the cliffs, about six miles from Odessa and three miles from our anchorage. These were evidently intended to act as a flying column of observation, and to march on any part of the coast which might be threatened by our troops. It consisted of four troops of some Lancer regiment, and, from the time I first saw it, at nine in the morning, till it was lost in the fog, it only moved once, and then it was merely to form in squadrons and trot, wheel round, and draw up in double line again. Now a few rockets would have put these gentry to flight at any time, but we did not seek to inflict useless loss or annoyance upon the enemy. A gun-boat might have run in within easy range and shelled them at her leisure with the most complete impunity; nay, more--had the Admirals desired to inflict such a great blow on Russia, who vaunts herself to be invulnerable, and who boasts that, Antæus-like, she acquires fresh strength from every overthrow, the mortar-vessels, gun-boats, and floating batteries might have gone close enough to pour long-range shot, rockets, and bombs into the town, without the chance of being hit by the enemy, save by great luck. The city could not be missed, but it is very nice practice to hit a long low black line--a snake in the grass, wheeling and twisting about--at a distance of 2,500 yards. Let the world know that Odessa was "spared" once more, and, indeed, no one who looked at the city, which blends the magnificence of the East with the solid and massive grandeur of the West, could feel any desire for its destruction, unless it were absolutely necessary for the success of the war and for the attainment of peace. When the fleet was off Odessa, the advice of the highest person in France on the project of bombarding the town was sought by the French Admiral, and his reply implied a "radical opposition"[28] to any such proceeding, nor was our Admiral authorized by the home authorities to attack Odessa unless he was certain of success.[29] Sir Edmund Lyons and Admiral Bruat acted all along in the most perfect accord, but there was this difficulty in their mutual relations, that Admiral Lyons was not under the orders of the British Commander-in-Chief of the army, while Admiral Bruat was directly under the control of Marshal Pelissier, and the latter was opposed to any operations which would require large detachments from the French army. It was proposed at one time to send in a flag of truce to Odessa with some such proposition as this to the Governor--"Are you the Governor of a commercial town or of a military station? If you say Odessa is purely a commercial town, destroy your forts, abandon your efforts to fortify it, deliver up your gun-boats, if any, and we promise to respect the place. If you say Odessa is a military station, you must expect to see it treated as such by the Allied fleets." However, in case of the Russians refusing to give up their guns, &c., and setting us at defiance, it would have been necessary for us to attack the town _coûte qui coûte_, and there were many reasons why at that particular time such a course would not have been desirable. [Sidenote: DIVIDED COUNCILS.] Odessa is built of stone and stucco, and is composed of large open places and squares, offering little combustible matter, and placed at such a distance behind the shore batteries as to be accessible only to mortar-vessels and horizontal fire at a very long, and therefore at a very uncertain, range. The houses are roofed with iron, and in many cases there is no woodwork in the flooring or ceiling of the different stories, but iron girders and tiles and slabs of stone are used instead of planks and rafters. Many of the houses are detached, and stand like so many palazzi in their own grounds. Under these circumstances a general fire would have been almost out of the question, and the damage caused by a bombardment would not have been very decisive or extensive. With all the efforts of friends and foes to destroy it, how much of Sebastopol remained after it had fallen into our hands! The Russians, by the agency of powder, of piles of wood, of tar, of turpentine, and of all sorts of combustibles, tried to get it into a blaze, but they failed, notwithstanding a favourable breeze; and we rained shells on it for months, and never succeeded in creating any conflagration of importance. Well, Sebastopol contained much more wood than Odessa does, and was more accessible to our fire. The inference is, that we could not by any bombardment of the fleet have set the town in a blaze, or have inflicted damage which would have compensated the Allies for the expenditure of all their shell. It is evident that at some period or another our fire would have ceased from exhaustion of means. Even a line-of-battle ship's powder magazines and shot and shell rooms are not illimitable. It is equally clear that a line-of-battle steam-ship could not have come in close enough to the forts to develop her fire, without running the greatest risk of being disabled before she could have got into position. The moment would have eventually arrived when our bomb-vessels and gun-boats and heavy steam-frigates would have been compelled to cease firing, and that probably before much injury had been done to a large, distant, stone-built town like Odessa; and then, if the Russians could have fired even one gun as we retreated, they would have claimed, and with some colouring--which would have seemed very bright and decided in some circles in England and in many cities and towns of despotic Germany and of free America--the credit of having beaten off the Allied fleets! Sir Howard Douglas declares that a 13-inch mortar ought to hit a large object such as a fort, at the distance of 4,000 yards; but I know that many of our bombs missed Kinburn when fired from a distance of less than 3,000 and 3,600 yards. The whole of the glacis and of the ground before the fort for some hundred yards was burrowed up and pitted by the craters of bombs, which made prodigious holes in the soft sand on which they expended their force. For one shell which would fall through the roof of a house in Odessa, three or four would fall in the public streets, squares, and yards, where they would be comparatively harmless. These large missiles take up great space, and the fleet _did not hold enough to lay Odessa in ruins_. Had the Admirals been provided with all the appliances for destroying Odessa, they might have caused great damage to property and loss of life by firing on the place during their stay; for, though destruction is difficult, damage and loss may easily be effected, and there can be no doubt that a vigorous fire would have occasioned the enemy a considerable amount of both. The French Admiral, indeed, suggested that a certain number of gun-boats and mortar-vessels should go in every night, and throw shell into the town; but Lord Lyons was of opinion that such a petty measure of warfare was unworthy of us; that we ought either to destroy Odessa, or refrain from a partial attack, which the Russians would say, and not without pretence, had been unsuccessful the moment it was abandoned. The expedition, however, was never intended to operate against Odessa, but to occupy the forts at the mouth of the Dnieper. These forts were Oczakoff, or Ochakov, on the north, and Kinburn on the south side of the entrance. The former is built upon a small promontory, called Oczakoff Point; the other is situated on a long narrow spit of sand, which may be considered as the north-western termination of the extraordinary spit of Djarilgatch. The distance between Oczakoff and Kinburn, across the entrance to Cherson or Dnieper Bay does not exceed a mile and a quarter, and the passage up the Dnieper to Nicholaieff winds close to Kinburn, and is not more than three-quarters of a mile from the forts. A very extensive and dangerous sandbank, twenty miles long and of varying breadth, lies between Odessa and the entrance to the Bug and Dnieper. This bank commences at the distance of ten miles outside Odessa, and thence runs across to Kinburn. The water on it does not exceed three fathoms, and in some places is even less, but up to the distance of three-quarters of a mile from the shore from Odessa to Oczakoff, there is a belt of deep water, about three miles broad, between the shore and the great sandbank. At a mile from Kinburn the water begins to shoal rapidly from three fathoms in depth to a few feet. The entrance to Cherson Bay is guarded, as it were, by the island of Beresan, and numerous beacons and lights were formerly used to guide the mariner to the channel, which is difficult and tortuous. The coast is well provided with telegraphs. Nicholaieff (the name of which is spelt by us in six different ways) lies on the east bank of the Bug, at the distance of thirty-five miles from the forts. Cherson Bay, which is formed by the confluence of the Bug and Dnieper, before they flow through the channel between Oczakoff and Kinburn, is very shallow, the navigation is extremely dangerous and intricate, and the mouths of the Dnieper, which resemble on a small scale the debouchments of the Danube, are almost unknown to us. The Bug varies from three miles and a half to two miles in breadth as far upwards as Nicholaieff, below which a sudden bend contracts its course, the passage of which is here defended by formidable works. Its depth is about three fathoms, but there are many sandbanks in the channel, which winds from one side to the other of the river, and a vessel would in any position be under easy rifle range from both sides of the stream at the same time. It is more than thirty miles from Kinburn to the entrance of the Dnieper, and Cherson is fifteen miles above the ill-defined boundary where the extensive _marais_ through which the Dnieper, with many muddy mouths, eats its way to the sea, ceases to become part of the mainland, and is resolved into water. Persons at home endeavouring to connect this expedition with a demonstration against Perekop might well be puzzled when they saw that it was upwards of fifty miles from Cherson to the Isthmus, and that the crow's flight between Kinburn and Perekop, as he passes over the desolate Taurida--bleak, waterless, and lifeless--exceeded ninety miles. Kinburn fort was a regular casemated stone-built work, mounting forty guns, according to the most extreme calculation--some giving only twenty and others thirty-two guns--but north of the fort on the spit running towards Oczakoff the Russians had built two sand batteries. Oczakoff Fort was not very strong, but on the coast between it and the ferry, across the arm of the sea which runs up to Kesandria, the enemy threw up three small batteries, with heavy guns, one near the ferry of three guns, and two of five and three guns respectively to the west of Oczakoff, which bore upon the channel between that place and Kinburn. There was a good road along the spit between Kinburn and Cherson, which, according to the best charts, are about forty-eight or fifty miles apart by this route. The vast importance of retaining possession of this place could not be overrated. [Sidenote: FLEET IN A FOG.] On the 10th of October the fog continued, and was worthy of the best efforts of the London atmosphere in November. It was not so rich in colour, so yellow, or so choky, but it was equally thick and clammy. In colour it was white, and sometimes the sun stamped a moonlike imitation of his orb upon it, and in favourable moments one could see a faint indication of his existence above. Now and then you caught a dark outline of a vessel looming through the mist; you strained your eyes to make out your neighbour, but you might as well have tried to pick out the details of Turner's "blubber boilers" or of his phantom ships, and as you looked the vision disappeared. The water flowed with a heavy oily roll, and the only noise to be heard was the plash of the lazy waves against the paddle-wheels, the bumping of the rudder, and the creak of an odd timber, as he rubbed against his fellows. "But hark! There is a gun!" A dull burst of sound, followed by reverberations like the muttering of distant thunder, which are caused by the echoes of the report against the sides of the ships, denotes that the Admiral wishes to indicate his position, to some straggler, who has not yet joined the fleet. Solemnly, through the silence which intervenes between these signals, comes the full rich boom of the church bells from Odessa. Possibly Papa Nicholas or Papa Daniel is even now persuading a nervous and fashionable congregation that the fog which hides their enemy from view is the result of his own intercession with saint or martyr, and these bells, which chime so sweetly, may be using their metal tongues to call down disaster on our heads, and to invoke the blessing of Heaven on the soldiers of the Czar. As the day advanced the fog darkened, deepened, thickened. The rolling of drums--the beat of paddle-wheels as a solitary steamer changed her berth with caution--the striking of the bells of the ships, and the reports of guns at long intervals, were the only evidence that a great fleet was lying all around us. All communication between the ships ceased, for no one could tell where his next neighbour was; in fact, a philosopher would have found this a charming place for study and reflection. But those who were accustomed to more active existence found the time very heavy on their hands, and the excitement of seeing the men "knock about the guns," of hearing them and the boys say their gunnery catechism, "No. 4,"--"Takes out tompions, bear out the port, worms 'em, sponges, rams 'ome, runs out, and trains,"--of watching the barometer, of seeing the fowls fed, and of inspecting the various dogs, pigs, and birds which constitute the pets of the crew, and the more substantial enjoyments of the officers, palled after a time, and one--even off Odessa, and cheek by jowl with the enemy--was fairly obliged to yawn by General Ennui. What was happening around us no one could see or say, and there was a horrible gloomy misanthropical curiosity seizing upon every one to ascertain the longest time a Black Sea fog was ever known to last, which elicited most startling declarations from morose old tars, that "If it's a riglar out-and-out 'un, with a light breeze from the sutherd and vesterd, it may last for a matter of a fortnight--ay, that it may." Sundry dismal experiences were not wanting to enforce the probability of such a lively event taking place again. "And then the bad weather will set in; and, with sogers aboord, I'd like to know what we can do?" At 3.30 P.M. the fog began to clear away, and one after another the ships of the fleet appeared in sight, as if coming out in a dissolving view. The Admiral availed himself of the pleasing change in the weather to make signal for a lieutenant from each ship to repair on board the _Royal Albert_. The change was as great as if one had come out of a dark room into the leading thoroughfare of a large and busy city. The cutters and gigs glided about in all directions, visits were paid from ship to ship, and some boats swept in to have a nearer look at the shore. When the lieutenants went on board they received instructions for the disposition of the respective ships to which they belonged for the following day. The arrangements were simple. The gun-boats were to sweep the beach, if there was any resistance. The following was to be the order of formation on shore:-- +-------+----------------------------- | | French. | | + Flag. | | | | + Commissariat. | | + Sappers and Miners. | | + Land Transport Corps. | | + Reserve Ammunition. | | + Artillery. | | + Cavalry. | | | BEACH | + 63rd Regiment } Second | | + Royal Marines } Brigade. | | + Royal Marines } | | | | + Staff. | | | | + 20th Regiment } | | + 57th Regiment } First | | + 21st Regiment } Brigade. | | + 17th Regiment } | | | | + Flag. +-------+----------------------------- It will be seen from this plan that the French formed the left and the English the right of the force. At 6 o'clock the fog lifted, and the lights of Odessa twinkled in the distance. In order to strengthen the belief of the inhabitants that we were going to attack the place to-morrow, the Admirals made signal "to send down topgallant-masts," the usual preliminary for action in big ships. All was quiet during the night. On the 11th of October the sun rose unclouded. Odessa looked more beautiful than ever. Clouds of dust were seen rising from its streets, as if large bodies of troops were moving about all over the town. The eternal Cossacks were watching on the cliffs near us, walking up and down to keep themselves warm, or playing with their shaggy little ponies. Wherever there was a good view of the fleet to be had a crowd of people collected, and the esplanades and terraces, and even the housetops and parapets of the batteries, were occupied by spectators. The cavalry on the hill to the north of the town were visible at early dawn, each man dismounted, at the side of his horse. The flagship, at 8.30 A.M., signalled to the fleet to "Prepare three days' provisions for troops to land with." At 11 A.M. the French fleet got up steam, and several of our steamers followed the example. At 11.10 signal was made to gun-boats "to get up steam for slow speed," and officers from each ship, in pursuance of instructions received, repaired on board the Admiral's, where they were made acquainted with the exact duty required of them in connection with the plan of attack, and were subsequently sent in to the Admiral, who examined each of them himself as to their respective tasks. Admiral Bruat went on board the _Royal Albert_, and remained with Sir E. Lyons for some time. Sir H. Stewart was also present. The following was the plan of attack on Kinburn:-- [Sidenote: DEPARTURE FOR KINBURN.] "No. 1. The line-of-battle ships to engage the Fort Kinburn and two sand batteries on the point, will anchor in about 30 feet, in a line extending northward from fort, bearing E., and about 1,200 yards distant from it. "No. 2. The four French line-of-battle ships to form the southern division, so that the _Montebello_ will be the fourth ship from the south, and the _Royal Albert_, as the fifth ship, will be the southern ship of the English division. "No. 3. The line-of-battle ships are to weigh together and form a line abreast, north and south, at a cable apart. The southern line-of-battle ship is then to steer so as to bring the south end of Kinburn Fort bearing E. by compass; and to shield her from any danger that may not have been discovered, or from approaching too close to the bank to the S., she is to be preceded by two steamers, the ---- and the ----, each at a cable apart, and in advance, on her starboard bow, and showing their soundings. When the south line-of-battle ship brings the south end of Kinburn to bear E., she is to steer for it. The rest of the ships will then steer the same course, keeping one cable apart, and all anchor together in a line nearly north and south, just without the flag buoys that will be placed during the previous night. "No. 4. The nine ships will then be in position for the first five or six to engage Fort Kinburn at from 1,200 to 1,400 yards, and perhaps less, and the other three to take the sand batteries in flank and rear at about 1,000 yards. "No. 5. The three French floating batteries are to be placed on a line NNW. and SSE. of each other, to the SW. of Fort Kinburn, at about 600 yards distant from it. "No. 6. The mortar vessels are to anchor in a line E. and W., at 2,800 yards distant, with the fort bearing NE. from the outer vessel of the line. "No. 7. The English mortar boats to be towed by the _Odin_, on a line E. of the French. "No. 8. If the outer mortar vessel brings Oczakoff telegraph on with the east end of Fort Kinburn, bearing N. 20 E. (magnetic), and steers for it till the Oczakoff telegraph and Odzah Point subtend an angle of 70 degrees, she will be about the requisite distance, of 2,800 yards from Fort Kinburn; the rest can take their stations at a cable distance east of her. "No. 9. The _Sidon_, _Curaçoa_, _Tribune_, _Dauntless_, and _Terrible_ to anchor close off the North Sand Battery on Kinburn Spit, or, when ordered, to join the squadron of gun-boats, &c., that have previously entered within the straits, should any large ships of the enemy from Nicholaieff appear for the relief of Kinburn. "No. 10. The disposable paddle steamers can find good positions between the line-of-battle ships for directing their fire with steady aim at the embrasures of the casemates or at any position where the enemy maintains his fire, or off the N. and NW. extremity of the Kinburn Spit, to enfilade the batteries and their approaches. "No. 11. The gun-boats will attend to protect the army during the landing, and those not ordered to remain to cover their flank to take up position between the other ships as opportunity offers, and by a careful attention to the plan of attack are not to fire in the direction of the other ships. "No. 12. The Admiral holds the captains responsible for there being no firing, unless the men can distinctly see the objects they are directed to fire upon. "_Triton_ and _Beagle_ to attend _St. Jean d'Acre_. Each ship's boats to land her own troops. Reserve ammunition for the Marines to be landed with them. _Spiteful_ and _Furious_, assisted by _Triton_, to land 21 cavalry horses, 7 staff horses, 27 regimental staff horses from No. 197, and 60 Sappers, with tools, &c. "The captain of each ship is to be responsible for the disembarkation of his own troops and baggage. "PROCEEDINGS OF THE ADVANCED SQUADRON FOR BUOYING THE DANGERS. "The ships denoted in the margin, piloted by the _Spitfire_, are to start at 1 P.M. and anchor in the following position, as shown in the chart No. 2,201, from Odessa to Knieper Bay:-- A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. No. 2. A. _Valorous._ B. _Dauntless._ No. 1. C. _Gladiator._ D. _Furious._ E. _Spiteful._ F. French mortar-boat. G. French mortar-boat. H. French mortar-boat. [Sidenote: BOMBARDMENT OF KINBURN.] "The vessels anchored at C, D, and E, on the north side of the passage, are after sunset to show a red light to the west, and those at F, G, and H, are to show green lights in the same direction, as guides for the fleet on passing through during the night. The vessel at A, _Valorous_, to show lights vertical over the side, screened from NW. round by E. to S., and seen to the W. only. The four gun-boats _Clinker_, _Cracker_, _Grinder_, and _Fancy_, accompanied by four French gun-boats of shallow draft of water, will proceed, after the former vessels have anchored, to the rendezvous, at 8 P.M., near the _Valorous_, anchored at A. The four English gun-boats to be provided with buoys (white). The vessel at No. 2 A to provide two boats, that are to be despatched and anchored upon the SW. extremity of Oczakoff Bank, in four fathoms, to be a guide, by showing lights for the French gun-boats to commence buoying the edge of that bank with black buoys. The two boats on their return to the _Valorous_ to place a white buoy on the end of Kinburn Spit, in five fathoms water. "The _Spitfire_, assisted by the boats of the _Dauntless_, at B, will mark the edge of the bank--ere landing--west of Kinburn, with small white flags, placed in five fathoms. "N.B. All white buoys are to lie on the south side of the channel, and black buoys mark the north edge of it, and are consequently to be left on the port hand in passing to eastward." The evening of the 11th was unsettled--wind from SW. and S. On the 12th the weather was again unfavourable; on the 13th it blew briskly, sending in a heavy sea; but the wind abated towards night, and orders were given to prepare to weigh at dawn next morning. On the morning of Oct. 14, the fleet weighed and stood along shore towards the Liman of the Dnieper. The weather was beautiful, and we could admire at our leisure the numerous clean-looking, snug villages, the immense flocks and herds, and well-filled farmyards, which met the eye along the steppe. The fleet anchored three miles west of Kinburn Fort at three o'clock. On the 15th the troops landed about four miles below the fort, without the smallest opposition, or even the appearance of an enemy, in the order already indicated. The 17th Regiment was the first to land, and the French were, for a wonder, behind us. The weather continuing fine, the troops set to work, intrenching themselves on the sandy spit; only a few Cossacks were visible all that day, but in the afternoon, as a few French troopers were patrolling in front of our lines on the plain towards Cherson, they came upon a picket, which consisted of eight men, hid in some brushwood. They charged the Cossacks at once with great gallantry, killed two, and took two prisoners out of the party. CHAPTER IV. The Fleets open Fire--Effects of the Fire from Floating Batteries, Mortar-vessels, and Gun-boats--A Flag of Truce--The Governor of Kinburn surrenders--Terms of the Capitulation--Kinburn Fort described--A bad lot of Muscovite Infantry--Oczakoff destroyed--A Cruise up Cherson Bay--Expedition up the Bug--Scenery on the Banks--Fight with a Battery--Sharp Practice--Order for the Return--Divine Service celebrated at the confluence of the Bug and the Dnieper--Operations by the French--Great Men on Shore--The two Admirals go on a Cruise--Sir E. Lyons and Sir H. Stewart part company. The sea was too rough on the 16th of October to open fire, but every preparation was made for the day following. It was a dull, grey dawn, with the wind off shore, and the sea was quite calm. Early in the morning, the Russians in the Fort of Kinburn, perceiving that the French had crept up to a ruined village during the night, and that they were busily engaged in making their first parallel, under cover of the houses, at about 650 or 700 yards from the place, opened a brisk fire upon them from the guns _en barbette_ in the eastern curtain. They were answered by two French field-pieces from the screen of a broken wall. The fleet at anchor was perfectly still, but the mortar-vessels, floating batteries, and gun-boats were getting up steam, and by nine o'clock they might be seen leaving the rest of the armada, and making towards the south side of the fort. The three French floating batteries took up a position close to the casemates, and the mortar-vessels and gun-boats were drawn up further away, and more to the eastward, so as to attack the angle of the fort, and fight the guns _en barbette_ on the curtains. The floating batteries opened with a magnificent crash, at 9.30 A.M., one in particular distinguished itself by the regularity, precision, and weight of its fire throughout the day. At 10.10 A.M. the bomb ketches opened fire. The enemy replied with alacrity, but his batteries must have been put to a severe test. At 11.10 A.M. a fire broke out in the long barrack inside the fort, and speedily spread from end to end, driving the artillerymen from their guns. Small explosions of ammunition took place from time to time inside the works. [Sidenote: SURRENDER OF KINBURN.] At 11.15 A.M. the Russian Jack was shot away, and was not replaced. The fire in the fort raged more furiously, fed by constant bombs and rockets, and at 12.35 a fresh conflagration burst out. Soon afterwards Admiral Stewart, in the _Valorous_, and the French Admiral (second in command), in the _Asmodée_, followed by a fleet of eleven steamers, came round the Spit Battery into Cherson Bay, delivering broadsides and engaging the fort and outworks as they passed. They were preceded by the _Hannibal_, which completely ripped up the sand batteries on the Spit. The _Valorous_, _Asmodée_, steam frigates, and nine line-of-battle ships took up their position in magnificent style opposite the seaward face of the fort, which was already seriously damaged by the tremendous fire of the floating batteries, gun-boats, and mortar-vessels, and Kinburn was soon entirely in flames. The Russian fire was quite silenced, save from one gun. The second in command, whose name was something like Saranovitzky--a Pole by birth--inflamed by courage and its Dutch ally, declared he would not surrender, and prepared to blow up the magazine before the enemy should enter. In this resolve he was supported by the officer of engineers and by the officer of artillery. Amid the crash of falling buildings, the explosions of shells, the thunder of the fleet, and the smoke and flame of their crumbling houses and batteries, the Russians held a council of war, at which it was put to the vote whether they should surrender or not, and the majority carried the question in the affirmative, on the side of humanity and reason. In vain the fanatic Pole, the artilleryman, and the engineer, tried to persuade the Governor and the majority to persist in the madness of continuing a purely passive resistance, for active opposition was out of their power. "We can hold out for a week," said they. "What then?" asked the Governor. "You have not been able to fire a shot for three-quarters of an hour. Are you likely to be in a better state two hours hence, and, above all, where are the men to live in the meantime?" Such arguments, enforced by tremendous broadsides and by the knocks of cannon-balls against every wall of the fort, prevailed. The second in command, the artillery officer, and the engineer, finding themselves deserted by officers and men, abandoned their suicidal determinations, and agreed to surrender. The white flag was hoisted, much to the satisfaction of every humane sailor in the Allied fleet, who could feel no pleasure in destroying a brave enemy, and much more to the gratification of those who were allowed to desist from a demonstration of hopeless courage. Two boats, each bearing a flag of truce, pushed off, one from the English and another from the French Admiral, at the same time. Sir Houston Stewart proceeded to land near the battery, where he found the French General already advancing to parley with the Governor. Major-General Kokonovitch appeared with a sword and pistol in one hand and a pistol in the other. He threw down his sword at the officer's feet, and discharged his pistols into the ground, or at least pulled the triggers with the muzzles pointed downwards, in token of surrender. He was moved to tears, and as he left the fort he turned round and uttered some passionate exclamation in Russian, of which the interpreter could only make out, "Oh, Kinburn! Kinburn! Glory of Suwaroff and my shame, I abandon you," or something to that effect. Kokonovitch wept as he threw down the pen with which he signed the articles of surrender, but he had no reason to be ashamed of his defence. So Kinburn was ours, as far as the flames and smoke would allow us to occupy it. By the terms of the capitulation the garrison were permitted to retire with everything except their arms, ammunition, and cannon; the officers were allowed to wear their swords, the men to carry knapsacks, clothing, regimental bugles, church property, relics, and pictures. When the Major-General was asked to use his influence, or to give a pledge that no harm should befall such of the Allies as might enter the place, he said he would do so, "but at the same time I must tell you," added he, "that the flames are at this moment very near the grand magazine." This was a friendly caution, which produced, of course, a corresponding effect, and steps were at once taken to prevent any such lamentable losses as were caused after the evacuation of Sebastopol by the rashness of the troops. The defenders of the northern forts on the Spit were not aware for some time of the reduction of the principal battery, or at least paid no attention to it, and hammered away from one gun till a shot from the _Terrible_ utterly destroyed the casemate. The prisoners sold their kits and all they could dispose of--droschkies, horses, spare clothing, and food, by a rude kind of public auction on the Spit. As the garrison marched out they were ordered to pile their arms, but many of them, with rage and mortification depicted on their features, threw them on the ground at the feet of the conquerors. On the whole, they seemed "the worst lot" of Muscovite infantry I ever saw, and consisted of either old men or lads--the former fine soldier-like fellows enough, but the latter stupid, loutish, and diminutive. They availed themselves of the license in the fort to fill all their canteens, and in some instances their stomachs also, with "vodka," and many of them were drunk when they marched out, but intoxication had the effect of making them extremely amiable and facetious. The officers bore their misfortune with dignity, but felt it deeply, as was evident from their grave demeanour and stern countenances. Few of them wore decorations, and only one was dressed in full uniform. A Chef de Bataillon or Major, wearing a long light-blue cloak with red collar, who limped along with difficulty, had a good deal of influence over those around him, and kept the drunken soldiers in awe by his look, and a sergeant in a long green frock-coat with yellow facings and stripes, aided him in repressing the mirthful disposition of some of the bacchanalians on the line of march. Kinburn Fort had fifty-one guns mounted _en barbette_, inside and in the outworks, six flanking guns in casemates, and twelve mortars, and of these twenty-nine were dismounted, smashed, or disabled in gun or carriage. In the Centre Spit Battery there were ten guns, of which two were disabled; and in the Spit or North Battery there were ten guns, of which three were smashed. We arrived just in time to prevent the latter work from assuming most troublesome dimensions, for the casemates were ready for nine guns more, and the platforms indicated they would be of large calibre. The guns in position were small eighteen and twenty-four pounders, of great weight and thickness, and some of ancient date; inside we found a small park of guns ready for mounting. Some were of the date of 1852, and the piles of shot and shell and stores of ammunition of all kinds were out of all proportion to the size of the place. At six o'clock, on the 18th, the Russians, with their usual incendiary propensities, set fire to the fort below Oczakoff, and after blowing up the magazines, which went into the air with two heavy explosions, retired. On the 19th, in compliance with the wishes of the French Admiral, Sir Edmund Lyons decided on despatching a squadron, under the orders of Sir Houston Stewart, to co-operate with the French squadron under Rear-Admiral Pellion in protecting the left flank of the Allied troops who set out on a reconnaissance towards Cherson. [Sidenote: UP THE BUG.] Before the squadrons weighed a French boat left the Rear-Admiral's ship with a flag of truce for Oczakoff. She carried a reply to the request sent by the Russian general under a flag of truce the previous day, and informed him that the "major-general who had commanded in Kinburn _se porte à merveille_, that forty-five wounded Russians were in the French ambulances, and that the French general regretted he could not state the names of the officers who were prisoners," but he did not say whether that was owing to any difficulties in orthography or not. As the boat neared the beach, an officer, followed by two soldiers, came from the town to meet them. One of the men bore a tremendous flag of truce--there could be no Hango mistake about it; he had a large tablecloth suspended from a pole, under the weight of which he staggered as he walked. The boat touched the beach, and, with much formal bowing and martial civilities, the missive was handed to the Russian, who retired with his tablecloth waving behind him up the hill, and was lost to sight amid the houses. Two old priests scrambled down to the ruins of the fort, and, with their flowing robes and long beards, seemed like ancient prophets invoking maledictions--as no doubt they were--upon the fleet. Early on the 20th, the French Rear-Admiral stood up Cherson Bay with the lighter vessels of his squadron before the English Admiral was aware of his intention. Soon after dawn our smaller gun-boats started in the same direction, and Rear-Admiral Sir Houston Stewart, having sent off his despatches to Sir Edmund Lyons, hoisted the signal for the large gun-boats and steam-sloops under his command to weigh anchor and follow. At nine o'clock A.M. he led the way, with his flag flying in the _Stromboli_, towards the confluence of the Bug and Dnieper. He was followed by the _Gladiator_, _Spiteful_, and _Triton_ steamers, by the _Wrangler_, _Snake_, and _Viper_. A whole shoal of gun-boats, _Boxer_, _Cracker_, _Clinker_, _Fancy_, _Grinder_, &c.,--were some miles in advance, in company with the French squadron, threading their way among the intricate shoals which guard the entrance to the Dnieper. At last, entering the mouth of the Bug, we observed some of the French squadron coming down the river, and the two Admirals met and held a conference on board the _Stromboli_. The French Admiral assured Sir Houston Stewart that he had been up the river to the Spit, which extends from the western bank for some distance into the stream, at about seven miles from Ajiojhio Point on its western entrance, and that he had not seen any sign of an enemy. The Admiral resolved to have a look for himself, and proceeded slowly up the river in the _Stromboli_, which was followed by the small gun-boats. On both sides the banks were high, and the brown steppe, studded with herds and farmhouses, presented no object of interest. About three miles up, on the left-hand bank, we came upon a small village. Five miles up, on the right-hand bank, there was another village, with two pretty churches. There were guard stations and look-out posts on both banks. The river was three or four miles broad up to the Spit, where it narrowed considerably. The cliff was upwards of 100 feet high, and could scarcely be commanded by the guns of a ship. However, it was advisable to ascertain what defences existed on the lower part of the river till it contracted into such dimensions as would bring a ship within range from both banks. The _Cracker_ and _Grinder_ went on ahead, the _Stromboli_ followed with the Admiral's flag flying, examining bearings and farm-yards at our leisure, and the _Spitfire_ came next, engaged in her labour of sounding, and probing, and angling every bit of the earth's face and of the waters under the earth within reach of lead, glass, and compass. They were now near the Spit, and we could see the stream beyond it. Above the Spit there was a high bank rising to the steppe behind, and at the distance of some hundred yards from the edge there was a tumulus, behind which I fancied I saw artillery. The _Cracker_ had run on ahead, and the _Grinder_ was just drawing on parallel with this high bank--we were all peering at it, and one officer was saying to the other, "Well! I wonder the Russians have not got a battery on that cliff"--when from a seam in its side, parallel with the water, a puff of white smoke spirted out, and the rush of a shot followed, which terminated in a splash in the water close to the side of the _Grinder_. "Tell _Grinder_ he may give him a shot in reply," cried Admiral Stewart. The little _Grinder_, with more valour than discretion, at once put down his helm and ran in, drawing across the _Stromboli_, at which the enemy opened another gun at the moment. This shot fell short. And now light field-pieces, on the top of the cliffs, opened; none of the shot from the Russians had yet fallen closer than twenty yards to us. The drum beat to quarters on board the _Stromboli_, and the men rushed on deck in a state of high delight to clear for action; berthings were removed, and guns got ready, but _Grinder_ being intent on doing his _devoir_ got in our way, so that his recall was hoisted. The _Stromboli_ slowly craned over towards the bank. The principal work was a trench in the cliff, half-way up, and when you came to squint along a gun, and saw only four little black eyes staring at you over a parapet of earth which did not seem three inches high, you began to understand the difficulty of striking such objects. "Try 2,500 yards!" The gun was trained. At the words, "Well! Fire!" the iron globe, whose curve you could trace through the air, hurtled with the peculiar hiss of its race, over the parapet, knocking up a black pillar of earth from the crest of the hill, and bounding far away to the rear. "Too high!" The Russians replied at once. The shot flew over Captain Spratt's head, who was at the foretop, and plunged into the water 200 or 300 yards beyond us. The Muscov had been playing the game of firing short, to entice us well under his battery. _Stromboli_ kept edging nearer, the captains of the guns were all intently gazing along their sights. "Try 2,000 yards." Away flew the iron messenger again, but he only told the Russians to bob their heads and keep out of his way, and passed behind them. Aimed "too high" again. The _Spitfire_, _Cracker_, and _Grinder_ were now coming into action. The enemy's field-pieces took to shell, and studded the air above us with smoke-clouds, the angry hum of their splinters was heard on all sides. Whiz!--right across our deck comes a shot, and plashes into the water over our counter. Our long gun at the bow sends a shot in reply, at 1,700 yards, which goes right into their battery this time. Whiz! whiz! two shots, one after the other, one dashing up the water close to her sides, the other cutting the jib foot-rope of the _Stromboli_. [Sidenote: NICHOLAIEFF.] Sir Houston Stewart resolved to return. That there was no intention of going up to Nicholaieff with a steam-sloop, a surveying sloop, and some small gun-boats I need not say, and had the enemy been driven from the Spit ten times a day he could have returned at any time, and have constructed just such another flying defence as that with which we were engaged. Indeed, the Admiral would not have replied to the enemy's fire at all, but that Jack is dissatisfied if not permitted to return a shot whenever one is sent at him. With a parting salute, the _Stromboli_ set her jib, slewed round, and steamed slowly down the river. The enemy continued to fire after us, but the _Spitfire_, _Grinder_, and _Cracker_ covered the movement, and a shell from the latter burst in the earthwork, and appeared to do some mischief. As we returned towards the Liman, the _Spiteful_, _Triton_, and _Arrow_, which had remained off the mouth of the Bug--"an unpleasant position," said Sir Houston Stewart, "which will be appreciated by London lodgers"--were seen steaming up to us, as they apprehended that they could help us out of a scrape; but the emulative gunners had not a chance of doing anything. The little flotilla remained at its anchorage off the Bug, for the night, without any apprehensions that the enemy from Nicholaieff could do any harm. Mr. Brooker, one of the most active and intelligent officers of the _Spitfire_--and that is indeed saying much, where all were so able and so willing--volunteered to go in the _Cracker_ after dusk, to ascertain the force and position of the enemy's batteries; but it was judged inexpedient to hazard the loss of a gun-boat, which would be made a subject of great rejoicing and triumph to the enemy, while the success of the experiment would not be of much importance, inasmuch as we were not in a position to attack and occupy Nicholaieff. Had Marshal Pelissier listened to the demand of Sir Edmund Lyons for 15,000 or 20,000 men, there would, indeed, have been some utility in a reconnaissance, for the operations of our steam fleet might have mystified the enemy so completely as to enable us to land a force, and by a _coup de main_ to destroy, though not to occupy, Nicholaieff. The town is 5,000 yards from the Spit, on the confluence of the Ingul and Bug, and it would be necessary to force batteries, booms, sunken vessels, gun-boats, in very shoal and difficult water, and get round into the Ingul itself, before the fleet could fire a shot on the place. Every vessel would have to run the gauntlet of high banks lined with riflemen which their guns could not reach. On Sunday, 21st, in the forenoon, Church pendants were hoisted, and Divine Service according to the Church of England was duly celebrated, for the first time since Christianity blessed the earth, in the confluence of the Bug and Dnieper, within sight of the spires of many Greek orthodox churches. Afterwards, the French had a little _missa solennis_ of their own. At 2.30 P.M., three large and one small gun-boat of their squadron got up steam and weighed. They stood straight up the river, and great was our excitement lest they should silence the battery which we had left with its teeth drawn, if not its tongue tied. Before they started, Sir Houston Stewart, having signalled for an officer of the _Spitfire_ to come on board, went off in the _Cracker_, attended by the _Grinder_, to examine the coast to the SSE., and to ascertain the cause of the numerous fires, indicated by pillars of smoke, in that direction. The Allied troops were supposed to be advancing for forty miles along the Spit, to destroy the forage and provision, so as to make the country waste. However harsh this measure may appear, it was a necessary operation. When Sydney Smith drew his terrible picture of John Bull's afflictions in a probable invasion--corn-ricks blazing on every side--sows of the best breed running about with their throats cut, he must have had a prophetic inkling of the operations of the troops on their way to Cherson. Our Allies sidled up to the Spit, where we were engaged. Perhaps they had some notion that they might succeed in destroying the battery which their good friends, the English, had not reduced to silence. The day was very dull, and there was immense refraction, so that the end of the cliff appeared to be lifted out of the water, and the vessels to have wavering hulls and quivering masts. At last they arrived off the Spit, and the enemy opened fire upon them at once. The small gun-boat stood bravely on till it was within 1,500 yards of the shore--the others anchored at 1,800, and they then engaged the breastwork very sharply. The French averred that they dismounted one gun at least, and drew down a great body of the enemy before they retired. This they did after half an hour's dalliance, and then they anchored off the mouth of the Bug, close to us once more. [Sidenote: WAS IT THE CZAR?] Meantime we had seen a sight which led us to believe that His Majesty the Czar, or one of his Imperial family, was actually honouring our little squadron by a minute inspection. Perhaps he was thinking how much better they would look if they were all assembled to run for a marine Cesarewitch. It might, indeed, have been after all only a Governor of Cherson whom we saw, but there certainly did appear, on the east bank of the Bug, about mid-day, some great man on a big, black horse, followed by ten or twelve mounted officers, and some few orderlies. This august personage rode over to the Cossack post, dismounted, and honoured us, through his glass, by a good look, which he interrupted from time to time by a few words to those around him. Presently a Cossack came galloping across the steppe at full speed, to the group of cavaliers. He dismounted, and walking to the surveyor of our navy, knelt down, and appeared to kiss his feet, as he handed him a despatch. The great man read the missive, mounted his horse, and, followed by his suite, rode off to a neighbouring post. The next time we saw him he was visiting the Cossack post higher up the river, after which he proceeded along the road towards Nicholaieff. Some time after the French boats had returned, the English gun-boats came in sight. They all came back, having disturbed immense quantities of wildfowl, which have frequented the banks of the Borysthenes since remotest history. The vessels anchored in their old place, and Admiral Stewart left the _Cracker_, and went on board the _Stromboli_. At night strict watch was kept. Fire-ships are not much to be feared by steamers, but still the wind was strong down from Nicholaieff, and the Russians might attempt something. Look-out men, sentinels, and loaded carronades were placed fore and aft, and with these precautions we went to sleep--in the waters, for the time being, of Her Majesty the Queen and of His Imperial Majesty Louis Napoleon. On October 22 the wind chopped round and blew up the Bug. At ten o'clock A.M., Admiral Stewart went on board the _Spitfire_, and proceeded southwards, towards Kinburn Spit, to look out for the expeditionary column. Fires were still blazing along the horizon. As he bore away, a French gun-boat came with a despatch from Admiral Pellion, which politely placed at the disposal of Sir Houston Stewart several _chaloupes cannonières_ lying off the mouth of the Dnieper, in case he felt inclined to destroy certain large boats on the beach below Stanislaff. As the _Spitfire_ was forging ahead, the little _Danube_, with an admiral's flag, red at the mizen, was seen on the horizon. It could be no other than Sir Edmund Lyons. The echo of the guns, and the distant scent of gunpowder, had enticed him into our waters to see what was going on. Sir Houston Stewart, Captain Spratt, Commander Cowper Coles, went on board the _Danube_, which, accompanied by the _Spitfire_, immediately steamed towards Kinburn Spit. They got within half a mile of the _marais_, which binds the coast with a belt of long deep rushes, but not a soldier was visible, with the exception of one solitary Cossack. There were some traces of the troops at Skadovska, about thirteen miles from Kinburn, for black columns of smoke rose up from the Spit in that direction. But the reconnaissance failed in detecting the line of march of the troops or in opening communications with them. At 2.30 P.M. the Admirals returned from their cruise, and stood in towards Stanislaff. As they approached, it was clear the enemy thought two British Admirals did not fly their flags together for nothing. A strong body of infantry was drawn up on the heights among the houses, lest the admirals and post-captains should land and take Stanislaff by assault, or the _Danube_ and _Spitfire_ attempt to bombard the place. A very considerable force of field-artillery was stationed in the rear. The Russians had erected a solid, compact-looking sand battery with five embrasures, on the sand-bank below the town, where no trace of such a work existed twenty-four hours previously. The Admirals having taken a good look at the place, now parted company; Sir E. Lyons returned in the _Danube_ to the fleet, and Sir H. Stewart steamed away in the _Spitfire_ to the anchorage of the Bug, and afterwards went on board the _Stromboli_. The reconnaissance burned all the stores and houses which could render service to the enemy for seven or eight miles towards Cherson. Ere we left we discovered two large rafts of wood concealed in the rushes off the mouth of the Dnieper. Sir Edmund Lyons presented one of the rafts to the French--an act of courtesy and consideration which our Allies estimated at its full value. Their dimensions were as follows:--The first 420 feet long by 63 feet wide, and six feet deep. The second, nearly the same length as the first, 54 feet broad; it grounded in eight feet water. At a rough calculation the two rafts contain 90,000 cubic feet of the finest timber, and the present made by the English fleet to the French, through our Commander-in-Chief, cannot be estimated at a lower value than £20,000; at least if the timber was in England, it would be well worth the money, for the majority of the balks, spars, and centre pieces composing it are of the very finest white oak. The dockyards of Nicholaieff are supplied with timber and wood from the Government of Ligtewski, which contains several large forests of fine trees. These are situated chiefly in the neighbourhood of Minsk, Mohilev, and Vitebsk. The wood is floated down the Dnieper to Cherson in rafts firmly clamped and bound together, with strong and substantial huts upon them for the navigators. Each raft is generally composed of 4,000 large trunks of oak-trees, which are covered with knees and smaller pieces roughly shaped after drawings and instructions sent to the cutters. This is done, that the timber may be made available at once for use in the dockyards. After being floated as far as the current will take them down the Dnieper, they are met by the Government steamers outside or inside the bar off the mouths of that river, and thus towed up to Nicholaieff. Some small steamers must be kept at Nicholaieff, at all events at this moment, but they have never stirred, nor have we seen any traces of them in the Bug. Cherson was the great ship-building and maritime yard for the Black Sea fleet in former days, but the difficulty of building large ships there, or rather of getting them away when once they were built, on account of the shallowness of the water on the bar of the Dnieper, forced the Russian Government to remove their establishments to Nicholaieff, on the confluence of the Bug and of the Ingul. The bar of the Bug has a depth of eighteen or nineteen feet; the bar of the Dnieper has only eight feet water upon it in ordinary seasons. The ships of the line are built at Nicholaieff, but it is not improbable that small vessels and frigates of light draught may still be constructed at Cherson. The arsenal at Nicholaieff is very extensive, but its principal supplies of timber came from the Dnieper, and the loss of these two rafts will be no inconsiderable injury. Fine oak timber such as they contain is very dear and scarce in Russia. The timber in the casemated Spit Battery, and the expense of erecting it, came to no less a sum than 45,000 silver roubles, or £7,500 English currency. [Sidenote: DEFENCE OF KINBURN.] On Sunday, the 28th of October, Captain Paris joined the Allied squadron blockading the Bug and Dnieper, with orders to take the command as soon as Admiral Stewart went; and we left that officer with the _Beagle_, _Viper_, _Snake_, and another English gun-boat, and four French gun-boats, to keep up that dismal duty. Admiral Stewart sailed from the Bug on Tuesday morning, the 30th of October, and joined the fleet at Kinburn. A portion of the fleet which had gun-boats to tow started for Kamiesch the same evening. The Allied fleet, under Sir E. Lyons and Admiral Bruat, Sir H. Stewart and Admiral Pellion, sailed the following day for the same anchorage. Ere the expeditionary force returned to Kamiesch and Kazatch the most effectual measures which could be adopted were used to put the garrison of Kinburn in safety for the winter. All the curtains of the Fort of Kinburn were rebuilt, the ruins cleared away, the damaged guns removed, and ships' fine guns put in their place; the fosse cleared out and deepened, the palisades repaired, the south-eastern gateway filled up, and its approaches covered by a strong ravelin; the crest of the parapets repaired solidly and well with fascines and earthwork, the Russian guns rendered efficient, the casemates cleared out and filled with stores or adapted as barracks, and the interior buildings in course of reconstruction and renovation. The result proved the defensive preparations were so formidable, that the enemy never attempted to operate against the French troops stationed there, although the sea (a very unusual occurrence) was frozen hard across to Oczakov. Kinburn having been secured against the attack of any forces the enemy could bring against it, and covered completely by the guns of the formidable flotilla we left to protect it, the greater portion of the fleet sailed for Balaklava and Kamiesch before November. The blockade of the Bug and the Dnieper was of course raised by the first frost, and the gun-boats engaged in that service had dropped down and joined the flotilla at Kinburn. Before the expedition started, nearly all the smaller gun-boats were despatched to reinforce Captain Sherard Osborne's flotilla in the Sea of Azoff, where that active and energetic officer was harrying the Russians as a hawk perturbs a field of larks.[30] The Cossacks showed themselves from time to time in the neighbourhood of Kinburn, but the state of the Spit prevented them from establishing a camp or even a grand guard near the fort. Three military and three naval French officers, who went out shooting on the Spit a few days after the sailing of the ships for Kamiesch, were picked up and made prisoners by these lynx-eyed gentry. They surrounded our gallant Allies under cover of a fog, and then lured them one after another into their snares, by shouting in French, and discharging their carbines. They literally used snares, for they had ropes all ready for each man as they caught him, and to bind him if he resisted or tried to give the alarm to his comrades. CHAPTER V. Promotions--Peaceful Toils--Improvements--Memorandum of October 15th--Expedition to Eupatoria countermanded--Intelligence by Telegraph--State of Affairs in Sebastopol--Want of Proper System and Organization--French Review--Extract from Divisional Orders. During the progress of the Kinburn Expedition, General Orders announced the promotion of Colonel Windham to the rank of Major-General "for distinguished services in the field," and his appointment to the command of the Fourth Division, with which he served as Assistant-Quartermaster-General until he was named to the command of that Brigade of the Second Division, at the head of which he fought on the 8th September. Lord William Paulet assumed the command of the 2nd Brigade of the Fourth Division, and occupied General Bentinck's old quarters on Cathcart's Hill. [Sidenote: PREPARING FOR WINTER.] The camp before Sebastopol, into which Russian projectiles not unfrequently obtruded, was nevertheless tranquil and laborious, as some new settlement in Australian bush or America's backwoods. The Russians continued to pound away at intervals at the ruins of the town they had been forced to abandon. They did little harm to us, and might as well have saved the ammunition, which they often condescended to expend even on a single soldier, wandering among the broken walls or across the plain. Our old friend Bilboquet, long silent, now opened his mouth, and sent shot at the works by Traktir Bridge, or at anything he saw moving in the valley below his muzzles. The English army, convinced that it was to winter in camp, set seriously to work to guard against the effects of weather from which it suffered so grievously, and to make itself as comfortable as possible. Hutting and road-making were the occupations of the hour, and rapid progress was made in both. Strong wooden huts sprang up on every side, and here and there a solid stone dwelling was in course of construction. It was a striking contrast between the sufferings of the former winter--exposure, want of clothing, and famine--with the prospect of plenty and comfort, and it was pleasant to observe the cheerfulness and the activity that prevailed. Drainage was not neglected, and, indeed, it was a question whether it was not almost overdone. Some of the ditches, dug along each side of the roads, and around the stores, hospital huts, and other establishments, were of formidable width and depth, and of a dark night proved dangerous to wanderers through the camp, especially if they had been taking "just one more glass" in the quarters of some hospitable friend. But the rain frequently descended in torrents, the water swept down the slopes in sheets and floods, and deep drainage was essential. Mr. Doyne, the superintendent of the Army Works Corps, proceeded vigorously with his labours. Mr. Doyne divided the road into miles, and at every mile was placed a station-hut and a lamp, with a corporal and two men to act as police. We heard nothing but the clatter of the spade and the thud of the pick, varied by frequent explosions of small mines, with which builders and road-makers got rid of the rock that impeded their work. Besides working at the roads, parties were busy at various small jobs, clearing wells, &c. But the want of proper system and organization, which was so often deplorably shown during this war, was again visible. With different arrangements, half the men, perhaps a quarter of them, could have done the work of the whole 10,000 employed on the roads, and probably have done it better, because they would have been less crowded. Thus, for instance, a regiment of the Third Division, at the farthest extremity of the camp, marched down to work at Balaklava, returning at night, daily performing a distance of nearly fifteen miles. Of course, this was just so much power taken out of the men, and the army was full of boys whose strength was not equal to a good day's work. It could not, in fact, be got out of them, even though they had not to walk long distances. There were frequent alarms, but many were of opinion--some of them persons whose opinion had weight--that our Muscovite friends had not the remotest idea of attacking us, and that Lord Panmure's information to a contrary effect, derived from Berlin, proceeded, in fact, from St. Petersburg, or, at any rate, from friends of our enemies, who desired to prevent us taking advantage of what little fine weather remained to undertake fresh expeditions against them. The telegraph brought information that the Russians were about to abandon the north side also. There was no visible sign of such evacuation, nor was there any probable reason to assign for it, excepting that the Russians would find it impossible to supply their army during the winter. On this point opinions differed widely. Some thought that the Russians would experience no difficulty in bringing enough supplies by the road from Perekop; others doubted that the road was sufficient, and were also of opinion that the Russian means of transport would run short. It was pretty certain that no large depôt of provisions existed, and also that none had ever existed, not even at the commencement of the siege, near at hand. In the previous winter the Russians--who doubtless never contemplated a siege of such duration, and probably never dreamt of an attack by land at all, or made sure of speedily beating off any naval force brought against their great fortress--had a constant stream of supplies pouring into the town. It was urged that they had taken advantage of the summer to lay in stores; but the drought of that season was as unfavourable to such an operation as the wet and cold and heavy roads of winter; and, unless by camels, which could do but little, transport must have been very difficult. The loss of beasts of draught and burden must have been prodigious, and the wear and tear of the ill-made carts proportionately large. The chief motive for retaining the position was, that negotiations would be conducted more favourably that winter, whilst the enemy had a footing in the Crimea, than if they had moved out, leaving us to garrison Sebastopol and Simpheropol. On the 15th of October, the army was ordered to be under arms at half-past 5 A.M.; working parties, for railways, roads, &c., to come on duty at 9 instead of 8 A.M.: this latter relaxation was granted in order to give the men time to breakfast and refresh themselves after the turn-out. Late on Wednesday night (October 17th) the reserve ammunition column was warned to be ready early in the morning, as there was every probability of an attack. On Thursday forenoon (October 18th) the French were formed up in the Valley of the Tchernaya, awaiting a foe who came not. About noon, fresh movements of troops were made; and it was reported that large masses of Russians were visible, but the enemy did not show. On Saturday afternoon, October 20, our Allies treated the Russians to a fine view of the Imperial Guard in the cavalry plain of Balaklava. The day was fine, and ponies were put into requisition, and no end of scarlet jackets, interspersed with the blue frocks of the cavalry, might be seen converging from all points towards the parade-ground. The Grenadiers, Chasseurs, Zouaves, Engineers, and Artillery of the Guard, were drawn up across the plain. General M'Mahon, followed by a numerous staff, to which Sir Colin Campbell and a large number of English officers temporarily attached themselves, minutely inspected them. The Grenadiers looked martial and imposing in their long blue coats and lofty bearskins; the Chasseurs smart and active in their excellent and service-like costume; the Zouaves, as usual, picturesque and effective. The Chasseurs and Zouaves excited the admiration of our officers. They were then probably the most perfect soldiers in the world--I do not mean in respect to fighting merely, but as regards military qualities and dress, equipment, powers of marching and endurance--everything, in short, that constitutes perfection in a soldier. [Sidenote: CHANGES AND FAREWELLS.] The Russians meantime continued firing at the town, week after week, with little reply. They fired principally at Sebastopol Proper, but now and then they dropped a shot or shell into the Karabelnaia, and sometimes took the flagstaff on the Malakoff for their mark. Occasionally, some artillery officer, as if suddenly exasperated, jumped up in a fury, and ordered half a dozen mortars to be fired at once. It is difficult to understand why the Allies spared the place, unless it were that we expected them to walk away, and leave us their forts in good condition, which was expecting rather too much. Outside the town the French set hard at work levelling siege works, filling up trenches, &c., though why they took that trouble it was hard to say, unless they contemplated the probability that they, in their turn, might be besieged by the Russians. In the space comprised between the lines where our batteries once stood and the harbour, the ground was literally paved with shot sunk in the earth: there were ditches and trenches in which they lay thick as apples in a basket. They might be seen of every size, from the great thirteen-inch shell, and 68-pounder, down to the little fellows of pleasant vinous appellation, very nasty to meet passing through the air. Fragments of shell macadamized the roads--jagged, rusty bits of iron, infinitely various in size and form. One thought, how many a stout fellow received his quietus from those rugged splinters. Then one came upon ill-treated cannon, some trunnionless, others with muzzles knocked off, some burst in pieces, and others bearing indentations as from the hammer of Cyclops. You walked up into the Redan or into the Malakoff, marvelled at the dimensions of those famous works, and felt surprised rather at their having ever become ours than at their having so long resisted the utmost efforts of English and French. They were indeed a medley of earthworks, stone, heaps of shot, broken shell, and damaged guns, everything rugged and battered--a work of giants reduced to chaos. And then the gloomy, fetid bomb-proofs, in which for so long a time the stubborn Russians lurked, worse than most dungeons. Early in November it became known that Sir William J. Codrington would succeed Sir James Simpson in command of the army, with the local rank of General, and that Sir Richard Airey, Quartermaster-General, would be replaced either by Colonel Wetherall or Colonel Herbert. General Codrington announced his elevation in the following Order:-- "HEAD-QUARTERS, SEBASTOPOL, _November 12_. "I have assumed the command of the army in obedience to Her Majesty's orders. It is with a feeling of pride and with a feeling of confidence in the support which I know will be heartily given, to any officer honoured with such a commission. "The armies of France and Sardinia are united with us on this ground. We know their gallantry well, for we have seen it; we know their friendship, for we have profited by it; we have shared difficulties, dangers and successes--the groundwork of mutual esteem; and all will feel it our pleasure, as well as our duty, to carry on that kindly intercourse which is due to the intimate alliance of the nations themselves. Our army will always preserve its high character in the field. The sobriety, the good conduct, and the discipline which it is our duty to maintain, are the best sureties of future success, and I trust to the efforts and assistance of all ranks in thus keeping the army to be an instrument of honour, of power, and of credit to England. "W. J. CODRINGTON, "General Commander of the Forces." General Simpson's farewell appeared the night before, and was as follows:-- "General Sir James Simpson announces to the army that the Queen has been graciously pleased to permit him to resign the command of this army, and to appoint General Sir William Codrington, K.C.B., to be his successor. "On resigning his command, the General desires to express to the troops the high sense he entertains of the admirable conduct of the officers and men of this army during the time he has had the honour to serve with them. In taking leave of them, he tenders his best thanks to all ranks, and offers his earnest wishes for their success and honour in all the future operations of this noble army. "General Sir William Codrington will be pleased to assume the command of the army to-morrow, the 11th instant. "By order, "H. W. BARNARD, Chief of the Staff." [Sidenote: THE NEW COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.] The public dissatisfaction caused by the second failure of the English army to take the Redan fell heavily on the aged veteran, who had in the earlier part of his career done service to the State, and gained a high character for gallantry, skill, and ability. No doubt, with an English army only to lead, Sir James Simpson would have acted with vigour, but he was paralyzed by the action of the French. He was ignorant of their language, slow and cautious, and it is no wonder that, where Lord Raglan failed, General Simpson did not meet with success. The courage and activity General Codrington displayed at Alma, at Inkerman, and in command of the Light Division during the trying winter of 1854-5, seemed to have justified his rapid promotion, and although he was in actual charge of the operations of an army on the day of the 8th of September, he was regarded as an administrative rather than a judicial officer, and was rewarded as signally because he failed as he could have been had he succeeded. A French officer said to me, "If General Codrington had taken the Redan, what more could you have done for him than make him General, and give him the command of the army? But he did not take it, and he is made General and Commander-in-Chief!" There was no opportunity of testing the ability of General Codrington as a commander during the subsequent part of the campaign, but he managed, by his despatches, to lower himself in the estimation of the public, although it is certain that a part of his success and elevation was due to his skill in private correspondence. Sir W. Codrington came out from England on the 23rd of February, 1854, with the rank of Colonel in the Coldstream Guards. He entered the army as an Ensign and Lieutenant on the 22nd of February, 1821; became Lieutenant in April, 1823; Captain in July, 1826; Lieutenant-Colonel and Colonel on the 9th of November, 1846; and Major-General on the 20th June, 1854. He commanded a Brigade of the Light Division throughout the early portion of the campaign, and succeeded to the command of that Division on the retirement of Sir George Brown. Possessed of a strong constitution, a spare vigorous frame, quiet in manner, energetic in action, vigilant, and painstaking, Sir William Codrington acquired a high reputation throughout the war, and was often spoken of as the coming man--_the General_, who was at last to arise out of the _débris_ of old-fogeyism, red-tapery, staffery and Horse-Guardism, of the British army; but the Redan dammed the current which had set so long and so quietly in his favour, because it was supposed that he did not exhibit all the qualities attributed to him in an eminent degree by the army, and his failure produced all the backwater, eddies, and whirlpools usually formed on such occasions. Sir W. Codrington was possibly struggling with the internal conviction that the attack had become hopeless, and consequently felt some hesitation in sacrificing more soldiers when he perceived the failure of our assaults and the confusion of the regiments swarming on the face of the salient; in that supreme hour he did not display that extreme coolness, resource, self-possession and energy which every one had from his antecedents at Alma and Inkerman, and in the trenches, attributed to him. The revulsion of popular feeling either in a nation or an army, is often unjust in proportion to its violence, and there were very many who thought "it would be only fair to give Codrington another chance." Sir W. Codrington received the local rank of Lieutenant-General in Turkey on the 30th July, 1855. Sir Colin Campbell had been gazetted to the same rank on the 23rd January in the same year. The only officers with the army senior to Sir W. Codrington were Lord Rokeby and Lieutenant-General Barnard, Chief of the Staff. The others had all gone home, or were preparing to leave the field in possession of the new General. Although too active and able a soldier to be neglected in a war like this, it is possible that Sir W. Codrington would not have had a chance of obtaining his distinguished position but for a piece of good fortune. On the 20th of June, 1854, certain promotions took place, more particularly among colonels of the Guards, and among them was that of Colonel Codrington to be a Major-General. Of course the effect of such a promotion would have been to remove him from his regiment and take him home; but the Major-General was most anxious for active service. By the time the _Gazette_ was promulgated the expedition to the Crimea was spoken of, and Major-General Codrington tried hard to evade the necessity of returning home, which to many was by no means disagreeable, if we may judge from the alacrity with which they availed themselves of it. He was lucky enough to succeed in his object, and thus got an opportunity of entering on the career which in a very short period led him to such great honours and to so proud a position. The Acting Quartermaster-General had just died, and Brigadier-General Airey, who commanded a brigade of the Light Division, was selected as his successor. The brigade thus left vacant was given to Major-General Codrington, whose anxiety for active service led him to leave no stone unturned in the search for it; and I well remember that, being then with the Light Division, I heard some expressions of dissatisfaction because the "lucky Guardsman" obtained the command. Only a very short time, however, elapsed before officers and men discovered that he was one of the best soldiers in the army, and his reputation extended beyond the limits of his brigade to every regiment in the field. The Light Division hailed his accession to the command on the second and final retirement of Sir George Brown with the liveliest satisfaction, for he had won the confidence of the men by coolness and unexaggerated intrepidity in the field, and had gained the affection of the officers by his amenity and kind manners. Although no one regretted that General Simpson had ceased to be Commander-in-Chief of this army, all felt sorrow for the circumstances under which the veteran resigned his command. His simplicity of manners and singleness of mind never failed to conciliate the regard, if not the respect and admiration, of those around him; but he failed in determination and firmness in a matter of vital importance to our army when opposed to a sterner will, greater vehemence, and force of character. Such an error in judgment, or rather such weakness, was especially culpable in the Commander-in-Chief of an army situated as our own has been. The General was a victim to writing, like his predecessor. He was more of a clerk than a General. Now, is it the Horse-Guards which enforces all this scrivenery? If the army cannot be commanded without all these forms and returns, let us have, in future, a writing General, and a fighting General. It certainly was not despatch-writing which consumed our Generals' time hitherto, for those documents were always brief enough. [Sidenote: DIVIDED COUNCILS.] Again we were suffering from the evils of divided councils, Allied armies, and telegraphic instructions. Sir Edmund Lyons was not a man to let the grass grow under his feet; but one foot he could not move, for he was tied by the leg, just as he was when he in vain opposed the famous flank march on Balaklava, and advocated a rush at the town ere the enemy could have recovered from the effects of their dismay. We were necessitated to act in concert with our Allies, and the rule seemed to be that neither France nor England should act independently of the other, but that they might act as they pleased respecting the Sardinians or the Turks. There is always a want of decision and energy in Allied councils, and even Marlborough and Eugene had to regret that no two men can take precisely the same view of all the parts and accidents of any single matter. General Simpson ever evinced the utmost readiness to accede to Marshal Pelissier's suggestions, or to any proposition made by either generals or admirals of character and experience, so that no obstacle to any energetic steps arose from him, but if he wished to march against the enemy he could not have done so without the co-operation of Marshal Pelissier. It was doubtful if the French much out-numbered us in strength, but they certainly did generally preponderate, and at this time take the lead in military operations, either by land or sea. A siege is at all times rather demoralizing and destructive to discipline. The siege of Sebastopol was so to a considerable degree, because to the ordinary influences of such operations the effects of a winter's campaign were superadded. Most of the old soldiers were used up; and the bulk of our regiments contained an undue proportion of recruits. To see a body of our soldiers coming back from the roads in the evening--to mark their careless air--listen to their loud voices in the ranks as they tramped through the dust--one would scarcely think them capable of being turned out as a clean, smart regiment at ten minutes' notice. They were often clad on such occasions in coarse and rather dirty fatigue-suits of grey linen, and, but for their forage-caps with the regimental numbers, they would not look, to any lounger in Hyde Park or the Phoenix, like those British soldiers, all kempt and compact as they usually are presented to the public gaze at home, whom they are accustomed to see. The officers, too, often mere boys or young lads not long from England, rode or marched along with the men, without adding much to their martial aspect. The latter either sang a quick march-song in chorus, or whistled some air to keep the step. Such high spirits were pleasant to see, but occasionally the march became too noisy and riotous to suit the notions of a strict disciplinarian; old soldiers did not commit these irregularities, but young recruits who had seen little of military life, and who scarcely knew what drill was, were apt to exceed the bounds of decorum and military rule when they found themselves free from parades, and field-days, and inspections, and put to work on the roads like labourers. The extraordinary fineness of the weather all this time afforded a daily reproach to the inactivity of our armies. Within one day of the first anniversary of that terrible 14th of November, which will never be forgotten by those who spent it on the plateau of Sebastopol, the air was quite calm. From the time the expedition returned from Kinburn not one drop of rain fell, and each day was cloudless, sunny, and almost too warm. The mornings and nights, however, began to warn us that winter was impending. It is certainly to be regretted that the Admirals could not have undertaken their expedition against Kaffa, for the only ostensible obstacle to the enterprise was the weather, and our experience and traditions of the year before certainly suggested extreme caution ere we ventured upon sending a flotilla, filled with soldiers, on such an awful coast, even for the very short passage to Theodosia. BOOK IX. THE WINTER--POSITION OF THE FRENCH--THE TURKISH CONTINGENT--PREPARATIONS FOR THE NEXT CAMPAIGN--THE ARMISTICE--THE PEACE AND THE EVACUATION. CHAPTER I. Anniversaries--An Explosion--Casualties--Terrible Scene--Cause of the Catastrophe--Accident in the Redan--Samuel Goodram--Love of Fighting--Contrast between the Years 1854 and 1855--The Flank March--Mistakes in the first Instance--Russian Troops--The Sports of Sebastopol. The month of November would seem to have been ruled by some genius unfavourable to our arms. If it gave to us the glorious remembrance of a profitless and bloody victory, it also brought with it a day of disaster and gloom--the beginning of a long series of calamities. The first anniversary of that day passed away amid mutual congratulations and reminiscences, rendered all the more joyous by the contrast between the present and the past. We had beheld a spectacle of unusual splendour and grandeur, one indeed which no native of these isles has ever yet witnessed, so far as I am aware. On the 14th of November, 1855, the purity of the air--the health of the troops--the abundance of stores--the excellence of the roads--the quantity of hutting--the hospital accommodation--the fineness of the day--the beauty of the sky--the dryness of the soil--the prospects of the army--the bright-hued future: all these were contrasted by a myriad tongues in endless difference of phrase, coloured by many a recollection of personal suffering. There was no sorrow, no calamity could reach us now, and of all things which fate could grant us, most of all were we desirous of meeting that alone with which fate seemed to threaten us--an assault by the enemy. But, suddenly, up from the very centre of our camp, so that every ear should hear and every eye should see, rushed with such a crash as may forewarn the world of its doom, and with such a burst of flame and smoke as may never yet have been seen by man, except in the throes of some primeval eruption, a ghastly pillar of sulphureous vapour. It spread as it rose, bearing aloft for hundreds of yards men, horses, fragments of limbs, rocks, shells, and cannon-shot, and then extended its folds in writhing involutions, as though it were tortured by the fire within, raining them down over the astounded soldiery below! For a moment the boldest lost heart, and "the bravest held his breath." There was no safety in flight--the wings of the wind could not have left that dreadful shower of iron behind; and as one of the most collected and cool soldiers in the army said to me, "I had only presence of mind to throw myself on the ground and ask the forgiveness of God, and I received his mercy!" In fact, the effect resembled some great convulsion of nature. Many thought it was an earthquake; others fancied it was the outburst of a volcano; others, that the Russians had got hold of Lord Dundonald's invention, and that they had just given it a first trial. Indeed, one officer said to another, as soon as he recovered breath and could speak, "I say, that's a nice sort of thing, is it not? The sooner we go after that the better." He was persuaded the Russians had thrown some new and unheard-of instrument of destruction into the camp. I was riding from head-quarters, reading my letters, and had just reached the hill, or elevated part of the plateau, at the time, and happened to be looking in the very direction of the park when the explosion took place. The phenomena were so startling as to take away one's breath. Neither pen nor pencil could describe them. The earth shook. The strongest houses rocked to and fro. Men felt as if the very ground upon which they stood was convulsed by an earthquake. The impression of these few moments can never be eradicated. One's confidence in the stability of the very earth was staggered. _Suppositos incedimus ignes._ What part of the camp was safe after such a catastrophe? The rush of fire, smoke, and iron, in one great pillar, attained a height I dare not estimate, and then seemed to shoot out like a tree, which over-shadowed half the camp on the right, and rained down missiles upon it. The colour of the pillar was dark grey, flushed with red, but it was pitted all over with white puffs of smoke, which marked the explosions of the shells. It retained the shape of a fir-tree for nearly a minute, and then the sides began to swell out and the overhanging canopy to expand and twist about in prodigious wreaths of smoke, which flew out to the right and left, and let drop, as it were from solution in its embrace, a precipitate of shells, carcasses, and iron projectiles. The noise was terrible; and when the shells began to explode, the din was like the opening crash of one of the great cannonades or bombardments of the siege. I clapped spurs to my horse and rode off as hard as I could towards the spot as soon as my ears had recovered the shock. As I rode along I could see thousands hurrying away from the place, and thousands hastening to it. The smoke became black; the fire had caught the huts and tents. General Windham overtook me, riding from head-quarters as hard as he could go. He was ignorant of the cause and locality of the explosion, and was under the impression that it was one of the French redoubts. Sir Richard Airey followed close after him, and General Codrington rode towards the fire a few minutes afterwards. [Sidenote: THE GREAT EXPLOSION.] On arriving close to the place, I saw that the ground had been torn up in all directions. The fragments of shell were still smoking, and shells were bursting around in most unpleasant proximity. Captain Piggott, in a short time, came up with the ambulances at a gallop, and urged the horses through the flames and amid the exploding shell in order to render assistance to the sufferers; and in this arduous duty he was manfully and courageously assisted by Surgeons Alexander, Muir, Mouat, and others. As we were all looking on at the raging fire, an alarm spread that the mill used as a powder magazine had caught fire. A regular panic ensued--horses and men tore like a storm through the camp of the Second Division. I did not escape the contagion, but, at my servant's solicitation, mounted my horse, and rode off like the rest. I soon came up to Colonel Percy Herbert, who was actively engaged in trying to get the men of his Division under arms, but he told me he could find neither drummers, buglers, officers, nor sergeants. The panic was soon over. The mill did not catch, though the roof and doors and windows were blown in. The officers, in the most devoted way, stripped, and placed 300 wet blankets over the powder inside just as the flames were raging behind the mill and at the side of it within 200 yards. Hundreds of rockets rushed hissing and bursting through the air, sheets of flame shot up from exploding powder, carcasses glared out fiercely through black clouds of smoke, and shells burst, tossing high in air burning beams of wood and showers of sparks, and boxes of small-arm ammunition exploded with a rattling report like musketry, and flew about in little balls of fire. My reading in military matters is not sufficient to enable me to say, with any confidence, that there never was so terrible an explosion; but having witnessed and heard the explosions at Pavlovskaia and Kertch, at Oczakoff, of the French magazines on the 17th of October, 1854, and of the Russian forts on the 9th of September, 1855, I must say that, in volume of sound, in appalling effect, they were far exceeded in vehemence and grandeur by this tremendously abrupt and startling catastrophe. The quantity of Russian powder which went up was about 1,700 barrels, and there were about 800 barrels of French powder exploded in the three magazines. Each barrel contained about 100lb. weight of gunpowder, so that the total quantity which furnished the elements of this prodigious combustion cannot have been less than 250,000lb. But in addition to that enormous mass of powder there were vast mounds of shell, carcasses, rockets, and small-arm ammunition, contributing to the intensity and violence of the fiery blast. Appalling as was the shock to those who were near, the effect was little diminished by distance. The roar and concussion were so great in Balaklava that the ships in harbour, and outside at anchor, trembled and quivered, and the houses shook to their foundations. The ships at Kamiesch and Kazatch reeled and rolled from side to side. Mules and horses, seven and eight miles away, broke loose, and galloped across the country, wild with fright. The noise pealed through the passes at Baidar like the loudest thunder. The sense of hearing was quite deadened in many persons, and their nervous systems have not yet recovered the shock, so that any sudden noise startles them. The French had 6 officers killed and 13 wounded; 65 of their men, mostly of the artillery, were killed, and 170 wounded, of whom many will never recover. The destruction in money value of articles appertaining to the siege-train was very great. But when we came to men--to those gallant fellows who had survived the battles and the dangers of the campaign--our loss was irreparable. What value could be placed on those noble artillerymen of the siege-train who, with little praise or encouragement, stood by their guns in so many bombardments, and who had acquired skill, practice, and hardihood in the greatest siege the world ever saw? The casualties in the Light Division were as follows:-- 7th Fusiliers, 1 killed, 12 wounded; 19th Regiment, 9 wounded; 23rd Fusiliers, 2 killed, 6 wounded; 33rd Regiment, 2 killed, 13 wounded; 34th Regiment, 1 killed, 14 wounded; 77th Regiment, 3 killed, 6 wounded; 88th Regiment, 2 wounded; 90th Regiment, 1 wounded; Rifle Brigade, 1 killed, 6 wounded; total 10 killed, 69 wounded. [Sidenote: SUPPOSED CAUSE OF THE EXPLOSION.] The Right Siege Train suffered as severely--seven poor fellows were buried the first night, and the bodies of three more artillerymen were so torn and scattered that their remains could not be collected for interment. To this loss of ten must be added that of seven artillerymen "missing." The total of the casualties in the train amounted to fifty-two. Mr. Yellon, Deputy Assistant-Commissary of the field train, a most active, zealous officer, whose name was mentioned along with that of Mr. Hayter in Colonel St. George's despatch, was blown to pieces. Lieutenant Roberts had his left arm broken, and was severely burnt; Lieutenant Dawson lost his leg above the ankle from a dead shell, which struck him as he was in the act of carrying off a live shell from the park to a place of safety. The legs, arms, and trunks of men were blown into the camps of the Rifle Brigade and of the 34th Regiment, on the extreme right of the Light Division. I saw lying amid a heap of ruins, of old iron stores, rubbish, shot, splinters of shell and beams of wood, a man's arm scorched and burnt black, on which the tattered pieces of clothing retained the traces of a sergeant's gold stripes. The dead were terrible to look upon; but the living in their agony were still more frightful. I solemnly declare, that from the lips of none of these mutilated masses which I saw stretched out in long rows in every hospital did I hear either groan or sigh. No sound escaped them, as those who could see rolled their sad orbs and gazed upon the stranger, except in one instance, when an involuntary expression of pain was uttered by a poor French soldier in the hospital of the 23rd, where he had been trepanned, and was all but beyond the reach of his misery. Although the Russians have been justly praised for their endurance of pain, I must say I never beheld them submit to such tortures as our men experienced. As I looked upon the shattered frames before me, in which such noble spirits were enshrined, I could not but remember the howls of a Russian corporal, at Kinburn, who had been wounded in the heel. The surgeons displayed the greatest courage and kindness, and every man was at his post in the midst of fire and shell. Drs. Muir, Watt, Mouat, and Longmore particularly distinguished themselves. Marshal Pelissier named a commission of inquiry to report upon the cause of the disastrous accident. Our men declared, of course, that it was the work of an incendiary. General Codrington seemed to give credence to the report, inasmuch as he ordered the army to turn out an hour before daybreak, to be prepared for the Russians if they really had calculated on crippling us. The manner in which this great disaster was caused is said to have been this:--Some French artillerymen were engaged in shifting powder from case to case in the park, and as the operation is rather dangerous, every precaution was taken to prevent accidents. The powder was poured from one case into the other through copper funnels, and no fire was allowed near the place where the men were so employed. As one of the soldiers was pouring the powder out of a case he perceived a fragment of shell gliding out of it into the funnel, and, not wishing to let it get into the other case, he jerked the funnel to one side; the piece of shell fell on the stones, which were covered with loose powder, and is supposed to have struck fire in its fall, for the explosion took place at once. Miraculous as it may appear, this artilleryman, who was, as it were, in the focus of the explosion, escaped alive, being only slightly burnt and scorched. His comrade, who held the other case was blown to atoms. Another strange incident was the death of the French commandant of artillery for the day. He was near the park at the time of the explosion, and as soon as he had seen everything in order, he went off to have a look at the French batteries in and about Sebastopol, on which the Russians had just opened a heavy fire. As he rode along, a cannon-shot struck off his head. The escapes were astounding.--Clothes were torn off men's backs; the chairs or beds on which they sat, the tables at which they were eating, the earth on which they stood, were broken and torn by shot, shell, rocket-irons, shrapnell, grape, canister, and musket-balls, which literally rained down upon them. The distance to which fragments flew exceeds belief. It is difficult to explain it by mere names of localities. One piece of shell flew over Cathcart's Hill; another killed a horse in New Kadikoi. Some struck men and horses in the Guards' camp. In the Land Transport Corps of the Light Division fourteen horses were killed and seventeen were wounded. One flew over my hut; another struck the ground close to it; another went into the camp of the Land Transport Corps behind it. Mrs. Seacole, who keeps a restaurant near the Col, avers that a piece of stone struck her door, which is three and a half or four miles from the park. Pieces struck and damaged the huts in New Kadikoi. There had been some warnings of the dangers of carelessness already. The day before the explosion Samuel Goodram, No. 6 Company, Coldstreams, a soldier of the same regiment, and a sergeant, were on duty in the Redan; the two men went into one of the casemates to remove powder and rubbish, while the sergeant remained outside. Scarcely had the men entered before an explosion took place. Goodram was blown into the air, and then buried amid fragments of gabions and falling earth, and both men were buried in the Guards' cemetery next day. I am the more particular in giving names, that I may relate an anecdote of Goodram at the attack on the Redan. The night before the attack, the Coldstreams were on duty, and were relieved some hours before the assault. On arriving at camp, Samuel Goodram was missing; and it was feared that he had gone away to indulge in potations, or had been hit as he came from the trenches. But this gallant soldier had remained behind from a pure love of fighting, and from a desire "to have a go in at the Roosians." Knowing that the assault would take place in a few hours, Goodram, as the regiment mustered and marched off, had secreted himself in the trenches, and employed his leisure time before his comrades left in filling the breast of his coat and every available place about his person with cartridges from their boxes, fearing that his private supply of fifty rounds would fail him before he had got his fill of fighting. When the storming party was advancing from the fifth parallel, Goodram appeared, rifle in hand, and joined it as a volunteer, and his regiment claim him as being the first private soldier in the Redan on that memorable day. He was twice driven out of the Redan, and was over and over again engaged individually with the Russians, and in these encounters he received two wounds--one in the side and one in the arm--but still kept up a fire when driven back by the last rush of the enemy's infantry, and forced over the parapet with the rest of our men into the ditch. Instead, however, of retiring with the others, as opportunity offered, and keeping in the ditch or getting under cover in the parallels, Goodram made an impromptu rifle-pit on the broken glacis outside the ditch, and there he maintained his fire on the enemy till his ammunition became exhausted, and his wounds so painful that he could no longer use his rifle. Then he shouldered his arms and marched stiffly up through the trenches and across the open space till he reported himself to his regiment. He was, I believe, tried for being absent without leave and for stealing his comrades' cartridges, but Minos himself could not have condemned a soldier like this to any severe punishment for a crime which Minos's jurymen would have called heroic. [Sidenote: RETROSPECTS] CHAPTER II. The Situation--Retrospects. Either the year 1854 was remarkable in the annals of the Crimea for its severity, or we enjoyed a season of exceptional mildness in 1855. Storms lowered over us and passed away; dark skies threatened us and melted into floods of golden sunbeams. The wind seemed alone to be busied in tossing the French steamers at sea and keeping the mail late, in which it succeeded very effectually, so that our letters were behind time with the greatest regularity. The country was open in every direction to carriage, man, or beast; the trenches were dry; in fact, the weather presented contrasts of endless variety to that which prevailed the year before, and afforded ground for infinite speculation and comment. There was no reason, however, to suppose that the English army would have had much reason to congratulate itself on the fact that the clemency of the season had averted the evils which want of roads, excessive fatigue, and a false position would have entailed upon them, inasmuch as it is certain the bad weather paralyzed the enemy, cut off their reserves, impeded their transport of food and of reinforcements, and prevented their making another attempt--not at Inkerman, of which, they had to their cost learnt the strength, but from the Traktir bridge, or at some point of the Tchernaya then in their possession, from which they could have debouched into the plain of Balaklava, and made a grand attack on the rear of our lines. Although those lines had been greatly strengthened, and the profile altered and improved, they were far from being perfect or unassailable. In November, when rumours to the effect that the Russians were gathering a force towards Baidar, with the intention of assaulting us, prevailed, the country between Tchongar, Perekop, and Simpheropol was, however, in such a state that it was with the utmost difficulty the garrison of Sebastopol could be fed, and very strong reinforcements were kept for weeks waiting at Odessa, Nicholaieff, and Cherson, till the spring of 1855. But for these impediments, the Russians would have had a prodigious army about Sebastopol early in December, 1854, and if they had been indisposed to try another Inkerman, they could certainly have pressed us much harder in the trenches, and wearied our men by strong and repeated sorties. At times it was difficult for even a single battalion to march from the army of the Belbeck or Mackenzie's Farm into the city, or to effect the usual reliefs. If to these considerations be added the notorious sentiments and opinions of persons high in authority, who advocated _the abandonment of the siege_,[31] and the retreat of the army from the Crimea after the battle of Inkerman, it will be seen that our prospects would not have been much better had weather like that we enjoyed in the latter part of 1855 prevailed last winter. The inconvenience to which the famous flank march subjected the army became more apparent every day after the failure of the first bombardment. The flank march was opposed, or was viewed with disfavour, by officers of great authority, and by one whose sagacity and skill are seldom deceived in military operations, although he is not a soldier, and does not command on land.[32] The descent on the Crimea itself was a bold stroke; it was the first step towards the capture of Sebastopol. The battle of the Alma left the approach to the city open to us whenever we liked. Prince Menschikoff's flank march to Bakshiserai and Simpheropol, although somewhat ridiculed at the time, is now considered a judicious and daring movement, but it certainly uncovered the north of Sebastopol, the Tchernaya, and Balaklava; and as it was determined by our generals to abandon the dashing character of the expedition, and to assume for our operations a strategical character, to which they had no previous pretensions, we were obliged to look out for harbours, and the inlets of Balaklava, Kamiesch, and Kasatch met the eye and fixed our destiny. Then came the period during which, without let or hindrance, or attempt at interference or prevention, the Russians were allowed to recover from their alarm and flock back to Sebastopol, under the direction of a man of extraordinary genius. Then they began the rudiments of the vast works which baffled our efforts for eleven long months of trial, suffering, and bloodshed, heroically endured and overcome. [Sidenote: WINTER ARRANGEMENTS.] It is now perceived that if the advice of Sir George Cathcart had been followed, the city might have been ours by a vigorous assault on the day after we arrived on the plateau. The ships alone could never have defended the place, and the greater portion of the feeble garrison, such as it was, consisted of the _equipages_, or crews, of those very ships. The enemy, when they retreated to the north side, would have been as impotent as they were when they had crossed over in the autumn of 1855, and Sebastopol, in all its beauty, and with all its vast stores and riches, would have been in our possession. That is the hypothesis as to the result of vigorous action from the south side. But had we approached the city from the north side, there can be no doubt that the forts would speedily have fallen; the fire of the shipping could have affected our operations but very slightly, and the only inconvenience would have been the want of a harbour at which to land siege-trains and stores, in case any mishap prevented the army carrying the place. The anchorage is good all along the coast up to Eupatoria, and, except on the great gale of the 14th of November, no damage would have occurred to our merchantmen or men of war riding off the coast. The mouths of the Katcha, or even of the Belbek, when the fire of the battery which just reached the latter was reduced, could have been made available for landing such stores and _matériel_ as we required. With the northern forts, the whole city of Sebastopol and the remainder of the fleet would have been ours;[33] our army could have reposed on its laurels for the winter in an impregnable position; a year would have been saved in the war; and the Crimea would have been cleared of the Russians early in the spring of 1855. Such is the hypothesis respecting operations from the north side; such were the discussions which arose in the army when it had rested from its labours and saw a vanquished enemy gathering strength in a position which appeared impregnable or unassailable. The Russian General must have been a man of extraordinary confidence if he thought that on the return of spring he could have extricated his army from the grasp of an enemy which clutched the whole of his coast, was established at two points in his rear, and had four distinct bases of operation, with sufficient troops to use them all, and to concentrate a prodigious force on any point he pleased. The Russian infantry, in spite of its stubborn endurance and passive courage, is not equal to either French, Sardinian, English, or Turkish troops. Every day showed us that it had no chance even against the latter when they were led and officered by Englishmen or brave and skilful European soldiers. Their cavalry, in equal numbers, will be ridden down like grass whenever they stand against English or French squadrons; and notwithstanding the excellence of their artillery, compared with other arms of their service, it cannot compete with ours as regards rapidity of motion or precision of fire. In reference to future operations I wrote at this time some remarks, which even now are not uninteresting. I said:--"Prince Gortschakoff will be a grand strategist opposed to very weak generals if he succeeds in saving his army and marching them scatheless from the Crimea. The health of our troops is excellent; the draughts which arrive are rather younger than is desirable, but they will obtain experience and instruction during the winter. They are admirably clothed, and fed as no army was ever fed before--fresh meat, bread, and vegetables are issued to all. Henceforth the men are to receive fresh meat _only_ three times a week, and bread _only_ three times a week, instead of every day. On the other days they will have pork or salt beef, and excellent biscuit. In respect of winter clothing, hutting, and feeding, our men are immeasurably better off than our Allies, and it is not unusual to see the latter eating in the English camp of the excess of our soldiers' cooking kettles. Little friendships have sprung up in this way. 'Franceese' comes over with his spoon, a smile, an onion, and a bit of salt, or a savoury condiment, to some sapper or grenadier, day after day, about dinner-time, indulges in pantomimic conversation, interlarded with many 'bonos,' and regales on good soup and broth, to the great delight of his entertainer. Thus both are satisfied--a true _entente cordiale_ is established through the medium of the stomach, and no one is a loser. The reinforcements to our ally contain, like our own, many very young men, and I was particularly struck with the youthful appearance of the men of a regiment which arrived at Kamiesch on Monday." It is somewhat mortifying to add that all speculations on the probable conduct of the war were rendered abortive by the peace, which left Russia in military possession of the north side of Sebastopol. [Sidenote: DECORATIONS OF THE HUTS.] Whilst the army was waiting patiently till spring should give it freedom of action, it set itself to work to provide for the winter. The spoils of Sebastopol materially contributed to our comfort and efficiency in this respect. Kitchen-ranges, boilers, iron-bars, Stourbridge bricks--I had some in a chimney built into the side of my hut, which were marked "Harpers, Stourbridge"--ovens, brass, iron, and copper stoves, pots and pans, flues, kettles, and hundreds of similar articles, were seized and utilized with wonderful tact. Fine well-built cook-houses were constructed from the cut stone of Sebastopol, which was found in large blocks around unfinished houses or was taken from the ruined edifices and walls about the place. Mechanical ingenuity was largely developed in the adaption of materials. One officer converted the funnel of a small steamer into a chimney; another used one of the pipes of an engine as a hot-air apparatus to heat his hut; a third arranged a portion of machinery so that he could communicate from his salon, sleeping-room, and dining-room (three single gentlemen rolled into one), with his cook in the adjacent kitchen, and dinner was handed through direct from the fire to the table, after the fashion of those mysterious apparatus which obey the behests of London waiters in the matter of roast meats, boiled beefs, and their satellites. Many officers distinguished themselves by the trouble they took in showing the men how to make themselves comfortable. The number of those employed on the roads and in various other ways rendered it difficult to get on with these works, and in many cases the officers were unable to complete their huts for want of wood and labour, and the unfinished walls stood in grim ruin here and there about the camp. Wood, canvas, little bits of glass, tar and pitch, and, above all, nails and tacks, were eagerly sought after. At the headquarters' sale, on General Simpson's departure, a hammer, hatchet, and saw sold for £2 15_s._ A bag of nails was disposed of by auction the same week for 40_s._, and on counting the contents it was found there were only 130 nails in the bag. Friendly little felonies of planking and such things were not unheard of, and the greatest favour you could do a friend was "to let him have a piece of board about six feet long by a foot wide;" or "The Captain says, sir, as how he'd be very grateful if you could give him a bit of glass about three inches square, sir, for his winder." The heart soon grew hardened under constant pressure, and one was at last obliged to refuse "a couple of tenpenny nails" or "the loan of a hammer for an hour" with the sternness of a Brutus. Pictures of saints, the erotic scripture pieces, in which the Muscovites delight, fat Potiphar's wives and garmentless Josephs, very plump Susannahs and very withered elders, and "subjects" of the kind, as well as straight-backed uncomfortable arm-chairs of walnut, heavy tables, and chests of drawers, were not uncommon in the officers' tents. Cats from Sebastopol abounded in camp, and were very useful, inasmuch as the huts were overrun with rats and mice, not to speak of other small deer, which disappeared before the march of King Frost. Dogs came in from the deserted city, and domesticated themselves, whether you would or not. There were always an odd half-dozen about my hut and tent, which made night hideous with their quarrels--greyhounds, mastiffs, and sheep-dogs, and their descendants, of very mixed and indistinct types; and for two whole days my peace was menaced by a huge double-humped Bactrian camel, which took a fancy to the space before the door of my hut and lay there constantly, so that our legs as we went out and in were within easy reach of his prodigious teeth. But he was a good-natured brute, and never attempted to bite unless one tried to mount him, when he disgorged his food, and spat it out at the assailant or snapped his jaws at him _in terrorem_. However, no one was sorry when he heard that the "ship of the desert" had got under way owing to the deposit of a piece of live coal and some matches on his back, and had sailed off on a piratical excursion against other infidel habitations. There were, however, thefts committed in camp more serious than those of planks or nails. Blankets were not safe those chilly nights on horses in outlying stables, and the regiments that came back from Kinburn found their huts broken into and robbed on their return. The officers' furniture and clothing were gone. On three occasions this week my horses were turned loose, and on two they were deprived of their blankets and clothing: a spade and a hatchet were stolen from the outside of the hut, and the thieves entered the stables of the Land Transport Corps of the division close at hand, turned some horses loose, and stole their blankets. Geese arrived at a fair state of obesity, or turkeys and fowls, were not safe for a moment, and it was almost impossible to identify the robbers. The Sardinian officers who visited our ambulances declared that they were superior to the French, and took much interest in the cases of conservative surgery, which exhibited great skill and professional knowledge. In some instances, the elbow-joint having been injured, the surgeon made clean surfaces on the bones of the lower and upper arms, cut away the fractured pieces, and then brought the surfaces together, and the bones joined by a false joint, or by a sort of ligamentous union, making a stiff short arm indeed, but with a serviceable hand attached to it. The principle was extended to other injuries of limbs, and was never, perhaps, adopted to such an extent in the field as it was by our English army surgeons. CHAPTER III. Four Months of Winter--Situation of my Hut--Warm Clothing--Useful Works--The Electric Telegraph--Crimean Mud again--Spirit Vendors--Drainage--Railway Works--A Sight of the Enemy--Criticisms by Civilians--Omar Pasha's Expedition. There were now four months of winter before us, and the drill-sergeant was busy all day. Every camp resounded to his voice and to the tramp of the awkward squad. Recruits had little time to spend in idleness and drinking, and steps were taken to provide soldiers with the means of reading, which they so much needed and enjoyed in the long winter nights. Why could not Government have been a little more liberal in the matter of candles? The issue of light was one ration to every twelve men--that is, one ration for each tent or sergeant's guard. Now, good Public, do you know what one ration consists of? It is just _two-thirds of an ounce_ of sperm candle, or two ounces of tallow candle--that is, of a bit very like what economic housewives are familiar with under the name of "save-alls." No one need ever say, "Put out the light" in a British camp, for the candle is not lit very long before it dies of its own accord. An officer receives the same ration as is given to twelve men, but he can afford to buy candles, and if he is a field-officer his rations are increased, on the principle, I suppose, that there is more necessity for his keeping wide awake than exists in the case of a subaltern. The libraries were well filled with books, but there was little time to use them by day, and it fell dark before six o'clock; twelve men were not likely to make much progress in a novel, a tract, or an entertaining miscellany by the aid of two-thirds of an ounce of candle. They clubbed their little pieces of candle together, and resorted to many ingenious devices for keeping the lights in. Some of them, like the Russian or Dutch sailors at Spitzbergen, of whose very uncomfortable residence we all have read, used the extra fat of mutton in lamps, but in general they were obliged to purchase what extra candles they required. And all this time there were the canteens alight till an hour or more after "retreat." We had "ball" at Kamiesch, which were distinguished by remarkably good conduct on the part of all present. There were hotels established at Kamiesch, and restaurants, at which excellent fare was to be had at high but not extravagant prices. [Sidenote: THE BALAKLAVA RAILWAY.] My hut commanded a view of a considerable portion of the plateau at the other side of the Tchernaya, and overlooked the spurs at Mackenzie's Farm, the Russian encampments at Inkerman, and between it and the Lower Belbek; from the windows, the movements of the enemy were plainly visible in moderately clear weather. On the 23rd of November we observed the whole of the enemy in motion along the plateau, and from an early hour in the morning till two o'clock in the afternoon their battalions were marching to and fro, but it was evident they were only changing their troops, and that the regiments which left Mackenzie were replaced by regiments from the camp in the rear. The new comers at the spur huts seemed to be dressed better, to be taller men, and to wear darker coats than those who were relieved by them, and that appearance gave rise to the notion that the troops so close to us belonged to the Imperial Guard. Their various camps were rapidly losing the look of snowy neatness of canvas, and were being converted into dingy rows of huts. We could see their telegraphs at work with the greatest facility, and I could make out the flags with my glass. It was a pity one could not have got the Imperial Code Book of Signals and a dictionary. During November excellent warm clothing was issued to the men, and so uniform was it in style that no one could distinguish officers from men, unless by the difference of style and bearing. Our Allies were astonished at the profuseness of our military wardrobe, which not only contained a waterproof suit, helmet and all, but fur coats and caps, cowhide boots, tweed coats lined with cat or rabbit skin, &c., and for the officers, suits of sealskin, sold at moderate prices. The French only received from their Government an ordinary cloth capote, and were obliged to buy any waterproofs or furs which they found necessary. The roads indeed, even then, when we had no trenches, no prospects of an attack, no want of labour--the roads were even then objects of much interest to us all. The whistling locomotives on the railway--the "Alliance," the "Victory"--which recalled to us the familiar sounds of Wolverhampton or of Swindon, and made us believe for the moment that we were in a civilized country, were not to be taken as material guarantees for the possession of material comforts in the coming winter. Mr. Beatty, with small means at his command, placed the railway on an excellent basis, as far as wood, iron, and stone could secure it.[34] The soundness of his judgment in laying out the line was confirmed by Mr. Doyne's adoption of a course very nearly parallel to it throughout for the grand main road between Balaklava and the camp. Mr. Beatty was obliged to retire from a post in which he rendered services not only to the army collectively, but to many individuals in it, who will always retain a deep sense of his kindness and friendly assistance in times of domestic difficulty about huts and transports, in consequence of ill-health, which not long after proved fatal to him. Mr. Doyne, after careful examination, found that it would require much less labour to make a new and good road between Balaklava and Kadikoi by a different route, than to attempt to repair the old one while the traffic was passing over it. Accordingly, a main drain was cut down the centre of the valley, running into the head of Balaklava harbour, to intercept all water flowing from the east of it, and free the road and railway drains rapidly from the rain-water. The road was made parallel to the railway, the material over which it passed being deep, spongy, vegetable soil, easily drained in its natural state, but very retentive if worked up under wet; drains four feet deep were cut at forty feet apart, and the surface between rounded to a foot higher at the centre. Cross-drains were cut at every forty-four yards, connecting main-drains, and the large stone pitching, twenty-eight feet wide, was filled in with smaller stones, and afterwards macadamized. Before laying on the pitching, the whole traffic of the camp was turned over the formed surface for five days to beat it down, and to consolidate it, a strong force of navvies being employed in the morning and evening to keep up the proper form. This course proved perfectly successful--the surface was quite smooth when the metalling was laid on, and consequently the rain ran freely off without penetrating the soil. On this section there was laid down about 13,000 tons of hard limestone pitching and metalling on a length of one mile. From Kadikoi to the stationary engine the old road up the Vinoy ravine was so steep (1 in 12), and thus liable to be washed away, and the ground over which the down line was prepared to pass was so bad (in some places 1 in 7), that Mr. Doyne determined to abandon both, and to make a new road, round the eastern base of Frenchman's Hill, nearly parallel with the railway, and Sir Richard Airey gave his assent to the change. Here for a considerable distance the road was terraced out in the hill-side, formed of hard carboniferous limestone rock, and a clear metalled roadway was obtained from twenty to twenty-five feet wide throughout. In the next section, to Mrs. Seacole's hut, the old French road was widened, deep drains cut, the centre raised, and a deep coat of limestone metalling laid on. [Sidenote: THE DOYNE ROAD.] In the next section, up to the Col, the ground again sloped very rapidly, and the road was terraced out for a mile, partly in rock, sandstone, and clay, and was then formed and metalled as before. From Balaklava to the Col the chief difficulty to be contended with in maintaining a road was the numerous courses of water which came down the hill-sides. To protect the road against this, trenches were cut on the upper side, zig-zagging according to the line of the ground, so as to intercept the water and convey it into large culverts constructed under the road at every dip in the undulation of the hill. Thus no water could get upon the road except that which actually fell upon its surface, and that small quantity was rapidly carried away into the side-drains. To relieve a road in every way from the destructive action of water, both by sub and surface drainage, is the first principle of road-making; without attention to this, any amount of labour will prove fruitless. From Balaklava to the Col, about three miles and a half, the works throughout were of a very heavy character, and the provisions for drainage were upon an extensive scale; besides about ten miles of open ditching, there were between 150 and 200 culverts constructed; from the great want of materials these were formed in every variety of way--many with Army Works Corps' water-barrels, some with Commissariat pork-casks, others with Royal Engineer's fascines and green platform timber. But the work which required the greatest amount of labour was the metalling, there having been over this three and a half miles nearly 40,000 tons of hard limestone rock quarried, collected, and laid upon the road. Above the Col the main trunk proceeded over the plateau of Sebastopol, following nearly the direction of the railway, crossing the Woronzoff road up to the camp of the Light Division, on the extreme right. Here the difficulties were of a different character, and the surface and geographical formation changes from deep clay valleys and plains, and carboniferous limestone rock hills, to a comparatively uniform surface of a very plastic retentive clay; on examination, Mr. Doyne found this did not exceed an average of eighteen inches deep, and that underneath there is a light rubbly oolitic limestone rock, similar to that found in the neighbourhood of Stroud, in Gloucestershire. The whole of the clay was removed for a width of thirty-two feet, and a solid foundation was discovered, upon which the road was securely constructed by paving and metalling it with the parts of the oolite rocks which had become harder by exposure to the weather, and for the worst parts hard metal was brought from the other district. It was opened for traffic in forty-eight days from the time of its commencement. There was no gradient upon it worse than 1 in 17. I ventured to express an opinion almost immediately after the capture of the south side, that the enemy's preparations indicated the intention of wintering where they lay. It was not because St. Vladimir was converted in the Crimea that Prince Gortschakoff held Mackenzie's Farm and the plateau of the Belbek and Tchernaya. But he knew that until he was dislodged, the Allies were paralyzed, and that they could establish no safe basis of operations against Nicholaieff or Cherson while he was at Simpheropol, for it would be contrary to common sense to leave such an army in their rear and flank. He hoped, therefore, either to be able to hold the Crimea during the next campaign, or to be able to make such dispositions in the event of a great defeat as would ensure the safe retreat of his army to Perekop and Tchongar, and perhaps by a third road, of the existence of which across the Sivash there were very strong indications. The electric telegraph kindly aided him in establishing himself all the more securely, for the rumour of a Russian attack, to which it gave official weight, prevented the occupation of Kaffa and the destruction of Arabat that autumn. Talk of the harm done by newspaper correspondents compared with that which was done by the electric telegraph! The first expedition to Kertch, the despatch of the Highlanders to Eupatoria, and the expedition to Kaffa were all prevented by our electric batteries at London and Paris, and it is very questionable if they did not do the Allies more harm than the Russian guns. The French were, indeed, adverse to the Kaffa movement, and Admiral Bruat was, it appears, more especially opposed to it; but there is no reason to doubt that it would have been successful, and the occupation of that place and the destruction of Arabat would have most materially complicated the difficulty of the Russian position, and contributed to the strength of the Allies. The needy knife-grinder, had he been a resident in our camp during the last week of November, would not have been in possession of more abundant materials for anecdote than he was when he met Mr. Canning, several years ago, in the neighbourhood of Eton. We were all ankle-deep in mud. Ankle-deep! No! that would have been nothing! It would have been no great matter of complaint or grievance if we had had to deal with the ordinary material, so familiar to all Londoners, before the scavengers remove the formidable soft parapets which line the kerbstones after a day or two of rain. _That_ can be scraped off, cleaned, rubbed away, or washed out. This Crimean preparation nothing but long and persevering efforts, continually renewed, and combining all the former operations, could remove. It stuck in pasty clods to the shoes, and would insist on being brought into clean huts and tents to visit your friends. It had a great affection for straws, with which it succeeded in working itself up into a gigantic brick, somewhat underdone, in which condition it threatened to build your legs into the ground if you stood long enough in one place to give it a chance; and it mightily affected horseshoes also, and sucked them off, with a loud smack of relish, in those little ravines between rocky hill-sides in which it exercised the greatest influence. Literally and truly, it was like glue half boiled and spread over the face of the earth for the depth of several feet. It was no joke for a soldier to see his sleeping-place, in hut or tent, covered with this nasty slime; yet they could not be kept clean. Take but one step outside, and you were done for. The mud was lying in wait for you, and you just carried back as much on your feet as if you had walked a mile. Carts stuck immovably in the ground, or the wheels and axles flew into pieces from the strain of the horses and mules. [Sidenote: SOCIAL VULTURES.] The waste of property as of life in war is prodigious, and much of it seems unavoidable. I firmly believe that for three feet deep the whole of the quay at Balaklava, near the Commissariat landing-place, was at this time a concrete of corn. It was no uncommon thing to see a Croat or Turkish labourer waddling slowly along with a sack on his back, from which the corn descended in streams against his heels, till he arrived from the ship at the store, and then to behold him depositing the collapsed and flaccid bag on the heap with great gravity and satisfaction at his success in diminishing his load at every step. In the various Divisional Commissariat depôts an enormous loss of grain occurred from similar causes, and from shifting the sacks and the distribution of the rations. But it seemed to be impossible to prevent these losses, which were regarded as incidental to a state of war. Our authorities waged a war of extermination against spirit vendors, and, above all, against rakee importers. This villanous spirit inflamed men's brains and set them mad; it had all the abominable properties of fresh-run rum or new whisky, but it affected the nervous system more mischievously, and produced prostration, which frequently ended in death. It was dreadfully cheap, colourless like gin, with a taste of bad anisette and a fiery burning smack on the tongue, and was alcohol all but pure, with the exception of the adulteration, which contributes the flavour. The owners were compelled to start the poison into the sea, and then to leave the Crimea instanter. Every canteen-keeper or storekeeper on whose premises a drunken soldier was seen, no matter what the excuse might be, was fined £5 for each, and the Provost-Marshal had more money than he knew what to do with from this source alone. But they are a wealthy race, these social vultures--many of them king vultures--respectable birds of prey, with kempt plumage and decent demeanour--others mere "adjutants," dirty and predaceous. The sutlers of Kadikoi cared little for £5 fines while they could get 6_d._ a dozen for tacks, and 2_s._ a pound for lard _sub nomine_ butter, and they paid their taxes like lords, or rather much more willingly, now that the income-tax is pressing on the poor nobility. Taxes!--what is the man talking about? It is quite true, nevertheless. There was an unchartered corporation in the town of Kadikoi, with a Mayor and Aldermen, or Town Councillors, and a vigorous administrative staff that would astonish the elder brethren about Guildhall. They had a machinery of scavengers and the sewer-men, and they paid about £120 a month for keeping their city in order. But sutlers, and canteens, and provisions were of no use without roads, and the word was heard of oftener, and the thing thought of more than anything else, in the autumn of 1855. Notwithstanding the numerous good roads through the camps, there were exceedingly deep and heavy tracts to be traversed by thousands of animals under their burdens. There were two men to every three horses or mules, and it was scarcely possible for them to perform long marches, from the divisional camps to Balaklava and back again, and afterwards to attend to the animals and clean them properly. In some muddy pool or in some deep scarp on the hill-side the poor animal, which perhaps stood in uncovered stables all night, and was badly groomed, or not rubbed down at all, sank beneath its load and died there in lingering agony. No one was permitted to shoot these wretched creatures. I well remember the skeleton spectre of a wretched grey horse, with a sore back, which haunted Fourth Division camp for weeks before it fell into a ditch and died. It had been turned loose to live or perish, and it was a shocking sight to behold the dogs leaping up against it to lick its sores; but there it remained for days, with its legs drawn close together, and no one dared to put it out of pain. These spectacles recalled the terrors of the previous winter. Every one exclaimed, "How fortunate that Sebastopol has fallen! What should we have done had we to guard the trenches this winter!" Not that there could have been an equal amount of physical suffering, but that there would have been a great deal of unavoidable misery, and disease, and death incident on another winter's active operations, despite railroads, depôts, roads, warm clothing, and abundant food. It must not be supposed that there are no inconveniences in living in the open air during a Crimean winter. A bed with a lively little sewer intersecting it is not the most agreeable thing in winter time; but the camp view of such a catastrophe is that "it serves them right for not pitching their tents better." At the same time there were loud outcries against the new huts, and the letters "O.L.B.," with which they were marked, were said to mean "Officers' Leaky Bunks." It is considered that if the Government had sent out hammers, nails, planks, and felt, the men would have done much better. Early in December the siege artillery was ordered home--and the batteries were filled up to their full complement. The staff officers of the train returned to Woolwich. CHAPTER IV. A second Christmas in the Crimea--Festivities--Strength of the Russian Army in the Crimea--Exhaustion--Camp Followers--Stirring Incidents--Harbour Discipline--Russian Fire--Order of Merit--Destruction of the Docks--Plan of Proceeding--Grand Review of English Troops--Splendid Appearance of the Men. [Sidenote: THE SECOND CHRISTMAS.] The monotony of life in the huge military colony before Sebastopol was broken slightly by the appearance of the Russians on the heights of Ourkousta, and by some demonstrations of an intention on their part to try the strength of the French positions in the Baidar Valley. As the French retired in the presence of winter, the enemy threw forward their advanced posts at Koluluz and Markul to the north-east, and from Aitodor and Ozembash to the north of Baidar. On Sunday morning, the 9th of December, the Russians, with their feline aptitude for surprises, crept round the little village of Baga in the dark, and just at the dawn rushed in upon the small party of the French which occupied it. For a time the surprise was complete; but our gallant allies soon got together, and after a smart fusillade, drove out the enemy at the point of the bayonet. The Russians had many horsemen with them. In the pursuit of the Cossacks our Allies managed to capture some forty horses, for the former gentry fled by a road which in old times was good enough for a run, but they were astonished to find themselves stopped by a deep scarp at a pretty spot, where a wall of rock closed the road at the right-hand side, and a precipice formed the left-hand boundary, so they had nothing for it but to dismount and scramble across, leaving the horses, accoutrements and all, to their fate. In this affair the French had 1 officer mortally wounded, 7 men killed, and 13 wounded, and the Russians left 70 dead on the ground, and 20 men prisoners in the hands of the French. On Monday, December 10, a High Mass, at which many English officers attended, was performed on board the French flagship for the soul of Admiral Bruat. The decease of the Admiral was heard of by our navy with sincere regret. About the same time we heard of the fall of Kars. Criticism on military matters by civilians is worthless when the questions agitated relate to the details of manoeuvres or to pure strategy, but military men cannot expect to be exempted from the criticism of civilians on general questions relative to the conduct of the war. Captain Smith may have his Grenadier company in perfect order and discipline, and may lead them with the greatest gallantry; but the civilian who from some eminence sees Captain Smith taking his men into broken ground, filled with riflemen or swept with grape, where their order and discipline are of little service to them, is entitled to exclaim, "What a fool that fellow is!" When Kars had fallen, every one said, "What the deuce were Omar Pasha and his Turks doing so long at Baidar, or encamped on the tumuli overlooking the plains of Balaklava and the English head-quarters? Of what use were they perpetually _in transitu_ between Eupatoria and the Col of Balaklava, or on the tramp between Kamara and Phoros? Why was Kars allowed to fall, and why was Omar Pasha sent to Asia Minor so late in the year?" The defence of Kars was honourable, but so was the defence of Sebastopol, and Kars was not less Russian because it was won by so much of their best blood. The Turks, indeed (according to the testimony of all acquainted with them), were most miserably mismanaged and badly handled, and no use was made of them except to garrison Eupatoria, which they would have been able to do with at most half of their army. Thus the remaining half might have been set free for active operations. Although the fate of Kars could not materially influence the result of the struggle in the Crimea, active operations directed against the enemy from Kars might, in the opinion of most excellent judges, have produced very considerable results on the calculations of the next campaign, and on the prospects of the war. But the fall of Kars produced no surprise--the wonder rather seemed to be that it held out so long, and every one admitted that he had a secret presentiment that the city must, sooner or later, fall into the hands of the Russians. Every one who knew the country felt persuaded that Omar Pasha's expedition set out too late, and yet we all fell into ecstasies at the passage of the Ingour, and talked of the march on Kutais as if these things could save Kars, and no one cared to look at the map or consider the chances of such a result. The winter at last set in, but cold and frost had lost their terrors for the army then. There is an old saying, that "a green Christmas makes a full churchyard," and it might have been realized, inasmuch as the cholera appeared in the Highland regiments--notable sufferers in epidemics of the kind--and some cases occurred in other regiments, before the thermometer fell below freezing-point. On Tuesday forenoon (Dec. 11th) the thermometer was at 55°; on Wednesday (Dec. 12th) it was 50°; on Thursday (Dec. 13th) it fell to 28°; on Friday (Dec. 14th) it was 22°; on the 15th it marked 20° Fahrenheit. With moderate exercise, hard ground, good footing, good feeding, warm clothing, and occupation, there was little reason to entertain any apprehension for the troops during the winter. It must be stated, however, that the complaints against the new huts were numerous and well founded, and during the wet weather it was seriously proposed to remove the men, and put them into double tents. They never were intended, I presume, to keep out water without some felt or waterproof covering, and none had been provided: not even the tar and pitch in one of the vessels at Balaklava could be landed. Still this promised to be a joyous Christmas. Solitary subalterns rode out to Miskomia, and gazed gloomily on the beautiful mistletoe which grows on all the wild pear and apple trees in these lovely valleys. Their contentment returned when they thought of the fat goose, which, tied by the leg, was waiting his doom by the kitchen tent or bakehouse, or of the tender pig, which had been reared up from his childhood for the sole object of doing honour to the coming feast, and was "just fit to be killed." Contrasts were drawn between dinners in the trenches, on dreary outposts, on remote guards and pickets the year before, and the luxuries which were then forthcoming for the grand English festival. Men remembered "that tough old turkey, which cost 40_s._, and that turned the edge of the carver like plate glass," and laughed over the fate which seemed somehow to attend most efforts to be jolly that Christmas, and then turned and looked round their huts, which generally, it must be confessed, were very like retail grocers' establishments, backwood stores, or canteen-men's magazines. The shelves placed along the walls in layers, the cupboards made of packing-cases or powder boxes, filled with _pâtés_ in Strasburgh ware, hams, tins of soups and preserves, made dishes, vegetables, long-necked bottles of French manufacture, and the stumpier sturdier work of the English glass-blower. There was a stove or some substitute for a fireplace in each hut, which always enjoyed the advantage of a famous draught from the door and walls. As to the latter, the embellishments upon them whiled away many an idle hour, and afforded opportunities for the exercise of taste, good and bad, the monuments of which perished with the spring. They consisted chiefly of illustrations from the pictorial papers and _Punch_, transposed ingeniously by the introduction of faces, figures, and bits of different engravings, with the view of giving them a ludicrous or whimsical character, and the result was often very amusing. The walls were covered with them; a pastepot, a pair of scissors, some old papers, and a little fancy--these were materials of which a man could make wonderful use in enlivening and decorating the wooden walls of his temporary residence. [Sidenote: NEW BALAKLAVA.] On the night of the 12th of December, the storm howled and raged fearfully over the camp, and brought a deluge of rain, which it discharged in water-spouts, driving it through huts and tents, and forcing it in streams through the minutest interstices. The gusts were extremely violent, and the beating of the rain kept many a one awake with only one topic of consolation, namely, that there was "No trench guard to-night." Until four o'clock the wind seemed to come from the south-west, but at that hour it veered round towards the north, and became bitterly cold. All at once the rain was converted into hail and snow; the wet ground began to freeze; and at eight o'clock, by one of those magical changes which can only be equalled by the chymical landscapes of our childhood, the whole camp, which, at sundown the night before, was an expanse of blackish mud, dotted with white tents and huts, became a sheet of dazzling white, marked with lines of dusky, greyish habitations of canvas and wood. The wind was exceedingly cold and penetrating. The unfortunate natives of Southern Europe or of Asia, employed in such myriads in the service of the army, suffered greatly on such occasions, and perished like flies in frost. The huge swarm of camp-followers, who, to the number of some ten thousand, hovered about the canteens and round Balaklava, Kadikoi, and the fairs, also felt the effects of this weather. There were not less than 25,000 camp followers, including those of the French, Sardinians, and English, belonging to the Allied army, or hanging on their skirts. In the pursuit of gain, most of these people exposed themselves to considerable hardships and privations. How they provided fodder for the beasts they drove was one of the secrets of their peculiar existence, and the variety of vehicles belonging to these Bashi-Bazouks of trade and commerce constituted a curious detail of the wonders of the camp. One might witness the incidents of the scenes of the last year repeated in the winter of '55. I saw an old Turk in a moribund state carried into Balaklava on the back of a native almost as wretched-looking as himself; and riding on to the Land Transport camp, between Kadikoi and the Col, I beheld a native bearing in the same way a living skeleton from one tent into another. These men were provided by Government with long Turkish gregos, but, somehow or other, exposure to bad weather produced disastrous results upon them, although their frames seemed very vigorous. I am afraid the Temperance Society won't forgive me if I express a private opinion that a little stimulant might have been "exhibited" on these poor fellows, who ate largely of vegetables, and were saturated with onions, garlic, and leeks; and that, under the circumstances, they might, without injury, have partaken of a moderate quantity of spirits. If I am not mistaken, Sir Philip Crampton is of opinion that so long as the Irish are a potatophagous race, a predilection for whisky will be found among them, in obedience to a secret sympathy of nature, which seeks an ally in alcohol against the effects of her esculent enemy. I do not know for certain that the gallant Surgeon-General ever expressed that opinion, nor would I invoke teetotal wrath and water on his head by saying so; and I beg to disclaim, also, the smallest intention of theorizing, for I think of the Hindoos and rice, of Yankee whalers and hot coffee, and I tremble and am silent. Sometimes a very pretty little rebellion sprang up among the native drivers of the Land Transport Corps of the Fourth Division. They would not stir, in spite of eloquent exhortations in the best Hindostanee addressed to them by Captain Dick, who, standing knee-deep in snow and mud, harangued them as they lay inside their tents. They "sahibbed" away and shrugged their shoulders, and plaintively expressed a decided desire to be flogged, accompanied by suggestions also that they should be at once executed; but they one and all declared that work they would not on such a raw and gusty day. The discipline of the harbour was strict, but it sometimes happened that unruly Turks or Greeks ran their vessels right in slap-dash among the shipping, neither comprehending signals nor regulations. The order of mooring was preserved strictly by English ships. The vessels lay with sterns to the quay, in three rows, the inner line consisting of ships with cargoes of first necessity, and so on; the large ships in deep water at the Diamond Wharf, higher up the harbour on the western side. The Sardinians had a portion of the harbour near the cattle wharf, and the French a reserved quay close to them. With its forest of masts closely packed together--its wall-like sides of rock--its wooden houses--its railway--its parti-coloured population--its Babel of tongues--its huge mountains of stores piled for many feet high by the water's edge--its tremendous traffic--its mud--its locomotive whistling through the main street, and regarded by the rude Tartar from distant holes as a wild beast of inconceivable power and ferocity--and its picturesque old ruins, Balaklava was well worth a visit. By the bye, any antiquary desirous of seeing the castle ought to have gone out quickly; it was undergoing demolition fast, and the work of the Genoese was from time to time being transferred to the holds of merchantmen in the ignoble form of "ballast!" It is lucky, perhaps, that the Piræus was not the scene of our operations, for in that case the Acropolis in a fragmentary state might have been _en route_ for Newcastle, as the centre of gravity of the _Black Diamond_ transport, and the Parthenon might have been employed to trim the _John Smith_ of London. But, if we destroyed, so did we create. A splendid military road from Balaklava to the front, with numerous branches and arms, was no bad equivalent for the walls of a ruined fortress. [Sidenote: DESTRUCTION OF THE DOCKS.] The air was full of drumming and fifing and trumpeting. The regiments were getting up their bands again, and the exertion was generally distressing to the neighbourhood; but there was no use in writing to the _Times_ on the subject. It was, however, irritating to the last degree to be surrounded by drummers, who were sent to my part of the camp as a favourable spot for practice, and I was compelled for hours to be the unwilling auditor of first lessons on the bugle and French horn. The French were indefatigable at this work. Every one recollects the three little drummers who were always "dubbing" away like mad on that little spot at Capecure, near the south pier of Boulogne. They were out in the Crimea multiplied exceedingly, and as active in elbow and wrist as ever. It would be a curious subject for the statist to ascertain when the French drummer is perfect in his art. As far as I can perceive, he must be a tolerably elderly man before he leaves off practice, and can only be enjoyed in perfection for a very brief period before he retires from the service altogether. The Russians kept up a pertinacious fire upon the town. Sebastopol was a disagreeable place to go to on pleasure, for shot and shell were continually lobbing along the streets, houses falling piecemeal, and stones flying about from the shock of cannon-balls. The casualties, however, were very few, and the French displayed great ingenuity in erecting comfortable magazines and shops in out-of-the-way parts of the town, where one could get a cup of coffee and a cigar without much danger. But to the uninitiated the roar of a ball and the twittering hiss of a shell fail to give zest to these luxuries. It was no longer an occurrence of every week to go down to Sebastopol, and few people resorted to the docks unless they were on duty, or had just come out, and were under the painful necessity of going _en amateur_. The whole establishment of a _cantinière_ went smash one day through the operation of a shell, and, although it was tolerably well filled, the only damage done was to the poor proprietress, who lost her hand and an immense amount of crockery, comestibles, and customers. Writing under the date December 13, I said, "It is to be hoped that if an Order of Merit be established, it will bear the name of the Queen in whose reign it was instituted, and with the signification of whose royal prænomen it would so thoroughly harmonize. There is a strong desire that bronze crosses should be prepared bearing inscriptions relating to the number of bombardments, so that each man should bear a distinctive mark of the amount of trench-duty he has done. When Kenealy, one of the privates of the 41st who entered the Redan with Major-General Windham, was asked whether he would have the £5 or a decoration, he replied he would much sooner have the latter; and this feeling is shared by all good soldiers: whereas, the notion with the home authorities seemed to be, that money was more welcome than anything else." The frost continued, and on December 14 the thermometer marked 22°, but there was a clear fine sky and a bright sun above. The mud became a rigid furrowed lake, with iron waves cast up by old cart-tracks and horses' hoofs, and the roads were crowded and blocked up by the vast numbers of _fourgons_, carts, horses, and pack animals so suddenly forced upon them. The destruction of the far-famed docks of Sebastopol was an event in the annals of military engineering. A regular diary of the operations was kept by the officers engaged, and this, should it ever be published, cannot fail to be most interesting. War has stern necessities, but there was something lamentable in seeing such great and magnificent works as these docks were, thus pitilessly destroyed. It may give some idea of the labour necessary to reconstruct these docks, to say that after clearing away the ponderous ruins it would be necessary to dig down some twenty feet below the original bottom--so much has the earth been disturbed by the successive explosions--to drive piles and use concrete, and form an entirely new foundation. During the latter part of December the weather was extremely cold, but all that month and the following January preparations were urged forward for the destruction of the docks of Sebastopol. Although to most persons the general aspect of these docks has probably become well known from descriptions and drawings, I will briefly explain their position and arrangement. They extended nearly due north and south (a little to the east of north and west of south), and consisted of three inner docks, a basin, and two outer docks, with a lock between them. The French undertook the destruction of the outer docks, the lock, and the northern half of the basin; the English that of the inner docks and the southern half of the basin. The lock, although capacious, was easier to destroy than a dock, its circumference being a plain stone wall, instead of heavy stone steps fit for a giant's staircase. The French did their share of the work very effectually. For various reasons the English works were more gradual in their progress, but were not less thoroughly carried out, and, if a non-professional but highly-interested observer might express an opinion, they did great credit to the scientific skill of the engineers to whom they were entrusted. I believe the first idea was to blow up the whole at once, which would probably have given a more picturesque appearance, and have produced a more thorough ruin. But this plan was abandoned by reason of the dampness of the ground. Water flowed in from the ravine in the rear of the docks, and rose in the shafts of the mines. It is probable that, had the engineers waited to explode the numerous mines until all of them were complete, the powder would have become damp in many of them, and would not have ignited; so it was resolved to blow up a little at a time. It was difficult for any one who has not seen these docks both before and after their destruction, fully to appreciate the magnitude of the operations, and the force that must have been applied to root up and utterly overthrow such massive constructions, such huge blocks of granite so firmly cemented, such mighty timbers, which now lie snapped asunder like reeds or rent into huge splinters. [Sidenote: DESTRUCTION OF THE DOCKS.] There were probably two reasons for the care with which the engineers measured their charges. One, that by leaving the docks encumbered and filled up with their own ruins they bequeathed a harder task to any future rebuilder than if they scattered the stone linings far and wide, and left the chasms comparatively clear. The second reason, that by more violent explosions they would probably have shaken down buildings, overthrown the dockyard wall (which already totters and loses stones from its summit when a mine is let off), and perhaps caused accidents. The Russians fired a great deal at times, but although their fire was occasionally accurate enough, shell after shell falling into the docks, they caused little loss. Of accidents occurring from the explosions, one was of a peculiar nature. The explosion by the dock-gate had taken place, and some sappers were busy at the bottom of a shaft forty or fifty feet off, when a noxious gas, generated by the explosion, entered the gallery, filtering through the intervening earth. The effect was gradual--one after another the men became giddy, and some of them insensible. With infinite alacrity and courage non-commissioned officers and soldiers descended the shaft, braving a danger which seemed the greater because its extent and nature were unknown, to succour their comrades, and as they got down they in turn were overpowered by the offensive gas. Major Nicholson and Lieutenant Graham also went down, and suffered in consequence. The former was insensible, when, supported by his men, he reached the top of the shaft, and it was some time before he recovered. To sum up the accident: one man perished, and seven or eight were seriously affected, but recovered. A man went down into the mine after the accident, holding in his mouth the extremity of a tube down which air was pumped to him, and he walked about with perfect impunity, and collected the men's caps and things they had left behind. The quantity of powder used in the explosion of Fort Nicholas was 50,000 kilogrammes, or 100,000 French pounds. Double that quantity was found under the fort when the engineers commenced their operations. This was not the only concealed store of powder the French discovered in their part of Sebastopol. The intention was that all the mines should explode simultaneously, and that they did not do so was attributable to some fault in Beckford's fuse, known among the French as _le cordon Anglais_. The effect, however, was very fine, and nothing could be more complete than the destruction. The operations against the docks may be said to have commenced at the end of November, for although a beginning was made at an earlier period, the works were quickly suspended, and resumed only at the above date. The French did their work in four explosions; the English had six, besides minor ones of small extent. Fort Alexander was blown up, in three explosions, at one o'clock on February 11th. The destruction was complete, but the place did not look such a perfect level as the site of Fort Nicholas, and the sea face was intentionally left standing. The day was dry, but not bright, and the absence of sun detracted from the striking nature of the spectacle, which was, however, sufficiently imposing, but not equal to that of Fort Nicholas's downfall. The Russians, who had been firing a little from the Inkerman Batteries just before the fort blew up, were perfectly silent for some time after the explosion, apparently thinking it more dignified to contemplate the destruction of their fortresses calmly than to exhibit impotent wrath and to expend their ammunition unprofitably. At a later period of the day they fired more than usual from the north side. A stroll about the environs of Sebastopol, and the sight of the enormous cannon-balls and fragments of monster shells that strew the ground in all directions, impressed one with a respectful idea of the power of powder; but the respect was vastly increased by a view of the havoc it played in such stupendous works as the docks--structures formed to last for ages, and to the duration of which no limit could be assigned. The difficulty of destruction was enhanced in the case of the docks allotted to the English by the fact that these were in part hewn out of solid rock. The basin thus formed was lined with huge masses of stone, and between rock and stone earth was filled in. The engineers availed themselves of the soft interval for their mines, and blew the walls and counterforts inwards, but the rock remains, marking in places the outline of the docks. The counterforts were of prodigious strength and thickness. Then there was a deep covered drain outside the docks, for the purpose of emptying them when desired, of which the engineers, of course, made use. Greatly incommoded at first by the water that flowed down the ravine in their rear, they overcame this difficulty at no small expense of labour. Their mode of operating against the docks varied according to circumstances, but seems to have consisted in a great measure of regular mines, with shaft and gallery. Two of these shafts down which I looked were about thirty feet deep. The engineers had blown up the eastern pier, or extremity of that side of the dock, to which a gate was attached--one of the jaws of the dock; and this explosion seems to have been as complete in its effect as any that have taken place. The huge mass was lifted up and dislocated, and the enormous transverse beams, masses of black timber of incalculable strength, were torn from their fastenings, snapped in twain, and remained with their splintered ends resting against each other, in the shape of a house-roof. Below the pointed arch thus formed was a black chasm, and heaped around, piles of stone and dusty ruins. Everything was removed and riven without being scattered; and this was the object at which our engineers constantly aimed. They sought all along, and generally with much success, so to proportion the charges of their mines that, while everything should be overturned, rooted out, and thrown into the utmost confusion (literally topsyturvy), as little as possible should be thrown out of the crater. And accordingly most of their explosions had not the appearance which would popularly be anticipated from the letting off of two, three, or more thousand pounds of powder. There was no diverging gush of stones, but a sort of rumbling convulsion of the ground; a few blocks and fragments were cast up to a moderate height, but the effect upon the spectator was that of some gigantic subterranean hand just pushing the masses a short distance out of their places, turning them upside down, and rolling them over each other in a cloud of smoke and dust. [Sidenote: GRAND REVIEW.] On the 25th of February 25,000 of our infantry were there assembled for inspection and review by the Commander-in-Chief, and the bayonets of forty-six British battalions bristled upon Telegraph Hill, overlooking the valley of the Tchernaya. The morning was so cold, that some who impatiently awaited the spectacle feared it would be again postponed, but the earth and air were dry, and after church service the divisions were seen marching from their camps in the direction of the parade-ground. As the troops marched up, the pioneers busied themselves with filling the small circular trenches where tents had formerly stood; and, when the review was over, the whole surface had been trodden by hoof and foot as level as a bowling-green. Those English officers, of various arms and departments, whom duty did not call out or keep in, flocked in hundreds to witness the review of a larger number of British troops than has been held for forty years. There was every variety of French and Sardinian and even Spanish uniform. Marshal Pelissier came on the ground in his carriage and four, by which is not to be understood a handsome vehicle and showy team, with well-kept harness and neat postilions--but a very rough, nearly paintless drag, with harness partly of rope, horses that matched the carriage as regards roughness, and soldiers in artillery saddles on the near wheeler and leader. His little escort of Chasseurs contrasted with the English Hussars who followed Sir William Codrington. Marshal Pelissier alighted from his carriage, and took his station at the foot of a hillock, opposite the centre of the line, of the whole of which he then commanded a good view. The array of the troops was nearly completed when a shell was seen to burst high in the air above the valley of the Tchernaya. Our Russian friends politely informed us that they were present and attentive, reckoning that we should see their messenger, though they could not expect him to reach us. The line was formed in continuous columns of companies, with intervals of six paces between each regiment. Its face was towards the Russian positions beyond the valley. On the right were the Guards and the regiments forming the First Division; then came the Highlanders; then the Second, Third, and Fourth Divisions; and finally the Light Division. When the inspection was completed, General Codrington took up his station in front, to the right of the knoll where Marshal Pelissier was posted, and the troops marched past in open column. The Guards came by, of course with their own favourite tune, "The British Grenadiers;" the pipes of the Highlanders squeaked, squealed, and droned forth that strange combination of sounds so dear to Scotch ears, and so discordant to those of Saxon or Gaul; one brigade marched on to "Partant pour la Syrie," in compliment to the French. The Second Brigade of the Fourth Division had one of the best bands, and played a spirited march, but, generally speaking, the music of this army had not recovered the losses of the war. The troops marched past in front of the ground on which they had just stood in line. The morning had been grey and dull up to the commencement of the review, but the clouds then grew thinner and dispersed a little, and a few fitful gleams of sunshine shone upon British legions as they descended the slope in most perfect order, a broad steady torrent of bayonets, not rapid but irresistible. A finer military sight could hardly be seen than was presented by that matchless infantry. The healthy appearance of the men testified to good keep and much care taken of them; their soldierly carriage and perfect dressing proved that their officers had profited by the unusually fine and open winter to hasten the military education of the numerous recruits. The Rifles were much praised by the foreign officers. Many were the tattered and shot-rent banners borne by. The colours of the 23rd Fusiliers were like a sieve, pierced with countless bullets, and telling the eloquent and bloody tale of the Alma and of Inkerman. Those of the 77th and 97th were much riddled, and many regiments were fain to keep their banners furled, their torn condition not allowing of their display to the breeze. The whole of the troops having marched past in open column, formed up at some distance to the north of Telegraph Hill, on lower ground, nearer to the camp, and thither General Codrington proceeded. People were chilled with sitting still on their horses, and delighted to get a canter; the ground was good, the air fresh, the opportunity tempting, and away went high mettled English chargers, fleet Arabs, and tough Turkish and Tartar ponies at a smart pace. The field was a large one, and two or three small ditches towards the end of the course gave animation to the chase, until at last the General was run to earth, hard by where sat the French Marshal in his carriage, and all passed up to witness the second _défilé_, which was in close column. After this the divisions marched straight away to their various camps, and the country on all sides was seen thickly sprinkled with horsemen cantering homewards, bent, in most cases, on taking to themselves something of a warming nature, for the cold had really been sharp, and no speculative canteen-man had thought of sending emissaries with well-lined baskets to the scene of the review. When all was over, Marshal Pelissier went up to General Codrington, and complimented him in the highest terms on the appearance of his troops. The numbers on parade would have been considerably larger had the whole of our effective infantry turned out, but General Warren's brigade, stationed at Balaklava, was not ordered up, neither were the 72nd Highlanders and the two battalions of the 1st Royals, which were encamped some way beyond Kamara; and then there was the garrison of Sebastopol, and the Redan picket, camp guards, &c.; so that, altogether, there were many battalions and parts of battalions absent. It was purely an infantry review--no artillery, nor cavalry, save the handful of Hussars employed in escorting the General and keeping the ground. [Sidenote: DELAY AND DISAPPOINTMENT.] CHAPTER V. News of an Armistice--Destruction of the White Buildings--The Explosion--A lively and novel Scene at Traktir Bridge--Fraternization--The Cossacks--Meeting of the Generals--Death of Major Ranken--The Armistice finally settled--Ruin of Sebastopol--Can it rise again?--Visits to the Tchernaya--Discussions on Army Matters--System of Purchase--Pros and Cons. The Morning of February 28th brought us news of the conclusion of an armistice. The Russians had it first, by telegraph from St. Petersburg, and the mail from Constantinople brought its confirmation to the Allies. At 8 A.M. a boat, bearing a flag of truce, put off from the north side, and was met half-way across the harbour by one from the French. The Russians brought a communication from General Lüders. As if to celebrate the armistice, the so-called White Buildings were blown up in the afternoon. Soon after three o'clock, spectators began to assemble at the Redan, in front of Picket-house Hill, on Cathcart's Hill, and in other commanding positions. There was not a very strong muster at any of these places, for we were rather _blasé_ in the matter of explosions; and, although the day was bright and sunny, the ground was very heavy with mud and snow, and the cold too sharp to be pleasant. There was a certain amount of snowballing among the pedestrians, which doubtless contributed to keep up a supply of caloric, and one or two base attacks were made upon unfortunate equestrians, who, not having snow within their reach, or a supply of ready-made snowballs in their pockets, had no choice but to charge their assailants or resort to ignominious flight. Half an hour passed; feet were very cold, noses very blue, fingers hardly felt the reins, grumbling was heard: "It is nearly four o'clock; why the deuce doesn't it go off?" Patience, I fear, was not a very common virtue in the Crimean army. An impromptu "shave," suggested by the circumstances of the moment, was passed about. "Pelissier is coming; they wait for him." Now it so happened that Pelissier was _not_ coming. The armistice gave him something to do and think of, and moreover, he had been disappointed a few days before, when it had been notified to him that the White Buildings were to be blown up. So he no longer put his faith in the unpunctual engineers of perfidious Albion. Some French and other foreign officers came, waiting patiently and confidingly in the Redan, and in front of Picket-house Hill, just over the ravine. Another half-hour passed. A quarter-past four, and no explosion. Strong language began to be used; wishes were uttered, the fulfilment of which would certainly not be desired by the engineers, at whose door, rightly or wrongly, the delay was laid. The third half-hour had not quite elapsed when the report spread that the explosion was "put off." According to some accounts, it would occur in an hour and a half; according to others, next day, while a third party talked of the next week; there was a general movement campwards. A few Artillery officers still stuck to the Redan; Picket-house Hill was quickly cleared, except of one or two obstinate expectants, Cathcart's Hill was abandoned by many. Just at a quarter to five, when few of the weary who had departed could have reached their quarters, and some could have been but a hundred or two yards on the wrong side of the hill-crests, out gushed a small puff of white smoke from the White Buildings--then came a big puff of black smoke. There was a slight explosion, a grumbling roar; stones were hurled into the air and pitched high over the eastern wall into the docks, and after a silence which seemed to last nearly a minute, came a series of pops and puffs as mines went off in rapid succession, an immense volume of smoke appeared, not in dense sluggish masses slowly surging up, as at the explosion of Fort Nicholas, but in a thinner cloud, which rose so high that the summit of the murky column was visible over Picket-house Hill to persons some way down the Woronzoff Road, where it passed through the Light Division camp. After the explosions of the buildings, Fort Constantine sent a solitary shell into the French side, so the armistice was not considered to be perfect until after the conference. Major George Ranken, of the Royal Engineers, was killed at the explosion of the White Buildings. A mine having failed to explode, Major Ranken sent his men to a distance and entered the place to renew the train. From the position in which his corpse was found it was supposed that he had completed his perilous task, and was about getting through a window when the explosion took place and the building fell in. His arm was broken, and there were injuries to the skull and spine which must have occasioned instant death. Major Ranken commanded the ladder party in the last attack on the Redan. He was a most promising officer, a great favourite with his comrades, and his loss was deplored by all who knew him. It was hard to have escaped the murderous fire of the 8th of September only to die, less than five months later, crushed beneath a shattered wall. The unfortunate officer was buried with military honours, at the Engineers' Cemetery, Left Attack. He was followed to the grave by General Eyre, commanding the Third Division; by Colonel Lloyd, commanding the Royal Engineers; and by a large number of officers of his own corps and of other arms. Major Ranken had the melancholy distinction of being the last Englishman killed in the Crimea. The last Frenchman killed there fell in a duel. [Sidenote: THE COSSACKS.] On the morning of February the 29th there was a lively and novel scene at ten o'clock at Traktir Bridge. At its further end a white flag was hoisted, and just beyond it some five-and-twenty Cossacks halted, who had escorted thither the Russian General Timovoieff and his staff. At a few minutes past ten General Barnard and some staff officers rode down through the ravine between the two hills on which the battle of the Tchernaya was fought, and crossed to the other side of the river. The Generals who met to arrange the details of the armistice occupied two tents, pitched on a strip of greensward in the rear of the bridge. They were, General Timovoieff, Chief of the Staff of the 4th Corps of the Russian army, which was in front and furnished the advanced posts; Generals de Martimprey and Windham and Colonel Count Pettiti, Chiefs of the Staffs of the French, English, and Sardinian armies. The three latter were deputed by their Generals-in-Chief to present the proposals of armistice which these had discussed and decided upon. Their mission extended no further, and General Timovoieff, not being authorized to accept those proposals without referring them to his General-in-Chief, merely took a copy of them to transmit to General Lüders. There were, perhaps, half a dozen other English officers, about as many French, and a much larger number of Sardinians. All these went over the bridge, and a sort of fraternization ensued between them and some Russian officers--that is to say, there was a good deal of civility, and some ill-treatment of the French and German languages; but, as to carrying on much conversation with our Muscovite friends, it was not an easy matter, for there seemed a mutual embarrassment as to what subject to pitch upon. Horses were a natural theme, and the Russians expressed admiration of some of those present, and were probably rather astonished at their good condition. The great object of curiosity to us was the fur-capped Cossacks, around whom the allied officers assembled, examining their arms; and equipments and entering into conversation, which, in most cases, was carried on by signs. They were slender, wiry men--ugly enough, most of them--mounted on small, rough, active horses, and carrying, besides sword and carbine, flagless lances, whose long black poles terminated in a small but very sharp-pointed steel head. They seemed well pleased to cultivate the acquaintance of their enemies, and also had evidently an eye to the main chance. One of the first things I saw was a Cossack corporal proposing a barter to a Sardinian officer. The latter had a tolerably good riding-whip, for which the astute child of the Don insisted on swapping a shabby sort of instrument of torture, of which his pony was doubtless rejoiced to be rid. The Sardinian hesitated, the Cossack persisted, and the exchange was effected, the officer looking, as I thought, rather ruefully after his departed _cravache_, and somewhat contemptuously at the shabby but characteristic stick and thong he had received for it. The signal thus given, the whip trade soon acquired great activity. Probably some of the officers present were ready enough to part with a tolerably good whip for a bad Cossack one, as a _souvenir_ of the day's proceedings and of the commencement of the armistice. It had been expected that vedettes would be placed, and that very little freedom of intercourse would be allowed beyond the bridge of Traktir, and people at first thought themselves fortunate in getting over the bridge and having a good view of the Cossacks and a chat with some stray Russian officer. Later, however, as the morning, which had previously been cold and raw, advanced, and the sun shone bright and warm, the dry, grassy, and shrub-grown plain of the Tchernaya looking tempting for a canter, officers began to get restless, and to move away from the bridge across a small stream or ditch, and up a strip of level ground leading to a sort of monument, a square pedestal of rough stones surmounted by a dwarf pillar, of no particular order of architecture, and concerning whose origin and object the Russians, of whom inquiry was made, could say nothing. Some more Sardinian and French officers had by this time come down, but besides those engaged in the conference and attached to General Windham's staff, I do not think there were a dozen English officers on the ground. The general disposition of all seemed to be to move outwards in the direction of the Russian lines. People did not know how far they might go, and accordingly felt their way, cantering across a bit of level ground, and up a hill, and then pausing to look about them and reconnoitre the country and see whether there was any sign of obstacles to further progress. The soil was of a lighter and more sandy nature than it was generally found to be within our lines; in some places it was rather thickly sprinkled with bushes, saplings, and tall weeds. Several brace of red-legged partridges were sprung, some of them so near our horses' feet that a hunting-whip would have reached them. [Sidenote: THE CONFERENCE AT TRAKTIR.] As the day advanced, the field grew still larger. A French General arrived with his Staff and several French Hussar officers. Numbers of Sardinians came, but the English were detained in camp by a muster parade, and many also had been misinformed that the meeting of the Generals was not to take place until twelve or one. The horses, long accustomed to sink to the fetlock in horrid Balaklavan and Sebastopolitan mire, seemed to enjoy the change to the firm, springy turf beyond the Tchernaya; more partridges were sprung, to the immense tantalization of some there present, who would have given a month's pay for a day's shooting over such ground; some hares also were started, and one of them was vigorously pursued by a subaltern of a sporting turn, whose baggage pony, however, was soon left far in rear by puss's active bounds. By this time we were getting far on towards the Russian lines and batteries, when the field began to spread out, some taking to the right, and getting very near to a Cossack vedette, who seemed rather puzzled to account for the presence of so many strange horsemen within musket-shot of his post, and who, after beginning to circle once or twice in signal of an enemy's approach, received a reinforcement in the shape of another Cossack, who rode down the hill as if to warn the intruders off forbidden ground. Another party of gallopers went close up to the battery known as No. 49, and held communion with some vedettes, with whom they smoked an amicable cigarette, until a Russian officer came up and politely informed them in French that his orders were to allow no one to come any further, and that he hoped they would retire, which they of course did. More to the left a numerous body of horsemen, followed by a straggling array of Zouaves, Chasseurs, Bersaglieri, and other infantry soldiers, who had made their way to the ground, rode up to the ridge just below the spur of the hill to the south of Inkerman. Here they were very near the Russian pickets, and within particularly convenient shot of various batteries, had these thought proper to open, and there most of them paused, for to go further really looked like abusing the good-nature of the enemy, who had thus allowed us to profit by the conference to enjoy a ride further into the Russian territory than any one has been since this camp was formed, and to take a near view of their positions and defences. Only half a dozen adventurous and inquisitive spirits pushed ahead, and seemed as if they intended charging a Russian battery, and the vedettes in this direction began to move uneasily about also, when up came a Sardinian staff officer at full speed, his blue plume streaming in the wind, and gave chase to the forward gentlemen, shouting to them to return. They, seeing themselves thus cut off in the rear, and perhaps to avoid a rebuke, made a retrograde flank movement, escaped their pursuer, and rejoined the main body; and, as orders were then given that no one should go further, a return towards the bridge became pretty general. On reaching the bridge a halt was again called round the group of Cossacks, and all eyes were fixed upon the two neat blue and white-striped tents, with awnings over their entrances. Some of the Generals were standing outside, and it was evident that the conference was drawing to a close. A short delay ensued, which I perceived that the Cossack corporal availed himself of to exchange his Sardinian whip for a much better French one, the receiver of the former doubtless imagining he had secured a genuine Russian article. Then cocked hats and feathers were seen moving among the horses near the tents; orderlies and escorts mounted; the Cossacks did the same, and presently English, French, Sardinian, and Russian Generals and Staff rode over the bridge and between a double line formed by the spectators. General Timovoieff, a soldierly-looking man of agreeable physiognomy, rode first, and smilingly returned the salutes with which he was received. General Windham was close beside him, a little in the rear. There was an escort of French Chasseurs-à cheval and a small one of the 11th Hussars, and the big horses and tall well-fed men of the latter strikingly contrasted with the puny, although hardy steeds, and with the meagre frames of the Cossacks, who seemed to regard them with some wonderment, while the Hussars glanced at them as if they thought that one squadron of theirs would have an easy bargain of half a dozen sotnias of such antagonists. The _cortége_ proceeded a short distance into the plain, and then the allied portion took leave of "_nos amis l'ennemi_" and retraced their steps to the bridge. They had passed over it, and the crowd of spectators was following, when they were met by a throng of officers from the English camp, coming down "to see the fun," which, unfortunately, was over. Nevertheless, they were pressing forward across the bridge, and would, doubtless, had they been allowed, have ridden up to the Bilboquet battery, or across to Mackenzie's Farm--for it is an axiom that nothing will stop an English infantry officer, mounted on his favourite baggager; but a French Staff captain, seeing what was likely to ensue, ordered the sentries to allow no one to cross the bridge. As we rode up the ravine between the two mamelons, which witnessed such sharp fighting on the 17th of August, 1855, we met scores more of English officers coming down, only to be turned back. At one on the afternoon of March 14th, the Staff of the allied and Russian armies again met at Traktir Bridge--on this occasion to sign the conditions of the armistice, which were finally agreed to, the Russians having shown themselves tolerably pliant. The day was raw, dull, and disagreeable, with a sharp northerly breeze blowing, but nevertheless a considerable number of English, French, and Sardinian officers found their way to the bridge, doubtless in hopes of a repetition of the canter of the 29th of February; but if that was the bait that lured them there they were completely disappointed. Altogether, there was a good number of Russian officers at or near Traktir Bridge. Some of them were strolling by twos and threes in the field, at a short distance beyond, and when these were descried there was usually a regular charge down upon them by the allied officers, eager to make their acquaintance. Their manner was generally grave and rather reserved, but they conversed readily, and all had the tone and appearance of well-bred men. Some of them were very young. There was one youth of eighteen, who named to us the regiment of Hussars in which he was an officer, and seemed knowing about horses, pointing out the English ones from among the French, Italians, and Arabs that stood around. All--cavalry as well as infantry, and the General and his Staff--wore the long uniform greatcoat of a sort of brown and grey mixture, and seemed to have no other insignia of rank than the different colours and lace of the shoulder-strap. There was also a difference of fineness in the cloth of their coats from that of the soldiers, but this at a very short distance was not apparent. The Staff wore white kid gloves, and I noticed some of them with smart patent leather boots--elegancies rarely seen in our part of the Crimea. This time there was no scouring the plain and gossiping with vedettes; the aqueduct was the limit, observance of which was enforced by a chain of Zouave sentries patrolling to and fro. A Russian picket was stationed at about rifle-shot distance beyond the river, along the further bank of which Cossack and Dragoon vedettes were posted at short intervals. There was nothing else of any interest to observe, and most of the persons whom curiosity led to the spot soon grew tired of standing at the edge of a ditch, and gazing at a distant handful of Muscovites; so they turned their horses, and tried to warm themselves by a canter back to the camp. [Sidenote: RUINS OF SEBASTOPOL.] But so far as Sebastopol was concerned there was little for the Russians to gain by covering it with the thin cloak of an armistice. Had fire been rained down from Heaven upon the devoted city its annihilation could not have been more complete. The shells of princely mansions which remained on the French side of the town had been knocked to atoms by the Russian batteries on the north side; the theatre was demolished, and the beautiful church of St. Peter and St. Paul laid in ruins by the same implacable foe; and they directed particular volleys of round shot and shell on a monument to one of their naval heroes, which stood conspicuously placed in front of a beautiful little kiosk in the midst of a garden, to which there was a fine approach from the place behind Fort Nicholas by a handsome flight of steps, now destroyed. On a quadrilateral pedestal of some pretensions, supporting entablatures with allegorical devices, and ornamented at the summit by a _puppis_, were inscribed, when first I saw it, the name of "Kazarski," and the dates 1829 and 1834, with an intimation that the monument was erected in his honour. Most of the letters were stolen and knocked away; and had not the fire from the north ceased, the pedestal itself would have disappeared likewise. The French garrison, somewhat harassed by the incessant fire on the town, which, however, did them or us but little mischief, constructed out of the débris of the houses a very neat _quartier_ inside the walls. The huts of which it was composed consisted of wood, ranged in regular rows, with the usual street nomenclature in these parts of the world. The stranger who halted to survey it from the neighbouring heights, deceived by the whitewashed and plastered walls of the houses, might think that Sebastopol was still a city; but when he walked through its grass-grown, deserted streets, formed by endless rows of walls alone, of roofless shells of houses, in which not one morsel of timber could be seen, from threshold to eaves; when he beheld great yawning craters, half filled with mounds of cut stone, heaped together in irregular masses; when he gazed on tumuli of disintegrated masonry, once formidable forts, and shaken, as it were, into dust and powder; when he stumbled over the fragments of imperial edifices, to peer down into the great gulfs, choked up with rubbish, which marked the site of the grand docks of the Queen of the Euxine; beheld the rotting masts and hulls of the sunken navy which had been nurtured there; when he observed that what the wrath of the enemy spared was fast crumbling away beneath the fire of its friends, and that the churches where they worshipped, the theatres, the public monuments, had been specially selected for the practice of the Russian gunners, as though they were emulous of running a race in destruction with the allied armies--he would, no doubt, come to the conclusion that the history of the world afforded no such authentic instance of the annihilation of a great city. It is certainly hard to believe that the site can ever be made available for the erection of houses or the construction of docks; but I am by no means certain that the immense resources in the command of manual labour possessed by the Government of Russia, of which this very struggle afforded us all such striking proofs, in the Quarantine Battery, the Bastion Centrale, the Bastion du Mât, the Redan, the Mamelon, and the Malakoff, may not be made available in time to clear away these modern ruins, and to rebuild houses, theatres, palaces, churches, forts, arsenals, and docks, as before. In the Inkerman ravines are inexhaustible supplies of building material, which can be floated by the Tchernaya into the waters of the harbour with very little trouble. The immense quantity of cut stone lying in piles at the upper end of the harbour showed that the Allies interrupted the Russians in the development of the splendid architectural plans which it was the ambition of emperors to accomplish, and which engaged every thought and energy of the Muscovite governors of the Crimea. [Sidenote: THE PURCHASE SYSTEM.] Notwithstanding the very cold weather which prevailed, numbers of our officers and men descended to the Tchernaya every day to communicate with the Russians, to examine the new race-course, or to wade after the wild-fowl which abound in the marshes. There was nothing new in these interviews, except that the Russians grew more cordial, or less sullen. The number of officers who came down to our side bore a very small proportion to that of the allied officers who attended these _réunions_. The men seemed never to tire of looking on each other. French, English, and Sardinians swarmed down to the banks of the Tchernaya, in spite of the cold and bitter winds, to confabulate with the Ruskis, to exchange money with them, and to stare at their dogged, and, it must be added, rather dirty-looking enemies, who were not quite so eager or so active in their curiosity as the allied soldiery, and who needed the stimulus of turning a dishonest penny in the exchange of small coins to tempt them from grass cutting, and the pursuit of wild ducks and hares by the flats beneath Mackenzie's Farm to the banks of the stream. The men I saw on the warm 20th of September on the slopes of the Alma seemed repeated and multiplied in every direction across the Tchernaya. There was a wonderful family likeness among the common soldiers. The small round bullet-head, the straight light hair, high cheek-bones, grey keen eyes, rather deeply set beneath straight and slightly defined eye-brows, undemonstrative noses, with wide nostrils, large straight mouths, square jaws, and sharp chins, were common to the great majority of them. Their frames seemed spare and strongly built; but neither in stature nor breadth of shoulder did they equal the men of our old army of 1854. Many of the officers could scarcely be distinguished from the men in air, bearing, or dress, except by the plain, ill-made, and slight swords, which they carried from an unornamented shoulder-belt; but now and then one met with a young fellow with the appearance of a gentleman, in spite of his coarse long coat; occasionally a great tall lumbering fellow, who seemed to be of a different race from the men around him, slouched along in his heavy boots. The clothing of the troops appeared to be good. Their boots, into which they tucked their loose trousers, were easy and well-made, and the great-coats worn by the men fitted them better than our own fitted the English infantry. The colour, not so much a grey as a dunnish drab, is admirably suited not only to conceal the wearers in an open country, but to defy dust, mud, or rain to alter its appearance. It was but natural that the two armies should be interested in each other's condition. The better-informed Russian officers were of course aware of the nature of our purchase system, but to most of them, that system was incomprehensible as novel. Its anomalies were, however, so strongly felt that the debates in Parliament which took place about this time on the subject were read with deep interest, and repeated and re-argued over and over again in camp. The friends of the system took it for granted that the arguments used against it must emanate from men of democratical and unconstitutional tendencies, and from enemies to the army and to the aristocracy, and Captain Figgs or Colonel Cottontwist were as fierce in their denunciations of Lord Goderich, Sir De Lacy Evans, and even Lord Palmerston, because he made some theoretical admissions against the system, as Lord Plantagenet or the Earl of Saxo-Grammaticus. They protested loudly that the object of these innovators was to drive "gentlemen" out of the army; while their opponents declared that the effect of the system was to keep "gentlemen"--those fiery cadets of old families who in other times were the true soldiers of fortune, the descendants of the gentry cavaliers--_out_ of the army. If the ex-Sergeant Jones, holding a commission in one of our corps or regiments, was noisy in his cups and over-elated with his good fortune, his peccadilloes were the subject of rejoicings, and were regarded as sufficiently conclusive evidence that we could not open our commissions to the rank and file; and if he happened to be brought to a court-martial and reprimanded or cashiered, the demonstration was complete. At the time I wrote, "It must be admitted that the training of our barrack-rooms is not favourable to the acquirement of decent manners and gentlemanlike demeanour, and that until we elevate the profession of arms in England, and remove the stigma popularly impressed from the rank of a private soldier, we cannot expect to induce the needy members of the more respectable classes in society to enter as volunteers; and the high rate of rewards for skill in all mechanical and industrial arts will ever offer an obstacle to the efforts of the recruiting sergeant to enlist a better sort of recruits so long as the present scale of pay and ration stoppages is maintained. The advocates for the abolition of purchase are impressed by the force of such objections as are presented by the general constitution of our army; but, after all, what the country keeps up its army for is, not that it may consult the wishes or the tastes of any class whatever, however numerous, powerful, and wealthy, but that the army may fight its battles, and maintain its liberties and its glory against all comers. Pompey's dandies were, no doubt, greatly displeased at being slashed in the face by Caesar's rough legionaries, and thought them very low fellows; nor had Rupert's cavaliers any great opinion of the good breeding or _politesse_ of Old Noll's Ironsides; but the camp has never been regarded as any special school for demeanour or the inculcation of etiquette, however favourable it may be to the development of some of the nobler qualities of humanity; and if we really can procure brave, intelligent, zealous, and deserving officers by some enlargement of the limits which have hitherto circumscribed our choice, we must submit to the inconvenience, though they may have a smack of the barrack-room about them. It must be recollected that our boasted mess system utterly breaks down in active campaigning, and that, in the field, the officers live separately or in very small groups, so it is only in times of _peace_ that those whom Providence _finxit meliore luto_ will be obliged to come in contact with the commissioned _grossier_, who will, after all, always represent a very small minority. It is forgotten by the friends of the system of "rank for money," that there has as yet been no officer from the ranks whose conduct before the enemy has been the subject of unfavourable notice, and that not one of them has been obliged to leave the service for refusal to perform his duty in the trenches; nor has it always been officers from the ranks who have been subjected to courts-martial, by the sentences of which they were forced from the army. In fact, many of those who take this side of the question are arguing, not for aristocracy, but for aurocracy; they are sacrificing to Plutus when they think they are worshipping Mars, and they confound the two questions--in themselves entirely distinct, but so mingled in camp dialogue as to be inseparable--of the purchase system with that of promotion from the ranks. There are such difficulties in the way of an abolition of the former system, that its most intrepid advocate may well pause before he _suddenly_ demolishes it, and the devotion, the courage, and the endurance of the British officer of the army, and the respect of the men for him, are very weighty considerations in the way of the theoretical reformer. "But if it have its advantages, the system has also its great, its crying evils, of which every mouth is full, and which are only met by the remark that there are evils in every system. Look at the case of Lieutenant-Colonel Cuddy, of the 55th. At the battle of Inkerman, he, as senior Captain, took the command of his regiment, when his senior officers were either killed or wounded. Throughout the whole of that terrible winter he served in the trenches, kept his handful of men together, and in all respects proved himself as careful as he was brave, and as prudent as he was zealous. Although lieutenant-colonel in the army, he was only captain in his regiment, and after having gone through the winter of 1854 and the spring of 1855, with all their hardships and conflicts, when the regimental majority was for purchase, owing to the retirement of the gallant Major Coats (whom I saw so badly hit at the Alma, that I thought he could scarce recover), Colonel Cuddy had the mortification of seeing Captain Cure, who was seven years his junior in the list of captains, and who had served at home with the depôt during the beginning of the campaign, pass over his head by purchase, and take the command of the regiment out of his hands. And can the country now heal the wound in that proud spirit? No; poor Cuddy fell at the Redan, and his cares and his sorrows are over for ever. [Sidenote: PROCLAMATION OF PEACE.] "Cases somewhat similar are not wanting in other regiments. Right or wrong, had this war gone on, the purchase system was doomed. General Orders were crowded with notices that Captain So-and-So, having done the duty of field officer, that Lieutenant Such-a-One, having acted as Captain, and that Sergeant-Major Nobody, having acted as quartermaster of his regiment from such a date, would draw pay and allowances accordingly. War pushed our system horribly out of shape, and gave its delicate frame such squeezes, and deranged it so terribly, that its dearest friends scarcely knew it when we carried it home. Some of the young and intelligent officers on the Staff did not hesitate to express a hearty wish for the abolition of the system. To the French it was utterly incomprehensible, and it is a fixed idea in the mind of Private Jean François Marie that General Codrington paid enormous sums for the honour of commanding the army--otherwise he cannot understand it." CHAPTER VI. Proclamation of Peace--Preparations for the Evacuation--Review of the Struggle--What might have been done--Russian Song on the Incidents of the War--Excursions into the Interior of the Crimea--Defences on the North Side of Sebastopol--Resources of the Country--Tour in the Interior--Crimean Flora--A real Obstacle--Useful Public Works executed by the Party--Various Adventures--Return to Camp. At two o'clock P.M. on Wednesday, the 2nd of April, proclamation of peace was made to the Allied armies by salutes of 101 guns, fired by the field batteries of the Light and Second Divisions, from the heights over the plain of Balaklava; by the French batteries at the Quartier Générale; by the Sardinian redoubts at Fedukhine; and by the men-of-war at Kamiesch and Kazatch; but an early General Order and a very widely-spread rumour had diffused the intelligence among officers and men long before the cannon exultingly announced it by their thundering voices. The news was known at Balaklava by eight o'clock A.M., and the _Leander_, Captain Rice, bearing the flag of Admiral Fremantle, "dressed," and the merchant shipping followed her example, by order, so that the harbour presented a gayer scene than human eye ever witnessed since it was first discovered by some most investigating, shore-hugging, and fissure-pursuing navigator. It was a fine day--at least it appeared so by contrast with its recent predecessors,--and the effect of the firing from so many points, all of which were visible from the heights of the plateau near the Woronzoff Road, was very fine. The enemy saw the smoke and heard the roar of our guns, but they maintained a stern and gloomy silence. One would have thought that they, above all, would have shown some signs of satisfaction at the peace which they sought, and which they had made such sacrifices to obtain, while no one would have wondered if the batteries of the English and Sardinians expressed no opinion on the subject. However, there was not a Russian shot fired or flag hoisted from Fort Constantine to Mackenzie, nor, although we had ceased to be enemies, did any increase in our intimacy take place. The preparations for the evacuation of the Crimea were now pressed on with rapidity and energy. Each division collected about 4,000 shot a-day from the iron-studded ravines and grounds in front of our camp, and they were carried to Balaklava as fast as the means at our disposal--railway and land transport--permitted. Our soldiers were about to leave the scene of their sufferings and of their glory. Alas! how many of those who landed lie there till the judgment-day! Who can tell how many lives were wasted which ought to have been saved to the country, to friends, to an honoured old age? These questions may never be answered, least of all were they answered at Chelsea Hospital. Heaven lets loose all its plagues on those who delight in war, and on those who shed men's blood, even in the holiest causes. The pestilence by day and night, deadly fever, cholera, dysentery, strategical errors, incompetence and apathy of chieftains, culpable inactivity, fatal audacity--all these follow in the train of armies, and kill more than bullet or sword. But war has its rules. The bloody profession by the skilful exercise of which liberty is achieved or crushed--by which States are saved or annihilated, has certain fixed principles for its guidance; and the homoeopathic practitioner in the art, the quack, the charlatan, or the noble amateur, will soon be detected and overwhelmed in the horrors of defeat and ruin. Perhaps on no occasion was the neglect of the course of regular practice so severely punished, even although in the end the object was gained, as in the siege of Sebastopol. [Sidenote: RETROSPECT.] Every statement made by the Russian officers in conversation with us concurred in this--that we might have taken Sebastopol in September, 1854; that they were not only prepared to abandon the city to its fate, but that they regarded it as untenable and incapable of defence, and had some doubts of their position in the Crimea itself, till our inaction gave Menschikoff courage, and raised in him hopes of an honourable defence, which might enable him to hold us in check, or to expose us to the attack of overwhelming masses. They admitted that their great error was the assumption of a simply defensive attitude after the battle of Inkerman, and they felt that they ought to have renewed the attack upon our enfeebled army, notwithstanding the terrible loss they suffered in that memorable action. It might have been mere military fanfaronade on their part to put forward such an assertion, but the Russians one and all declared they could have retaken the Malakoff under the fire of their ships, but it had been clearly demonstrated since the fire opened on September the 5th, that it would be impossible to hold the south side under the increasing weight and proximity of the bombardment. "It was a veritable butchery, which demoralized our men so far as to make them doubt the chances of continuing the struggle. We lost 3,000 a-day. No part of the city was safe, except the actual bombproofs in the batteries. We were content to have beaten the English at the Redan, to have repulsed the French at the Bastion of Careening Bay (the Little Redan), the Gervais Battery, and the Bastion Centrale and to leave them the credit of surprising the Malakoff; but, even had we held it, we must soon have retired to the north side, and we had been preparing for that contingency for some days." The battle of the Alma had produced such an effect that there seemed to be no chance of offering resistance to the Allies, and the fall of Sebastopol was regarded as certain. The Russians, however, meditated a great revenge, and, knowing the weakness of our army, and that it could not hold the heights and storm the town at the same time, they intended to take the very plateau on which we were encamped, to fall on our troops while we were disorganized by our success, and get them between the fire of the Russian shipping, of the northern forts, and of the field artillery outside the place. At first they could not understand the flank march to Balaklava, except as a manoeuvre to escape the fire of the north forts, and to get at the weak side of the city, and for three or four days they waited, uncertain what to do, until they learned we were preparing for a siege. It was then--that is, about five days after we appeared before the place--that they commenced the work. Men, women, and children laboured at them with zeal, and for the first time a hope was entertained of saving Sebastopol, or of maintaining the defence till the _corps d'armée_ destined for its relief could march down to raise the siege. It was the first instance on record of such a place having been taken by the mere fire of artillery; for it was admitted by the Russians that even if the assault on the Malakoff had been repelled, they must have abandoned a position exposed at every nook and chink and cranny to such a fire that the very heavens seemed to rain shot and shell upon them. We lost an army in establishing that fire, and we did not (notwithstanding the honeyed words of Lord Palmerston, every soldier of the Crimea feels what I say is the truth)--we did not add to our reputation--nay, we did not sustain it--in the attacks of the 18th of June and the 8th of September. And will it be said that _because_ the particulars of those conflicts have been made known to the world, and _because_ the daring, the devotion, the gallantry, the heroism of our officers and men have been displayed before its eyes, that the English nation has lost its military _prestige_? Would it have been possible to have concealed and slurred over our failures? Would it have been better to have let the story be told in Russian despatches, in French _Moniteurs_, in English _Gazettes_! No; the very dead on Cathcart's Hill would be wronged as they lay mute in their bloody shrouds, and calumny and falsehood would insult that warrior race, which is not less Roman because it has known a Trebia and a Thrasymene. We all felt well assured that it was no fault of our officers that we did not take the Redan. We could point to the trenches piled deep with our gallant allies before the Careening Bay and the Central Bastion, and turn to the Malakoff, won without the loss of 200 men, and then invoke the goddess Fortune! Alas! She does not always favour the daring; she leaves them sometimes lifeless at the blood-stained embrasure, before the shattered traverse, in the deadly ditch and she demands, as hostages for the bestowal of her favours, skill and prudence, as well as audacity and courage. There was a song on the incidents of the war very popular in the Russian camp, in which Prince Menschikoff was exposed to some ridicule, and the Allies to severe sarcasm. Menschikoff was described as looking out of the window of a house in Bakshiserai, and inquiring for news from Sebastopol; courier after courier arrives and says, "Oh! Sebastopol is safe."--"And what are the Allies doing? "--"Oh! they are breaking down the houses of Balaklava and eating grapes." The same news for a day or two. At last a courier tell him the Allies are cutting twigs in the valleys, and that they are digging great furrows three-quarters of a mile from the place. "I declare they are going to besiege it," says he; "and, if so, I must defend it." And so he sends for his engineers. They at first think the Allies, misled by ancient traditions about the mines, must be digging for gold; but at last they make a reconnaissance, and, finding that the Allies are really making approaches, they say, "Why, we shall have time to throw up works, too;" and so they draw up their plans, and Todleben says, "Give me five days, and I'll mount three guns for their two;" and Menschikoff dances and sings, "Ha, ha! _I've_ saved Sebastopol!" The Russians were astonished at their own success; above all, they were surprised at the supineness and want of vigilance among the Allies. They told stories of stealing upon our sentries and carrying them off, and of rushing at night into our trenches, and finding the men asleep in their blankets; they recounted with great glee the capture of a sergeant and five men in daylight, all sound in slumber (poor wretches, ill-fed, ill-clad, and worked beyond the endurance of human nature!) in one of the ravines towards Inkerman. [Sidenote: AFTER THE WAR.] Among many stories of the kind which I heard, one is remarkable. When the attack on Inkerman was projected, it was arranged that one strong column, having crossed the bridge of the Tchernaya, near the head of the harbour, should march along the road which winds up _above_ the Quarries ravine, and which leads right upon the ground then occupied by Evans's Division; but this was conceived to be the most daring part of the enterprise, "as no doubt, strong pickets would be posted on that road, and guns commanding the bridge, or raking the road, would be placed behind the scarps, and these guns would have to be taken, and the pickets and their supports driven in. Judge of our astonishment when we found no scarps at all, and not a single gun on this point! Our General cried, as he gained the level of the plateau without a shot being fired, 'We have them--Sebastopol is saved!' The bridge over the Tchernaya was not repaired for the passage of men and guns till past five o'clock in the morning of the 5th, and the men did not begin till after dark on the preceding evening." But, after all, we were probably saved from severer trials by our own want of enterprise. When the conflict before Sebastopol assumed such gigantic proportions it became _the_ war itself. The armies of Russia were absorbed into it, and perished in detail. Had we taken Sebastopol at the outset, we must have been prepared, with our small armies, to meet those _corps d'armée_ which lost tens of thousands in their hasty march to relieve the place, but who, in the event of its capture, would have closed slowly round us, and the same incapacity which prevented our reaping the fruits of our _coup-de-main_ in attempting the Crimean expedition, might have led to more serious evils in a protracted campaign in the open field against a numerous and well handled, if not a daring, enemy. Success was indeed obtained, but its cost had been great. What shall be said if much of that cost can be shown to have been a gratuitous outlay of time and money? To me, next to the graveyards, verdant oases in the dark plateau, the most melancholy and significant object was our old parallel opened against the Malakoff, which the French took from us as the basis of their attack in the spring of 1855. One man who came into Balaklava after the peace was observed to be very anxiously peering about the walls of a new store. On being asked what he was about, he confessed he was searching for the site of his house, in the cellar of which he had deposited a good deal of plate and valuables. I fear he had but a Flemish account of them. The Russian military band (150 strong) at Mackenzie was a great object of attraction. It played at four o'clock every afternoon. At the hymn of "God preserve the Czar," or whatever the exact translation of the title may be, all the Russians took off their caps. I could have wished that our officers who were present, and who understood the occasion, had done the same, for immediately afterwards, when the band played "God save the Queen," the Russians uncovered their heads, and paid to our national anthem the same mark of respect as they had paid to their own. A Russian officer--a very young man--covered with orders, was pointed out to some of the officers as one who had _never left_ the Flagstaff Bastion for eleven months. He had been shot through the body, and had been wounded in the head, in the arm, and in the thigh, on different occasions; he had insisted on remaining in the bastion, nor would he permit himself to be removed to hospital. Many of the soldiers wore the cross of St. George and other orders. What a phenomenon would a British private be with the riband of the C.B. on his breast! The Russians were very anxious to get some of our medals, and there were some stories afloat concerning the cleverness with which men sold florins at high prices for Sebastopol medals. Some officers soon penetrated to Bakshiserai, and returned with alarming accounts of the price of eatables, drinkables, and accommodation--porter twenty francs a bottle, champagne thirty-five francs a bottle, dinner and bed a small fortune. There were some very hospitable fellows among the Russian officers, and they gave and took invitations to lunch, dinner, and supper very freely. One of our Generals[35] up at Mackenzie, was asked to stay to tea by a Russian officer, whose hut he was visiting, but Madame, who presided at the tea-table, darted such a look at her peccant spouse when he gave the invitation, and glared so fiercely at the heretical Englishmen, that our General and Staff turned tail and bolted, leaving the Ruski to the enjoyment of the lecture which Madame Caudelska would no doubt inflict upon him. Perhaps the poor lady was short of spoons, or trembled for her stock of sugar. As there was nothing doing in camp I proceeded on a week's excursion to Simpheropol, the Tchatir Dagh, Bakshiserai, Orianda, Yalta, and by Aloupka. The Russians sent passes to head-quarters, with one of which I was furnished. It was as follows: "Carte de passe pour les avant postes" (in print), "General de Service Tchervinsky;" then in Russian MS., "Allowed to pass--General Major." Before I left I went over the north forts, and carefully examined the defences of the place. Fort Constantine bore very few marks of the bombardment and cannonade of the 17th of October, 1854. The crown of the arch of one embrasure was injured, and supported by wood, and the stone-work was pitted here and there with shot; but the "pits" had been neatly filled in and plastered over. Fort Catherine, or Nachimoff (formerly Suwaroff), was uninjured, but St. Michael's, which was badly built, suffered from the French mortar fire after we got into the town. The citadel was covered on all sides by earthworks, and the hill-sides furrowed up by lines of batteries bearing on every landing-place and every approach. In line from Fort Constantine to the Quarantine and Alexander Forts were sunk, before the 17th of October, three eighty-fours, then one hundred-and-twenty, then two eighty-fours, and then one fifty-four. Inside this line was a strong boom, which would have brought up any vessels that had succeeded in bursting through the sunken ships. This outer line and the boom itself were so much damaged, however, by the gale of the 14th of November as to be of little use. The second boom, consisting of chain cables floated by timber, extended from Fort Nicholas on the south to the west of St. Michael's Fort on the north. Inside this boom were sunk, commencing from the north side, a sixty-gun ship, an eighty-four, a one-hundred-and-twenty, an eighty-four, and a sixty-gun frigate. Then came the bridge of boats from Fort Nicholas to St. Michael's. Inside that, in two lines, lay the rest of the Russian fleet. The first was formed of three eighty-fours, a one-hundred-and-twenty, and one hundred-and-ten-gun line-of-battle ship; the second consisted of a seven-gun steamer, a six-gun ditto, a thirteen-gun ditto, and an eighty-four, close to the ruins of Fort Paul. Nearer to Inkerman, in the creeks and bays on the north side, were sunken steamers, five brigs of war and corvettes, and a schooner yacht sunk or aground. The boats of the men-of-war were safe in one of the creeks which our guns could not reach. [Sidenote: HIGH PRICES IN THE CRIMEA.] The Russians shouted at us lustily as we were engaged in examining the timbers. Although the teredo had not attacked the wood, it was covered with barnacles and slime, and from what we saw of the ships, it did not seem likely they would ever be raised as men-of-war again. The famous "_Twelve Apostles_" the "_Three Godheads_" the "_Tchesme_" the "_Wratislaw_" and the "_Empress Maria_" were unseaworthy before they were sunk, and the only ship for which the Russians expressed any sorrow was the "_Grand Duke Constantine_," one-hundred-and-twenty, the finest ship in their navy. She seemed quite content with her berth on the bottom, and it will be some time before a timber of her floats again. The impression left upon the mind of every person who made the little tour round the coast was that the resources of Russia in men were reduced to a low ebb in the course of this war, and that she would have been utterly unable to maintain an army in the Crimea, or to continue in possession of it, had we made an aggressive movement with all our forces from Theodosia or Eupatoria, or even left her in an attitude of watchfulness along the extended line from the north side of Sebastopol to Simpheropol. That she possessed considerable means of transport, and had arabas, telegas, and horses sufficient, in ordinary times and on good roads, for the service of her army, was evident enough; but I was assured, on authority beyond question, that for two whole days in the winter the troops at Mackenzie were left without food, in consequence of the state of the roads. The prices of provisions, allowing very amply for the extortions of needy Tartars, of famished innkeepers, and for an extremely liberal spirit on the part of English tourists, were enormous, and it was almost impossible in many places to procure barley or corn for horses at any sum whatever. The country was deserted, the fields uncultivated, agriculture unheeded. A few flocks of sheep and herds of cattle were to be seen here and there in the course of a week's ride, but these were the property of the Government or of contractors, and were not for sale; along the south coast fresh meat was unknown, and salt fish and salt pork were the food of those in good circumstances. A mouthful of hay for a horse cost half a rouble or fifty copecs--eggs were 5_d._ a-piece--fowls utterly beyond the means of Croesus. But amid all these evidences of desolation, the Cossack was seen here, there, everywhere--singly--in twos and threes--in pickets--in patrols--in grand guards--in polks--trotting, walking, or galloping, mounted high on his quaint saddle over his shaggy, long-tailed pony, flourishing with one hand his cruel whip, while with the other he guided the docile animal, above which he towered like a giant, his dirty grey coat fluttering in the breeze and his lance-point shining brightly in the sun. He was sown broadcast all over the Crimea. But you did not see regular soldiers in any numbers till you entered the typhus-haunted streets of Simpheropol, or waded through the mud of Bakshiserai; and even here the miserable, jaded, utterly spiritless, ill-clad, ill-fed, and broken-down militiamen were in the proportion of two to one to the soldiers of the line. In order to judge of the state of the country, I shall transcribe from my diary during the tour such portions of it as appear likely to afford information respecting the effects of the war, or give an insight into the condition of the Crimea. Some other portions, referring to matters of less importance, may, however, prove amusing, if not instructive, more from the novelty of the circumstances to which they relate than from any merit of narration or powers of description. [Sidenote: VALLEY OF BAIDAR.] "_April 12th._--Started at ten o'clock from camp. The party consisted of four officers, two civilians--one of them myself, the other a travelling gentleman--an interpreter, two soldier servants, and one civilian servant. We took with us a strong two-wheeled light cart, drawn by two mules and a pack-pony, and carried in the cart a canteen, a few bottles of spirits and sherry, cases of preserved beef, two tents, fowling-pieces, a fishing-rod, picks and spades, blankets and horse-cloths. The cart was started early, with orders to halt at Baidar till we arrived, and the party were trotting along the Woronzoff Road towards Kamara by eleven o'clock. The day was most favourable--a clear sky, genial sun, and light southerly wind. I met the 4th Hussars (French) on their march in from their cantonments about Baidar, where they have been long exposed to most trying work on outpost duty, and in the ordinary occupation of light cavalry in war time. They were fine soldierly fellows, and were 'quite ready as they sat to ride either to the Great Wall of China or St. Petersburg.' Each man carried a portion of the cooking utensils of his mess, forage for his horse, blankets, and necessaries for the march, and seemed heavily charged, but on examination he would be found to weigh a couple of stone less than an English Hussar--otherwise, indeed, his small horse, however high-tempered, could not carry him. The Sardinians were also on the move, and sending in baggage to Balaklava. The large village of sheds and sutlers' shops on the road at the Fedukhine heights, which was called 'Woronzoff,' was in considerable excitement at the prospect of losing its customers, notwithstanding that the Russians flocked in to supply their place. The French camp here is built like that of their neighbours the Sardinians, very much on the Tartar or Russian plan, and the huts are semi-subterranean. They present in appearance a strong contrast to the regular rows of high wooden huts belonging to the Highland Division opposite, at Kamara, but the money saved to France and Sardinia by the ingenuity and exertions of their soldiers in hutting themselves must have been very considerable in amount. To counteract the _mesquin_ look of these huts, our Allies--more especially the French--planted the ground with young firs and evergreens, brought a considerable distance from the hill-sides of Baidar, so that, after all, their camp is more pleasant to look at than that of the English. They have also made gardens, which promise to bear fruit, flowers, and vegetables for Tartars and Muscovites, and they have turned a large portion of ground by the banks of the Tchernaya, and close to the Traktir Bridge, into a succession of gardens, each appropriated to different companies of the regiments encamped in the neighbourhood. _Sic vos non vobis._ "As we entered the gorge which leads into the valley of Varnutka we met some Tartar families, men and children, on the road, looking out possibly for some place to squat on. These poor creatures are menaced with a forced return to their nomadic habits of centuries ago. Civilization has corrupted them. The youngsters run alongside your horse, crying out, if you are English, 'I say, Johnny, piaster! give me piaster, Johnny!' if you are French, 'Doe dong (intended for _dites donc_), donnez moi piaster'--when young, a bright-eyed, handsome race, with fine teeth and clear complexions; and when old, venerable-looking, owing to their marked features and long beards, but in manhood sly, avaricious, shy, and suspicious. The Russians give bad accounts of them, and say they are not to be trusted, that they are revengeful and ill-disposed--the slave-owner's account of his nigger. Most of the fruit-trees in the pretty valley of Miskomia and Varnutka have been cut down for fuel. Crossing the ridge which separates this valley from that of Baidar, we pass the gutted and half-ruined chateau _dit_ 'Peroffsky.' For a long time this charming little villa supplied French and English cavalry outposts with delicious, wine from its cellars, and was spared from ruin; but bit by bit things were taken away, and at last a general spoliation of all the place contained was made--the furniture was smashed to atoms, the doors broken, the windows carried away. One officer attached to the light cavalry regiment quartered there took away a handsome china service, and most of these dangerous visitors brought off some memento of their visits. The Tartars were rather rejoiced at the ruin of the place, for Count Peroffsky was no favourite with them, but they always express the greatest regard and affection for Prince Woronzoff. Baidar itself--a middling Tartar hamlet at the best of times--looks worse than ever now; garance dyed breeches were hanging out of the window-holes on all sides, and outside one very shaky, tumble-down wattle-house, there was a board declaring that there was good eating and drinking in the 'Café Pelissier.' The village has one advantage, of which no Tartar village is ever destitute--a stream of clear water flows through it, and there are two or three fine springs close at hand. The people are miserable; the men are employed by the French as woodcutters and as drivers of arabas, but the money they receive is not sufficient to procure them full supplies of food or proper clothing. "From Baidar the road ascends by the mountain ridges to the Foross or Phoros Pass, and affords many delightful views of the great valley of Baidar, which is, as it were, a vast wooded basin, surrounded by mountain and hill ranges covered with trees, and sweeping right round it. Blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, large gaudy jays, wood-pigeons, doves, rock-pigeons, hawks, falcons, and great numbers of magpies, frequent the valley, and those which have good voices make it right musical towards sunset. Nightingales are very numerous, and so are varieties of flycatchers, titmice, and buntings. In winter, the hills are full of woodcock, the springs are haunted by snipe, wild duck, widgeon, and teal; and the woods give shelter not only to roe-deer, but, if certain reports promulgated this winter are to be believed, to wolves and bears. The road to Phoros is not good, and in winter must have been of little use. The summit of the pass at Phoros is surmounted by a stone arch which crosses the road at a place guarded by walls of rock, hundreds of feet in height. There is a French guard here, and, of course, we had to exhibit our passes. That was but a little matter, but on entering the archway we found it was fortified after the first rules of art: there were traverses and parapets of great height and thickness, and at the other side of the arch were similar obstacles. The mules were taken out of the cart; then it was unloaded, and the things carried one by one to the other side of these entrenchments; then the wheels were taken off, and by the united strength of our whole party, aided by some good-natured French soldiers, the cart itself was lifted up bodily and carried across all the gabions, earthworks, and traverses, and landed with a cheer on the narrow road at the other side of the pass. [Sidenote: PUBLIC WORKS--PHOROS PASS.] "The scene which bursts upon the eye on emerging from the arch is one of the finest I have ever witnessed--indeed, I am not sure that it is not the most beautiful and grand that can be seen anywhere. You find yourself standing in a very narrow road, on the left hand of which a sheer slab of rock rises to the height of 600 or 700 feet above--its surface rent with fissures, here and there dotted by stunted firs, which cling like weeds to its surface, diversified with all the tints for which volcanic rocks are remarkable. At the base of this cliff, which stretches further than the sight can trace it, there is a ragged fringe of mighty boulders, of fragments of mountains tossed down in the wildest confusion amid the straggling brushwood. On your right, nearly 1,000 feet below, is the sea, washing the narrow selvage of land which, covered with thick groves and dotted with rocks, tumbles down beneath your feet in waves of verdure, so rapidly that the dark blue waters, which are really nearly a mile distant, seem to be only a few hundred yards from the road. This narrow shelving strip of land, which lies beneath the cliff and descends to the sea, formed of the débris of the mountain-chain above it, extends along the coast from Phoros to Demur Kapu, or the Iron Gate, widening as it runs eastward, and losing its distinctive character completely ere it reaches Aloushta, in consequence of the great wall of cliff on the left hand receding rapidly inland and northwards from the point opposite Yalta. The length of this strip is thirty miles. It is nearly a mile broad at Phoros, and thence it gradually expands, till at Aloupka it attains a breadth of three miles from the sea to the base of the cliff, and at Yalta is five miles. The road winds for many miles along the foot of these stupendous crags, but there is a lower road, reached by zig-zags, which leads to the villas situated in the lovely valleys by the coast. This strip of shelving land is of the most varied formation. It is tossed about into hill and dale, and is seamed with shady ravines and deep woody dells, which are watercourses in winter. As it is quite sheltered by the cliff from northerly winds, and is exposed to the full power of the sun, the climate here is beautifully mild until the heats of summer begin, and the land produces in great perfection an astonishing variety of vegetable productions. "The Crimea has a Flora of its own, but the lady is dressed so quaintly, uses such strange language, and is called so many hard, long names, that in my ignorance I am afraid to approach her, or to do anything more than to praise her general effect and appearance at a distance. But here indeed is a horrid reality to talk about. Some half-mile from Phoros, the road runs through a solid rock by means of a tunnel about thirty yards long. I happened to be riding in advance, and saw that this tunnel was blocked up by a wall seven feet in height and eight feet in thickness. All passage for the cart seemed hopeless. We never could lift it up so high. There was no getting round the rock, and so I smote my breast and returned to the party. But there were two or three among us not easily to be deterred from their purpose. An examination was made; a council of war was held; and it was decided that over the wall we must go, and that the obstacle intended to prevent the march of Cossack cavalry and the carriage of mountain guns, was not to impede six British tourists. Under the direction of our acting engineer, to work we went. The party got on the wall, and proceeded to dislodge the stones on both sides with regularity and precision, rolling them down so as to form a kind of solid arch out of the centre of the wall. Shins were cut, toes were smashed, spurs were bent, but the work went on, and at the end of three-quarters of an hour the way was declared to be practicable. The mules were taken out of the cart, and walked by a footpath round the rock; the heavy articles were unloaded, and then, with main strength, the cart was spoked up to the top of the mound of rocks and stones, after a desperate struggle, and then, with immense difficulty, was backed down to the road on the other side. Maybe the old tunnel did not re-echo three tremendous cheers when the work was over, and the mules emerged with their triumphant chariot! But our troubles were not half over. The French were uneasy at Phoros--they had scarped the road, and what they had spared, two winters of neglect had very nearly demolished. Before we moved six miles we executed, in addition to these labours, the following great public works, in order to get our cart over: No. 1. Built a wall to bank up the roadside at a precipice; No. 2. Filled up a crevice with brushwood and loose stone; No. 3. Made the road practicable with fascines; No. 4. Cut away hill-side, so as to widen the road by the side of a precipice where it had given way; No. 5. Unloaded cart and spoked it over a bad bit, and loaded it again. "It is about twenty-two miles from the camp to Phoros pass, and our halting-place for the night is the ruined chateau of Isarkaia, which is about six miles from Phoros. We reached this secluded spot about seven o'clock in the evening. The walls and roof alone are left. The windows are smashed in, woodwork and all, and the only thing untouched in the place is a mangle in the kitchen. We stable our horses in the parlours and library, for all I know to the contrary, unpack the cart, and carry in saddles and bedding to the room designed for dining and sleeping. There are no boarded rooms, but the clay floor is soft, a fountain and a stream of water run hard by. The horses are groomed and supplied with hay and corn, and we prepare for dinner. A horrid announcement is made--'The Major has forgot to bring either kettle, gridiron, or saucepan! The tea and the sugar have got mixed! But that is no consequence.' What is to be done? Ingenious engineer suggests that my tinned iron dish shall be used as a frying-pan; carried _nem. con._ As to saucepan, some ingenious person drives two holes in a potted beef tin case, thrusts a piece of wood through them as handle, and proceeds to make soup therein over a blazing fire lighted up in one of the ruined fireplaces of the drawing-room. Just as soup is ready, handle burns through, and soup upsets into the fire, a disaster quite irretrievable, and so we proceed to devour tough ration-beef done in steaks on the tin dish. Sherry is forthcoming, bread, and preserved vegetables. Water is boiled in a small teapot, and produces enough for a temperate glass of grog; the blankets are spread on the floor, and preparations are made for sleep. First, however, the watch is appointed. Each man takes an hour in the alphabetical order of his name, from eleven to five o'clock, to watch the horses, to keep in the fire, and to guard against theft. The mangle is broken up for firewood. In doing so, the best made London axe, bought from an eminent saddler, flies in two at the first chop!--useful article for travelling! Odd legs of chairs and tables, bits of drawers, and dressers, and cupboards, are piled up for the same purpose, and our first watch is left on his post. We muster three double-barrelled guns and four revolvers between us, a total of thirty shots; the night passes quietly. [Sidenote: TOILS BY THE WAY.] "Below the walls of the house in which we encamped, buried amid orchards and vineyards, is a ruined villa with marble fountains and handsome rooms. It is pillaged and wrecked like the rest, but it tempts our party to plunge down through the brushwood and thick scrubby woods, interlaced with 'Christ's thorn' and long creepers, to the ledge on which it stands above the sea. The silence, broken only by the cry of the eagles which soar about the cliffs, the surge of the wave on the rocks, and the voices of the birds in the groves, is rather a source of pain than of pleasure. '_Malheur à la dévastation_' is inscribed on the walls. But who were the devastators? The Russians allege it was the Allies--the Tartars declare it was the Russians themselves. There are many who believe that these very Tartars had no small share in the plundering and wrecking of their taskmasters' and conquerors' summer palaces. We know from experience that on the march to Sebastopol, every village, every little villa and farmhouse, was sacked and destroyed by the enemy, and Bourliouk, Eskel, Mamashai, Belbek, &c., were in ruins before our outposts reached them. The evidence so far is against the Russians. As the walls and roofs of these houses are untouched, they look as picturesque and pretty from a distance as ever they did, and it is only on nearer approach that traces of the hand of the spoiler become visible. "We had a very excellent breakfast, notwithstanding the extraordinary rich flavour of onions in the tea, which was accounted for by the circumstance that the water had been boiled in the soup-kettle. Some officers of the Guards who had followed us, and bivouacked near the post-house which we had passed on the road, came in as we were at 'our humble meal,' and relished their share of it exceedingly. Their cart pushed on in advance of ours, and as they profited by our labours of yesterday, so did we in a smaller degree (our cart was larger than theirs) reap the advantage of their preceding us part of the way to-day. We started about eleven o'clock, and our hard work soon commenced. Between the enemy, the French, and the winter, the road scarcely existed; it had been swept down into the ravine. However, our motto was '_vestigia nulla retrorsum_,' and the colonel, the major, the captain, the D.A.C.G., the civilians, and the soldiers, worked as if for their lives and succeeded, in the course of the day, in executing the following useful public works: No. 1. Road blocked up by rocks from mountain--cut down trees, made levers, and cleared the way--major's leg nearly broken, every one dirtied with wheel grease, finger-nails broken, hands cut, &c. No. 2. Road repaired by Guards (who left us a bit of paper on a stick to commemorate the fact) was found too narrow, the hill-side was dug-out, stones laid, and road extended. No. 3. Landslip--edge of the road gone. We built up a wall of stones to support the edge, and passed over triumphantly. No. 4. Were riding along at a smart pace down the road, which winds like a piece of tape (not red, but white) along the mountain side, when frantic cries from the next turn recalled us to our cart--found it had gone down over a gulley, shooting out beds and bundles some hundreds of feet below, and was lying right over in the mud of the aforesaid gulley atop of the wheel mule. No one hurt. Took off wheels, cut fastenings, and unharnessed mule, which escaped without a hurt, but was covered with mud; raised cart, carried up beds, &c., out of ravine; unpacked cart and carried baggage across bad parts of landslip; set cart on wheels, loaded it, and went on our way rejoicing. "Just after this accident we met General Eyre and his staff, attended by a Russian officer and several Cossacks, on his way to Phoros. The gallant General had been round to Bakshiserai, Simpheropol, and Aloushta, and was just reversing our route, which our party had the honour of being the first to drag a cart over. The General had been assisted up to this point by a village full of Tartars, who were caught by the Russians, to get his cart over the bad places. No. 5. Came upon the Guards and their servants, who were busy mending the road where it was cut by a mountain water-course: aided them and ourselves; got over our cart first and preceded them on the road. No. 6. Cut fascines and filled in a gap in the road. Let it be understood, all this time, that there is the sea below us on the right, the quaint wall of cliffs, 600ft. or 700ft. high, on our left, and at times, as it were, toppling over on our heads, and a rugged slope of wood and vineyard dotted with villas between us and the beach. No. 7. Having come up to a party of Guardsmen who were bivouacking with some artillerymen on their way back to Baidar, we were told that the road was utterly impassable; it had been carried away by a landslip. Resolved to go on; soon afterwards repaired road, and proceeded cautiously through mud from the ice rills which had bored through and broken up the path in many places. [Sidenote: SIMEIS TO ALOUPKA.] "It was becoming late, and yet we had not got more than eight or nine miles from Asarkaia; and Aloupka, for which we were bound, was still as many miles ahead of us. The cliff at this part of the coast, which is somewhere between Kikineis and Limena, recedes further from the sea, and there is a considerable tract of hills from its base to the road. These hills are covered with brushwood, and our vedette in front reported to us that two round knobs, which, no doubt, served as heads to as many Cossacks, were visible in advance, amid the young foliage. As we approached, the knobs disappeared, but presently two lance-points peered above the rocks at the turn of the road, and in another moment or two we were in the presence of three mounted Cossacks of the Don, who by signs demanded our passes in a very civil and agreeable manner. As none of them could read, this formality seemed useless, but they gave us to understand by signs that one of our party must go to the officer of the post, and the Major and his interpreter were accordingly handed over to the care of an individual with one eye, and were out of sight very speedily. Our cart was ordered back, and it was explained that we had to drag it over the slope of the hills on our left, as the road before us had actually gone over the cliffs. Our friends were intelligent, good-looking young fellows, and while waiting for the Major we spent some time rather agreeably with them in a mutual examination of arms and interchange of tobacco. They wore heavy curved swords, without guards to the handles, in large sheaths of wood covered with leather. Their heads were covered with sheepskin caps, the top being formed of red cloth, and slightly conical in shape. Their coats were like those of the infantry of the line--long garments of grey cloth, fastened by a strap at the back, and their trousers were tucked into their boots _more Muscovitorum_. Each man had a long carbine slung over his shoulder, and I was rather surprised to observe that they had percussion locks. This armament was completed by a long and very light lance. The edges of their swords were as sharp as razors--their lance-points were equally keen. Their hair was closely cut, and they had the whiskerless cheek, the beardless chin, and the mustachioed lip of the "regulation." Their horses were barely fourteen hands high, and were high in the bone and low in the flesh, but their speed and endurance are undeniable. The Cossack rides high above his horse--he sits in the hollow of a saddle which looks like two pillars of black leather, at such a height that his heels are against the horse's flank, and when the animal trots, his rider's head is thrown forward over the shoulder, so that a right line let fall from his head would be in advance of his toes by some inches. The manes of the Cossack horses are very long, and their tails often sweep the ground. We soon found they were very quick walkers, and got over the ground with rapidity and ease. "As the Major did not return, we concluded, after a long stay, that he was on the road before us, and we resolved to urge the cart over the hill. The Cossacks helped us in this (which was no easy matter) as soon as their comrade came back with an intimation, as we understood, which would be interpreted in English that 'it was all right.' The cart was once more unloaded, and its contents were dragged by us across the steep hill; then the cart was spoked up over the spongy ground, was loaded again, and the drivers were conducted to the road by the Cossacks, while we were shown a shorter cut, and descended under escort of our amiable, but strongly scented friends, down through shady ravines to the Tartar village of Simeis. Simeis, like all Tartar villages, is built by the side of a brook, which brawls pleasantly through a succession of little cascades as it leaps down from the mountains to the sea. The ravine in which the village is situate is shaded from the sun by enormous walnut and chestnut trees, and by the humbler branches of pear, apple, and peach trees. The houses are built on the slope in layers, with broad flat roofs, which are rendered watertight by a thick covering of sand and bitumen, and on looking down on it, or on any of the Tartar villages, not a house is visible; all that can be seen is a succession of little brown square patches with one hole in each, descending the slope in regular terraces, the backs being formed by the hill-side itself. In Simeis we were halted till the curiosity of a strong Cossack picket and some regulars was satisfied. About sixty men passed us in review, and then we were let to climb the hill up to the road, at which we found another Cossack waiting to relieve our silent friend who had so far accompanied us. "It was getting dark; there was no sign of the Major; but, for a wonder, one of the Cossacks spoke German, and he told us an English officer was on in front. In a few moments our guide began to ride down a steep zigzag road towards the sea. The cart had come up all right, and we found we were on our way down to Aloupka, which is close to the sea-shore. The zigzag was as steep and sharp in its turns as any Swiss mountain path, and the horses, already tired by the nature of the day's journey, showed signs of distress very visibly. The descent lasted for an hour; it seemed a night; the young moon just lighted up the Cossack's white horse, and the feathery tips of tall poplars and branches of grey olive-trees and all else was in darkness. We heard the roar of the sea close at hand at last, and a low white building peered above the trees. We cantered into the open space before it by a nice avenue with a regular paling on each side. The Cossack dismounted, fastened up his horse, and went into the house, leaving us in profound ignorance and great hunger outside. The sounds of very noisy and drunken singing, which roused the night owls through the windows, led us to believe the house was a Cossack barrack, but after some time the door opened, and out came a brisk little man, who spoke good French, and a decent body, his wife, who astonished us with excellent English, and we found that we were at 'the hotel' at Aloupka. The cause of the noise was soon found. It was the work of a drunken Russian Colonel, chief of the police at Yalta, who had introduced himself to some English officers at that place, and had, in spite of them, accompanied them so far on their way to Phoros. '_Violà_,' said a little voice in our ears, as the door of the dining-room was opened,--'_Violà la noblesse Russe--il est noble parcequ'il est Colonel_.' The room in which we found ourselves was a comfortable apartment, with sofas and easy-chairs, engravings of Count Potocki, of the Czar (of course), of Prince Woronzoff, of very warm subjects from French burins, on the walls, and a table well covered with bottles and glasses. At the end of the table was seated a Russian officer, screaming at the top of his voice some inscrutable snatches of song, for which he prepared himself by copious doses of brandy, sherry, and Crim wine. He was offensively drunk, but the terror which he inspired in the landlord and landlady was not the less on that account, and was evidently only equalled by their hatred of him. We are told that the Russians read the London papers so diligently that they know everything that passes as well as we do ourselves. I do not wish to get our good host and his wife, or even the inebriated Muscovite, into a scrape, or I would relate a few particulars respecting their demeanour which might prove amusing. The Colonel of the Aloupka district, when he heard of the condition of his brother 'authority,' gave orders that he should be turned out, but these were not carried into effect till late in the evening. He spoke a little French, and I think he understood English, though he professed not to know a word. "Our dinner consisted of salt meat and an _omelette au lard_, washed down with plenty of Crim wine. We had also a tin of preserved beef. It was very fat, and we all put away the excess of adipose matter on a plate, where it formed a pretty large pile. The Colonel, who had been eating the meat, suddenly seized upon this plate, and stuffed huge mouthfuls of the fat and grease down his throat on the point of a knife with infinite gusto. A Cossack brought us in our passes. In spite of his standing at attention, the man's look betrayed a feeling of greater disgust at the Colonel's condition than I should have given him credit for. Our horses, which were put in a distant stable, could only be fed by the intervention of some others of our Dons, who also undertook to guard them all right--'the Greeks were such robbers.' Our beds were clean and comfortable, and we slept well till morning, although the Colonel kicked up at intervals a dreadful row outside. [Sidenote: THE ALMA REVISITED.] "Distance lends enchantment to the view of Prince Woronzoff's palace from the sea. Hence it seems a splendid combination of Tartar and Norman architecture, donjons and keeps, and battlemented walls, strangely intermingling with minarets and the dome of a mosque. It is quite close to our hotel, and is approached by a beautiful walk, like the back lodge avenue in an English estate. The path is marked by a wooden paling, inside which are olives and fruit-trees and evergreens, and immense chestnut and walnut trees and silvery poplars. We pass a quiet chateau with a verandah and terraced front. It was the Prince's residence before he built his palace, and it is now used as a summer retreat by his son. The furniture is simple and handsome, and there is a beautiful view from the windows. A Russian servant (the only one we saw about the place) readily showed us over the premises. "From Aloupka we continued our course by the coast as far as the village of Alushta, whence we turned off towards the north, crossing the Tchater Dagh and descending to Simpheropol. From that town we made our way to Bakshiserai, and so home to camp." CHAPTER VII. Visits to the Alma--Aspect of the Locality--Criticisms on the Battle--Conflicting Statements--Memorials of departed Heroes. Ere I left the Crimea I went twice to the Alma, and examined the battle-ground. I shall reproduce my account of the excursion in the language in which it was written at the time. "The road from the plateau, on which for one long year the hopes and fears and anxieties of civilized Europe were concentrated, leads down from the ridge on which the battle of Inkerman was mainly fought to the deep ravine out of which the materials for the mansions, quays, harbours, docks, and forts of Sebastopol have been hewed. It presents a wild and desolate aspect. The graves of the slain are numerous. The slabs of oolite tower perpendicularly for several hundred feet on the right hand and the left to the verge of the elevated plateau, and rise, like great white walls of masonry, aloft from a base of huge blocks and disintegrated masses of the same substance. This ravine, deepening as it descends, falls at right angles to the valley through which the Tchernaya eats its way to the head of the Roads of Sebastopol. At the lower end of the ravine the aqueduct spans it, and then is carried on a light and handsome bridge of masonry, supported on some ten or twelve arches right across, and disappears in a tunnel through the solid rock on the left-hand side. Passing underneath, through one of the arches, you find yourself by the banks of the sluggish Tchernaya, and a ride of 500 yards or so past the perpendicular cliffs, perforated with caves, which bound the margin of the valley, leads you to the causeway across the marsh towards Inkerman. An excellent wooden bridge, built by our engineers, stretches across the river, and the marsh beyond is crossed by a high causeway. At the near end are our guard-tents; and the pass is kept by the Russian and English sentries, who seem on very good terms with each other. Arrived at the end of the causeway, the cliffs of northern Inkerman are above you, and the road winds up to a ravine which leads you to their recesses. A curious chapel and monkery in the caves are visible in the face of the cliff. Embrasures are above, before, and on each side of you on entering these fastnesses. The black pupils of these dull eyes have been removed, but there is enough of the works left to show how hot and frequent they could have flashed on you in their anger. There are five batteries on various points of this ravine, and the slopes of the plateau afford many fine sites for field artillery or guns of position. The road is good. On the right, about a mile from the entrance of the ravine, are numerous deep shafts in the clay, from, which the Russians draw their supply of water. The road winds gradually upwards till it leads you to the level of the north plateau of Inkerman, just as the Quarries road took you down from the south plateau to the level of the valley of the Tchernaya, from which you are now ascending. Here is the Russian camp, at which we have so often gazed from the heights on the right of our position. It is now very much altered in appearance. The huts have been abandoned, and the men are living in a very pretty, clean, and well-kept camp of canvas, but the purlieus are very dirty, and have the usual disagreeable smell of Russian quarters. The tents are square in shape, and at the top, which tapers to a point from the side of the wall, there is a knob, gilt or painted, which gives them an air of finish. The path or streets of the camp are bordered with wild flowers and fir branches. The regiments stationed here belong to the Seventh Division, which forms the First Division of the third _corps d'armée_, and are, as well as I could ascertain, the 13th (Smolensko) and 14th (Politsch), and number about 6,000 men. There is a brigade of field artillery--two batteries--close to this camp, and the pieces are very well kept, and in excellent condition. [Sidenote: THE ALMA REVISITED.] "The cantonments extend as far as the heights over the valley of the Belbek on the left-hand side, and could have contained about 18,000 men, which considerably exceeds the strength of the whole of the Seventh Division. A steep road descending from the verge of the plateau, at the point where the Russian bazaar is established, leads to the Belbek, which is crossed by two bridges. One of these is a fine, well-built new structure of wood; the other is that by which the army crossed in the flank march, and the post-house near which Sir George Cathcart took up his quarters still remains intact. The Fourth Division bivouacked here the night before we entered Balaklava, when Lord Raglan slept at Traktir, on the Tchernaya, and Sir George was very uneasy, on account of his isolated position, separated, as he was, from the rest of the army, and believing that a body of Russians intervened between them. It was from this that General Windham rode with despatches to the Katcha, anticipating Commander Maxse's arrival from the Tchernaya by more than half an hour, and from this neighbourhood the army turned towards Mackenzie. Lord Raglan reconnoitred Sebastopol from a hillock close to the road on the right, a short time before we fell in with the rear-guard and baggage of the enemy. The village of the Belbek is greatly changed since then--the trees have been cut down, and the valley, once so beautiful, blooms no more. The villas have been used as hospitals, and there are many Russian graves, marked with black wooden crosses, in the neighbouring ravines. From this valley you ascend another steep hill to the top of the plateau which lies between it and the valley of the Katcha. The ground is covered with dwarf trees and thick brushwood, full of lizards and small birds, which are persecuted by numerous falcons and hawks. There are patches of naked ground and ashes scattered over the plateau, which show where parties of the enemy were encamped; but the country is not suited for large bodies of men, as water is not to be had except at the rivers. The plateau is intersected by numerous woody ravines, and the tracks followed by the allied armies are plainly visible. They have been much used by the Russians. "A ride of three-quarters of an hour takes us to the valley of the Katcha, still beautiful and rich with verdure, for this part of it is too far from the immediate operations of war, and too much out of the track from Bakshiserai, to have suffered much. The place which we approach was once the village of Eskel; it is now in ruins. The Tartar houses are pulled down or unroofed; the population have fled; and the Russian houses are just as they were left by the Cossacks on our approach after the Alma. The church gleams brightly through the dense branches of the fruit-trees, which are covered with blossoms, but the large tracts of vineyards which welcomed us nearly three years ago, are now uncultivated. The Doctor's house is in a sad plight--one of the first we entered after the Alma--and is still the picture of neglect and ruin. Lord Raglan's comfortable residence is in the custody of an old Tartar, who shows the broken furniture, the sofas ripped open, the chairs smashed, and the beds cut up, with great pride, and leads one to infer pretty plainly that Ruskie did all the mischief. It was at this village that the Russians halted to recover breath after their headlong flight from the Alma, and from it they fled the same night in panic on the cry being raised that the Allies were coming. "The Katcha is a deep narrow stream with rotten banks, and some people think it would have afforded a better position than the Alma; but, in fact, it is too near Sebastopol. We found a few Russian soldiers in the houses; and on the first occasion it happened to be the Greek Easter Sunday, and we were most hospitably entertained by a poor Russian family, who insisted on our partaking of painted eggs, of salt pork steeped in vinegar, and cabbage, of brown bread, butter, vodka, or white home-made brandy, and Crim tobacco, and then on embracing us because we were Christians--a severe punishment, which, if often repeated, might lead to recantation. Crossing the Katcha by the bridge over which our army filed into Eskel, we find ourselves on the steppe--the dry barren plain studded with tumuli, which extends in wavy folds right away to Perekop. At this season of the year it is glorious with large beds of wild flowers, sweet-pea, roses, mignonette, thyme, orchids of all kinds, sweet-william, and many other varieties, whose tame and developed species are the ornaments of our gardens at home; it is musical, too, with the song of birds singing to their mates in the nest; but in September it is an arid, scorched waste, covered with coarse hay, and as it is devoid of water, it is unfit for pasturage. The ride to the Alma from the Katcha is not more than eight miles, but it seems twice the distance. The white telegraph station over the river, which stood on the Russian left, can be seen for many miles on a clear day, but on the steppe mirage is very common, and the horizon is rarely well defined. It is often lost in a fantastic margin resembling the sealine of an agitated ocean. Bustards, on the _qui vive_ about their young ones, soar slowly before us, and eagles, vultures, and many species of falcons are visible in pursuit of their prey, which must consist for the most part of hares, which are very large and numerous. Some of these hares have been found to weigh ten or twelve pounds, and I have heard of a monster who turned the scale at fourteen pounds. In one of the hollows in the steppe, about three miles from the Alma, there is a small hamlet, but, with this exception, not a habitation is visible over the whole of this vast expanse of land. It is famous ground for a long canter, or as much of a gallop as your horse will stand; so with the help of an occasional scurry after a hare the distance melts away, and as we go crashing through the sweet flowers, the telegraph rises higher and clearer till we pull up at the foot of the mound on which it stands. This was the scene of a fierce struggle, and it was here the French had some really hard fighting before they forced the enemy to fly. [Sidenote: THE ALMA REVISITED.] "The telegraph is a quadrilateral figure of white stone, and it has never been finished. It is covered with names; and one side is engraved '_La Bataille d'Alma, 8 Septembre_.' The French had put the right date, the 20th; but the Russians obliterated it, and altered it to their own style. There are fifteen large sepulchral mounds around the telegraph, wherein lie French and Russians, and the ravines are still full of bones, and of fragments of clothing and accoutrements. Cannon-shot appear to have been carefully removed. There is an excellent view of the French position and attack from the edge of the plateau. The enemy must have had every movement of the Allies under their eyes from the time they left Bouljanak till they halted to form for battle; and the spectacle could not have been one to have given them much courage, or to have inflamed their ardour. The Russians declare they had only 33,000 or 34,000 on the field; but, admitting that to be so, they made a bad fight, considering the position they occupied, and their cavalry exhibited that passive and unenterprising character which it maintained throughout the war. An officer of the old Pestal regiment told me that he charged our first attacking body when they were checked with the bayonet, and that if all the troops inside and on the flanks of the redoubts had rushed out simultaneously, the day would have been lost to us; but he was rather surprised when he heard that our Third and Fourth Divisions were still intact, and that the Guards, whom he supposed to have been routed, were never broken except in the centre, where the Scots Fusiliers wavered for a time in their advance under the heavy fire of the Russians and the pressure of the disjointed groups of the Light Division. The French are disposed to think that the English were too slow in beginning the attack, which it was agreed should not take place till our allies had gained the left of the Russian position. It is certain that Lord Raglan received one, if not two, pressing messages from Marshal St. Arnaud to hasten his columns: but one may ask how it was that here, as everywhere else, the honour of taking the initiative was ceded to our allies, and the opportunity given to them of saying 'The English were too late.' They only numbered 23,000, whereas we had 27,000. If it resulted from their position on our right, why did they take the left when we halted before Sebastopol? "The assaults on the place were made on the same principle--the French first, the English afterwards; and, whether it be true or false that we were 'too late,' there can be no doubt there was from the beginning a tendency to say so. It is beyond question, in the opinion of many officers, that the Light Division were not followed closely enough by the First in their advance up the hill at the Alma. In other words, the latter were too slow or 'too late.' The French did their part admirably, and their intelligence and personal activity were wonderfully displayed in their progress up the steep ravines and sides of the high banks of the plateau, but their loss in killed and wounded was under 700 men, while ours was just 2,000. The Admiral Bouet Willaumez, in his recent so-called 'History of the French Navy,' distinctly avers that the English General would not permit the victory to be followed up by marching next day, and that the French were retarded by their allies. A different impression prevails in our army; but this is one of the points which must be cleared up for history by those who were in the confidence of Lord Raglan. The statement, at all events, shows what was the belief of the _chef d'état major_ of the French navy in the Black Sea. Of the necessity and of the motives for the delay, of its results, of the practicability of getting such aid from the fleet as would have relieved us entirely from the charge of sick, wounded, and prisoners, I shall not speak; but it is to be remarked that the feebleness and imbecility of our arrangements in this portion of our administration became apparent at the very first pressure by the abandonment of our ambulances just at the very time they were most needed, by the disgraceful exhibition of the _Kangaroo_ crowded with sick and wounded till she had to make the signal that she was unmanageable and unsafe in the sight of the whole fleet, by the sufferings of her miserable cargo, left to the charge of one surgeon, who could not attend to a tithe of his patients, and who could not even get at them if he could have dressed their wounds, and by the foolish and cruel expedient of leaving another surgeon, Dr. Thompson, and his servant on the field to take care of 700 wounded men. Dr. Thompson felt the hopelessness and positive cruelty of such a proceeding, and remonstrated against it, but he was told it had been 'ordered,' and that if the 'Cossacks' came down his 'professional character' would protect him. "The battle of the Alma was one of the most brilliant in the world--the shortest and sharpest, and our army, young in action, but veteran in service, displayed the best qualities of British infantry. We have since heard of the incredulity, of the dismay, with which the news was received in St. Petersburg, and of the subsequent eagerness of the Russian army to avenge the defeat and to hurry to the Crimea, to drive the Allies into the sea. They found a barrier they could not break at Inkerman; but they are a people prone to put faith in their own invincibility, and slow to credit defeat. They believe in themselves yet. The position of the Alma is so well marked that it can never be mistaken by any future visitors. The French attacked the steep and almost perpendicular cliffs, which are broken here and there by ravines which mount upwards from the river. Their columns were divided from our regiments by the most marked and extensive of those ravines, and eastward of that boundary the whole of the ground suddenly falls, and, instead of rising abruptly from the Alma, gains the high level of the hills by a series of sweeping undulations, offering many positions for guns, with extensive glacis to the front. [Sidenote: PEACEFUL EXPLORATIONS.] "Descending from the plateau, some of our party crossed the bridge, and went out on the plain towards Bouljanak to the tumuli which stud the plains, and which denote the extreme range of the Russian guns. On turning round towards the south, the eye takes in the whole scene of battle, from the sea on the right to the low slopes which formed the right of the Russian position. Their left was separated from their right by a deep ravine running at right angles toward the Alma, and this ravine also is the boundary between the high and steep cliffs which, on the south bank, overhang the tortuous course of the Alma from the ford to the sea, and the gentler rising grounds on which the enemy's left lay, strengthened by the epaulements and by the mass of the Russian artillery. It will then be seen how the Russian left depended on the nature of the ground as its best defence, and what a fatal mistake Menschikoff committed when he omitted to take into consideration the effect of the fire of the ships. That fire soon drove back their left, and forced it to reform on the centre, which it put into confusion, and the French, ascending by the ravines with the utmost courage and activity, made good their footing on the right and turned the Russian left completely, with comparatively little loss. The advance of our allies was covered to a great extent by the thick foliage on the banks of the Alma, and the cliffs are so high and rotten that the enemy's guns could not be used with success against them. The course of the river is much further from the base of these cliffs than it is from the slopes on the Russian right, where the British attacked, so that it would be scarcely commanded by guns on the top of the plateau; whereas, we were under fire for several hundred yards before we reached the Alma at all. "A mound, composed of fifteen graves, at the distance of 400 or 500 yards from the river on its north side, denotes the resting-place of those who fell before the army crossed the stream, or who died after the fight in the ambulances. The road by which we advanced to the bridge was just as it was on the 20th of September, and on the right, close to the stream, were the blackened ruins of the village of Bourliouk. It will be remembered that the enemy partially destroyed the bridge, but that it was repaired during the action by the Royal Engineers and a party of Sappers and Miners. The bridge has been substantially rebuilt, by means of a strong wooden way thrown across the stone arches, and supported by beams and uprights. The old post-house, on the right of the road before you come to the bridge, was about being reconstructed, and a guard of soldiers were lodged in its ruins. It will be, to all appearances, a handsome house of fine white freestone when it is finished. I surveyed its ruins with peculiar interest, for I know a person very intimately who took shelter in this house, part of which was on fire, to get out of a fire still hotter, till he was driven out by a shell falling through the roof, and it was at the wall outside, which was yet torn by shot, that I met the first two wounded officers I saw that day--two officers of the 30th, one hit through the chest or side; the other wounded, I think, in the leg or arm. They were helping each other from the river, bleeding and weak, and I was fortunate enough to be able to bring to their aid a Staff surgeon, belonging, I believe, to the Cavalry Division, who kindly examined their wounds under fire. Close to this I had previously seen the first man killed--a drummer, who was carrying a litter, and who was struck by a round shot which bowled slowly along the road and hit him, with a peculiar squashing sound, on the hip. He fell, and never moved; nor did his comrade, who was carrying the other end of the litter, stop to mourn over his death. "After the intrepid rush of the Light Division up the hill, its wavering, its broken and unwilling halt, the bold advance of Pennefather's Brigade, and the billow-like march of the Guards, I pressed on immediately in the rear of the Light, and in front of the Third Division, and I was able to warn Colonel Waddy, as he approached at the head of the 50th, that he was moving right along the line of fire of the enemy's guns, and, as there was a very conclusive proof given of the correctness of the statement just as I spoke, that gallant officer moved off his men, who were in dense column, a little to the left, and got off the road to the fields. All these things and many more came back upon me as I looked around. I could recall that narrow road filled with dead and dying--old friends jesting at scars and wounds, and exulting in victory, and awaiting with patience the arrival of men to carry them away to the surgeons--a white-haired field-officer (of the 55th), whose name I don't know, badly wounded through the body, who could only moan bitterly, 'Oh, my poor men! oh, my poor men! they hadn't a chance;' then the river stained here and there with blood, still flowing from the dead and dying who lay on the shallows and the banks, lined nevertheless by hundreds, who drank its waters eagerly; the horrid procession of the dripping litters going to the rear of the fight; the solid mass of Adams' brigade, halted by Lord Raglan's orders as it emerged from the smoke of Bourliouk: the Staff itself and the Commander-in-Chief, gathered on the rising ground close by; that ghastly battle-field where so many lay in so small a place putrescent with heat and wounds; the grey blocks of Russians melting away like clouds, and drifted off by the fierce breath of battle; the shriek and rush of the shells from the brass howitzers in the battery, the patter of the rifle, the rattling roll of the musketry, the frantic cheers of our men as they stood victors on the heights, drowning the groans and cries which for a moment succeeded the roar of battle; the shrill flourish of the French bugles, and the joyous clamour of their drums from the other side of the ravine--all came back upon the ear again, and the eye renewed its pleasure as it gazed from the ridge upon the plain where it had before seen the Russians flying in disorder, with their rear still covered by the threatening squadrons of their cavalry. Then one recalled the spot where one had seen some friend lying dead, or some one--friend or foe--whom it were no mercy to strive to keep alive. Watkin Wynn, stretched on the ground in front of the trench, with a smile on his face--Chester, with a scornful frown, and his sword clenched in the death grasp--Monck, with the anger of battle fixed on every feature--these and many another friend in the peaceful camp of Aladyn or Devno rose up as they lived in the memory. The scowling Russians who glared so fiercely on their conquerors and seemed to hate them even as they supplied their wants, then seen for the first time, left an impression respecting the type of the Muscovite character which has scarcely been effaced now that they have ceased to be enemies. I recalled the two days passed as no army ought to pass two days--on the field of battle amid the dead--the horrid labours of those hours of despondency and grief where all should have been triumph and rejoicing, and the awakened vigour with which the army broke from its bivouac on the Alma and set out with no certain aim, no fixed project, on its chance march which fate made successful. [Sidenote: THE ALMA REVISITED.] "The intrenchment can be distinctly seen for a mile north of the river. It is placed half-way down the slope of the little hill-side. There were no other works, trenches, redoubts, or field-works of any description except one more epaulement and a few sods of earth turned up to afford cover to a few skirmishers; and all the accounts of such defences filled with riflemen and guns which have been made public were erroneous. The enemy had very few riflemen, and the ground, except on the extreme left, was of such a nature that good cover for guns could be had for the seeking. For many years to come the battle-field is likely to remain as it is now, the only difference being that the vines which flourished on the 20th of September, 1854, and which are now destroyed, may be cultivated once more. On ascending from the river towards the intrenchment, you find yourself on the left completely covered by a rise of the hill in front from the parapet, so that men could form in this hollow for the attack, without being exposed to fire; but the Russians, aware of this, sent down on their extreme right large bodies of infantry, who fired at the Left Brigade of the Light Division as they were trying to get into order after crossing the river. "On the right, nearer to the bridge, the ground is more exposed to guns from the parapet of the trench, and on advancing a few yards the fair open glacis, gently sloping upwards to their muzzles, gives a terrible solution of the reason why for a time the Light Division was held in check, and lost in a few moments upwards of 1,000 men. At the base of this glacis, and scattered along the ridge towards the river, are mounds of earth about thirty feet long by fifteen in breadth, which are covered with large stones and slabs of slate. There are fifteen or sixteen of these mounds, and many of them contain the remains of friends and foes. Some small black wooden crosses are placed here and there among these mounds, which rise to the height of two or three feet above the level of the plain, and are all covered with rank vegetation and wild flowers. The parapet of the work is still about three feet outside, and a foot deeper in the trench inside. Near the centre is placed a handsome monument of white stone, with the following inscription:-- "'During the attack on these heights, 20th September, 1854, Her Britannic Majesty's 23rd Royal Welsh Fusileers lost their commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel H. Chester, Captains A. W. Wynn, F. Evans, J. Conolly, Lieutenants P. Radcliffe, Sir W. Young, Bart., J. Anstruther, and J. Butler, all killed on the field: also Lieutenant Applewaite, mortally wounded, who died 22nd September, 1854. This stone is erected to their memory.' "On the other side,'The regiment also lost Sergeant J. H. Jones, Colour-Sergeants R. Hitchcock, J. F. Edwards, one drummer, and forty privates, killed on the field.' "In the ditch of the field-work there are about twenty large graves covered with long grass and wild flowers. The trench is about 150 yards long, and it is filled with earth which has tumbled down into it from the parapet; the traces of the embrasures still remain. There are two stone crosses erected inside the trench on heaps of dead. This was all that remained to betoken the scene of the action on our side, except a few pieces of threadbare rags and bits of accoutrements, leathern straps, old shakos, and fragments of cowhide knapsacks. Some miserable Tartars prowled about the ruins of Bourliouk to act as unintelligible guides, and to pick up the fragments left after the river-side meal of the visitors. Starting at six o'clock A.M. from Sebastopol, one can go to the Alma, spend, three hours there, and return to the city or to Balaklava by dinner-time on a good horse. It is under fifty miles. The last time I was there I threw a fly over the waters, having heard that there were trout in the stream, but only a few 'logger-headed chub' and a kind of dace, responded to the effort. And so I take leave of this little river, which shall henceforth be celebrated in history to the end of time." CHAPTER VIII. Departure of General della Marmora and the Sardinian Staff--General After Order--Inspection of the Siege-Works, offensive and defensive--Memorials to the Dead--Major Hammersley's Tour--Information obtained--What might have been effected by an Advance after the 8th of September--Aspect of the Country. The departure of General della Marmora and the Sardinian Staff, which occurred on Monday, 19th May, was the signal for strong demonstrations of the regard and esteem in which they were held by our army. The ships in harbour hoisted the Sardinian flag, the _Leander_ manned yards, and the General set his foot on the deck of the vessel which was to bear him home amid enthusiastic cheers. The good feeling which existed between the Sardinians and the allies was never marred for one moment by untoward jealousies or rivalry; more especially were they ever on terms of friendship with the English, although their knowledge of French gave them greater facilities for communicating with our allies. The position at Fedukhine brought them into constant contact with French and Highland Brigades, and they left behind many kindly remembrances. In all my rambles I rarely, if ever, saw a drunken Sardinian; their behaviour in camp, in the canteens, at Kadikoi, and on the roads was exemplary. The English Commander-in-Chief issued the following General After-Order:-- "HEAD-QUARTERS, SEBASTOPOL, _May 17th, 1856_. "No. 1. The greater part of the Sardinian army has quitted the Crimea, and General della Marmora himself will soon embark. "A guard of honour, with artillery, will be held in readiness for the departure of the Sardinian Commander-in-Chief. "The Commander of the Forces trusts that General della Marmora will himself receive, and convey to those whom he has commanded in the Crimea, the good wishes of the English army for their future prosperity. [Sidenote: THE EVACUATION.] "With steadiness, with discipline, with resource, the Sardinian army has long maintained and efficiently guarded the advanced position entrusted to it; and it bore its honourable share with the troops of France in the battle of the Tchernaya. "In our intercourse there has neither been difficulty nor difference, and this good feeling between all the armies of the Alliance has had a very important influence in determining the peace of Europe. "By order. C. A. WINDHAM, Chief of the Staff." As we were about to part, our anxiety to learn more of our late foes increased. The Russians surveyed our camps, we visited their hospitals, studied their commissariat, inquired into their military system, and inspected their positions; our engineers minutely examined the works of our allies, with which they were necessarily but slightly acquainted during the progress of the attack. The approaches to the place afforded no opportunity to our English engineers of developing the use of mines. We were never sufficiently near to the Redan, and our works were not assailable by the same agency for the same reason. The French system of mines in front of the Bastion du Mât presented a most astonishing display of labour and skill. To the Russians, however, belonged the credit of performing the most extensive operations. The enemy's mines consisted of two series of galleries and magazines, the first being twenty-seven feet below the surface, the second being forty feet below the first. The workmen were supplied with air by means of force-pumps. In one magazine at the end of one of the galleries there was found 8,500 lbs. of powder, all tamped in and ready for firing by electric wires. This magazine would have formed an _étonnoir_ far in the rear of the French advance; and the explosion was intended to destroy not only the French parallels, but the works of the Bastion du Mât itself, so as to prevent the French turning the guns. The destruction of the docks was effected by a smaller quantity of gunpowder. The Russians intended to fire some of these mines in case of an assault on the Bastion being repulsed under circumstances which gave them a chance of occupying the enemy's advanced saps; others would only have been fired in case of a retreat from the city, in order to destroy as many of the enemy as possible and to check pursuit. There were two or three mines inside the Redan, and there were some extensive galleries and mines in front of the Malakoff, but it was at the Bastion du Mât, or Flagstaff Battery, that the French and Russians put forth their strength in mine and countermine. The galleries were pushed for fifty yards oftentimes through the solid rock. These labours were of the most stupendous character, and must have proved very exhausting to the garrison. Many of the shafts sprang out of the counterscarp, there were numerous chambers cut into the ditch of the bastion, which were used as bombproofs. It was also discovered that the Russians had cut a subterranean gallery from inside the parapet, under the ditch, to an advanced work which they used as a _place d'armes_ in making sorties, and the French, who had been puzzled to understand how the men used to collect in this work without being seen, now perceived the _modus operandi_. The effect produced by the French mines could only be conceived by those who looked down the yawning craters of the _étonnoirs_, the wild chaos of rocks cast up all around by the explosion, as though Titans and Gods had met there in deadly combat. Some of these gulfs resembled the pits of volcanoes. The British army, relieved from the pressure of military duties, and warned of their approaching departure, laboured, regiment by regiment, for many long weeks, to erect memorials to the comrades whose remains would be left behind. The works of this nature, which the hasty embarkation did not permit the army to complete, were undertaken by the few skilled soldier-labourers belonging to us. The Chersonese from Balaklava to the verge of the roadstead of Sebastopol was covered with isolated graves, with large burial-grounds, and detached cemeteries. Ravine and plain--hill and hollow--the roadside and secluded valley--for miles around, from the sea to the Tchernaya, presented those stark-white stones, singly or in groups, stuck upright in the arid soil, or just peering over the rank vegetation which sprang beneath.[36] The French formed one large cemetery. The Sardinians erected a pedestal and obelisk of stone on the heights of Balaklava, close to their hospital, to the memory of General della Marmora and of their departed comrades; we erected similar monuments on the heights of Inkerman and on the plain of Balaklava to commemorate the 5th of November and the 25th of October. A tour made by Major Hammersley, Captain Brooke, and Mr. St. Clair in the north of the Crimea demonstrated the enormous difficulties experienced by the Russians in maintaining their position. It satisfied every one, that if the Allies had advanced after the 8th of September, and followed the enemy, the Russian army of the South must have surrendered, and Cherson, Berislaff, Nicholaieff, and Odessa would have been seriously menaced. All the north side, its guns, its garrison, all the _matériel_, all the provisions and magazines of Bakshiserai and Simpheropol, must have fallen into our hands, and about 60,000 or 70,000 men. "But why so?" some one will ask. "Could they not have got away?" Most certainly not. There are but two outlets from the Crimea; the first is by the isthmus at Perekop, the second is by the bridge over the Putrid Sea at Tchongar. The approaches to these outlets lie over waterless, foodless plateaux, broken up by deep salt lakes. The wells, which yield a scanty supply of disagreeable water, are profound pits, of which the shallowest is 100 feet, and many are as deep as 150 to 250 feet. They are scattered over the country very sparsely, and they contain but little water. Under such circumstances, the Russians were obliged to send in their reinforcements by driblets, to carry water whenever they wanted to push on a single regiment. It would have been impossible for them to have marched a body of 5,000 or 6,000 men by either of those routes in dry weather. Imagine how helpless would have been the position of an army of 70,000 or 80,000 men of all arms, hemmed in by this salt prairie, and by the waters of the Sivash, under a burning sun, and pressed by a victorious enemy. They could not have marched, nor, if they had once got away, could we have pursued; but no General in his senses would have risked the entire destruction of his army by retreating under circumstances like those from the south of the Crimea; and the Russians confessed their position was hopeless had they been attacked and beaten at any point along the line. [Sidenote: DEFENCES OF PEREKOP.] When our travellers arrived at Perekop, they observed that the defences consisted of redoubts directed against an advance from Russia Proper, and not from the south of the Crimea; they made a similar discovery at Tchongar, where the _tête-de-pont_ was strongly fortified towards the north, and was open towards the south. These works were mostly thrown up at the time of the Kinburn expedition, which the Russians very naturally believed to be the precursor of an immediate operation against the Crimea, to which they looked with very great apprehension. General Von Wrangel received them with much hospitality and kindness at Perekop. The old Tartar citadel and the remains of a wall and parapet were visible; but the defences of the place were very weak; water was very scarce, and very bad; but the climate is healthy, except when the wind blows across the Sivash. No less than 25,000 men died of sickness at and near Perekop. There were large hospitals and ambulances, but they were far too small for the demands upon them, and many convoys had to be sent on to Cherson, Berislaff and Nicholaieff. At Tchongar the tourists were refused permission to pass the bridge, and that refusal was confirmed by the General commanding at Genitchi, to whom they applied to rescind the decision of his subordinate. They examined the bridge, however, and found it was well and substantially built of wood. The waters of the Sivash are as clear as crystal, and are so intensely bitter that no fish frequent them except small flounders. The bottom consists of a stratum of fine shells, of two or three inches in thickness, just sufficient to bear a man treading lightly upon it, but if one presses with all his weight this crust breaks, and up rushes black mud and stinking gas, probably sulphuretted hydrogen. The banks are high and steep, and all the way from Genitchi to the bridge of Tchongar, in the centre of the stream, there is a channel, about nine feet deep. This sea presents the curious phenomenon of a steady current running from Genitchi west to Perekop, where there is no outlet whatever, so that there must be an under current out again, or, as the natives believe, a prodigious evaporation on the shoals at the extremity of the sea. The salt lakes are very conspicuous features in the desolate scenery of Northern Crimea. They are surrounded by very high precipitous banks; and the waters seem black from their great depth. One of these, Lake Veliki, is connected with Perekop by the line of redoubts, seven in number, recently constructed. Wherever these abound, fresh water is rare, and the wells are deep. Each village has about two wells, and the supply is so small that it would take a day at any one station to water a regiment of cavalry. In the south there is abundance of fresh water, of blooming valleys, of fruit, corn, vines, and forest trees; but for the cultivation and growth of these Russia is mainly indebted to the industrious German colonists. Kronthal, Neusatz, Friedenthal, Rosenthal, Zurichthal, Heilbronn, and other villages founded by these industrious people, are patterns of neatness and frugal comfort. Most of the emigrants came from Wurtemburg, and they spoke fondly of "fatherland." The Russians gave them small ground for complaint. They are exempt from all military service for 100 years, and their only tribute to the State is a capitation-tax of twenty silver roubles, which they are in general well able to pay. Another interesting point visited was the Fortress of Arabat, which was bombarded for several hours by the Allied squadron. The fact is, however, that not only was little or no harm done to the fortress, but that the Russians claim it as a victory, and have promoted the officer who commanded for "beating off the Allied fleet." Such will always be the result of an attack by sea on any land-defences so long as the enemy retain one gun to fire when the attack has ceased. The Spit of Arabat was very little used at any time, and a curious instance of the ignorance of chart-makers was discovered on referring to the sites of wells marked on the maps. There were no wells, for the simple reason that they were not required. The water of the Sea of Azoff close to the Spit is quite fresh, and can be drunk with safety by man or beast. Vast as the population of Russia is in the aggregate, the extent of her territory is such that, in the state of her internal communication, it was difficult for her to concentrate troops, notwithstanding the conscription and compulsory levies. Towards the end of the war, Sebastopol swallowed up her armies by whole divisions, a battalion a day was engulfed in the yawning craters of our shells. The march of a regiment through a country such as has been described was as fatal as a battle, and it was customary to estimate the reduction in strength caused by moving from Odessa to Sebastopol at 35 per cent. During the worst days of its trials the Russian army in the Crimea lost 500 men a day! This did not include casualties caused in the siege. The attention of their medical men was directed to the enormous losses of their army, and to its extreme unhealthiness in campaigns; and a Board, consisting of a few of their most eminent men, made minute inquiries into the medical administration of the Allied armies. They were greatly impressed with what they saw at Balaklava, and one of them exclaimed, "We heard you were prepared for a three years' war; we find you are ready for twenty." [Sidenote: THE EVACUATION.] The uttermost efforts were made by the Allies to remove the stores and _matériel_ accumulated on the plateau, and to embark the troops for their different destinations, but so vast was the mass of warlike necessaries, and so large the force congregated in the Crimea, that it was not till July they had so far succeeded as to be able to name a day for the formal cession of the last position held by them on Russian soil. On the 12th of July the 50th Regiment furnished a rear-guard which was posted outside Balaklava to await the Russian officer who was to take over charge of the town. He came across the plain with 50 Cossacks, and the two parties saluted and then returned to the town, where the Russians posted their sentries, and the English troops embarked on board H.M.S. _Algiers_. The General in command of the British forces, Sir W. Codrington, and his staff left the Crimea at the same time. During the expedition the English lost--killed in action and died of wounds, 3,500; died of cholera, 4,244; of other diseases nearly 16,000;--total (including 270 officers), 24,000; 2,873 officers and men were disabled. The French loss was estimated at 63,500 men, killed in action or died in camps. The loss of the Russians was estimated as high as 500,000. The war added to the National Debt £41,041,000. FINIS. CATHCART'S HILL (1856.) In times to come this Cathcart's Hill will be a chosen terminus of Saxon pilgrimage. Whether the traveller beholds from its humble parapet the fair aspect of the Imperial city, guarded by threefold mightier batteries than before, or sits upon the Cemetery wall to gaze upon the ruins of Sebastopol, he must, if he has any British blood in his veins, regard with emotion that little spot which encloses all that was mortal of some of the noblest soldiers that ever sprang from our warrior race. He will see the site of those tedious trenches where the strong man waxed weak day after day, and the sanguine became hopeless, and where the British soldier fought through a terrible winter with privation, cold, frost, snow, and rain, more terrible and deadly than the fire of the enemy. With the Redan, the Malakoff, the Quarries, the Mamelon, Gordon's Attack, Chapman's Attack, under his eyes, he will revive with the aspect of the places where they stood the memories of this great struggle, and in his mind the incidents of its history will be renewed. [Sidenote: CATHCART'S HILL.] The Cemetery is a parallelogram of about forty yards long by thirty broad, formed by the base of a ruined wall, which might in former days have marked the lines of a Tartar fort, or have been the first Russian redoubt to watch over the infancy of Sebastopol. Although many a humble tumulus indicated to the eye of affection the place where some beloved comrade rests till the last _reveillée_, the care and love of friends had left memorials in solid stone of most of those whose remains were buried in this spot. The first grave towards the front and west of the Cemetery consisted of a simple mound of earth. I know not whose remains lie below. The second was marked by a simple slab, with the following inscription:--"Sacred to the memory of Lieutenant H. Tryon, Rifle Brigade, killed in action on the 20th of November, 1854." He was a thorough soldier, brave, cool, and resolute, and in the terrible crisis of Inkerman he used a rifle with more deadly certainty and success than any of his men. In the struggle for the "Ovens" on the 20th of November, in which a small body of the Rifle Brigade dislodged a force of the enemy much greater than their own, he displayed such gallantry that General Canrobert paid him the rare honour of a special mention in the next "General Order of the Day" for the French army. Next to his reposed the remains of a lamented officer. The stone recorded his name, "Sacred to the memory of Brigadier-General Thomas Leigh Goldie, commanding the first Brigade of the 4th Division of the British army, Lieutenant-Colonel of the 57th Regiment, who fell at Inkerman, November 5, 1854." No. 4 was a rude cross of stone, without mark or name. The fifth grave was distinguished by a stone cross at the feet, and at the head was a slab with an ornamental top, beneath which was written, "Sacred to the memory of Brigadier-General Fox Strangways, killed in action November 5, 1854." A few lines in Russian asked the Christian forbearance of our enemies upon our departure for the bones of one whom they would have admired and loved had they known him. No. 6 was conspicuous by a large tombstone, with an ornamental cross at the top, and some simple efforts at the chisel at the sides and base. Come and read! "Here lieth the mortal remains of Captain Edward Stanley, 57th Regiment, killed at the battle of Inkerman, November 5, 1854, to whose memory this stone is erected by the men of his company--'Cast down but not destroyed,' 2 Corinthians, iv. 9." Who will not look with respect on the tombs of these poor soldiers, and who does not feel envy for the lot of men so honoured? There were fourteen other graves in the same row, of which only one could be identified. Sir George Cathcart's resting-place was marked by a very fine monument, for which his widow expressed her thanks to those who raised it to the memory of their beloved commander. There was an inscription upon it commemorating the General's services, and the fact that he served with the Russian armies in one of their most memorable campaigns--the date of his untimely and glorious death, and an inscription in the Russian language stating who and what he was who reposed beneath. In the second row to the east there were two graves, without any inscription on the stones; the third was marked by a very handsome circular pillar of hewn stone, surmounted by a cross, and placed upon two horizontal slabs. On the pillar below the cross in front was this inscription: "To Lieutenant-Colonel C. F. Seymour, Scots Fusileer Guards, killed in action, November 5, 1854." Beneath these words were a cross sculptured in the stone, and the letters "I.H.S.;" and a Russian inscription on the back, requesting that the tomb might be saved from desecration. At the foot of the tomb there was an elaborately carved stone lozenge surmounting a slab, and on the lozenge was engraved the crest of the deceased, with some heraldic bird springing from the base of a coronet, with the legend "Foy pour devoir, C.F.S. Æt. 36." How many an absent friend would have mourned around this tomb! Close at hand was a handsome monument to Sir John Campbell, than whom no soldier was ever more regretted or more beloved by those serving under him; and not far apart in another row was a magnificent sarcophagus in black Devonshire marble, to the memory of Sir R. Newman, of the Grenadier Guards, who also fell at Inkerman. With all these memorials of death behind us, the front wall at Cathcart's Hill was ever a favourite spot for gossips and spectators, and sayers of jokes, and _raconteurs_ of _bons mots_ or such _jeux d'esprit_ as find favour in military circles. APPENDIX. DISPATCHES AND DOCUMENTS. THE LANDING IN THE CRIMEA. LORD RAGLAN TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. (_Received September 30._) CAMP ABOVE OLD FORT BAY, _September 18, 1854_. MY LORD DUKE,--I do myself the honour to acquaint your Grace that the combined fleets and their convoys appeared in the Bay of Eupatoria on the 13th instant, and in the course of the following night proceeded some miles to the southward, where the Allied Armies commenced disembarking early in the morning of the 14th,--the French in the bay below Old Fort, the English in the next bay nearer to Eupatoria,--and before dark the whole of the British infantry and some artillery, and most of the French troops were on shore. Shortly before dark, the weather unfortunately changed, and it became hazardous to attempt to continue landing either troops or guns. The surf on the beach impeded the operation the following morning; and since, on more than one occasion; but thanks to the great exertions of the Navy, under the able and active superintendence of Rear-Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, who was charged with the whole arrangement, every obstacle has been overcome, and I am now enabled to report to your Grace that the disembarkations have been completed. I should not do justice to my own feelings, or to those of the troops I have the honour to command, if I did not prominently bring to the knowledge of your Grace the deep sense entertained by all, of the invaluable services rendered by Her Majesty's Navy. The spirit by which both officers and men were animated, made them regardless of danger, of fatigue, and indeed of every consideration but that of performing an arduous and important duty; and that duty they discharged to the admiration of all who had the good fortune to witness their unceasing efforts to land horses and carriages, with the utmost expedition and safety, under frequently the most trying circumstances. I have, &c., (Signed) RAGLAN. LORD RAGLAN'S DESPATCH AS TO THE BATTLE OF THE ALMA. LORD RAGLAN TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. (_Received October 8._) HEAD-QUARTERS, KATSCHA RIVER, _September 23, 1854_. MY LORD DUKE,--I have the honour to inform your Grace that the Allied Troops attacked the position occupied by the Russian Army, behind the Alma, on the 20th instant; and I have great satisfaction in adding that they succeeded, in less than three hours, in driving the enemy from every part of the ground which they had held in the morning, and in establishing themselves upon it. The English and French Armies moved out of their first encampment in the Crimea on the 19th, and bivouacked for the night on the left bank of the Bulganac, the former having previously supported the advance of a part of the Earl of Cardigan's brigade of light cavalry, which had the effect of inducing the enemy to move up a large body of Dragoons and Cosaques, with artillery. On this, the first occasion of the English encountering the Russian force, it was impossible for any troops to exhibit more steadiness than did this portion of Her Majesty's cavalry. It fell back upon its supports with the most perfect regularity under the fire of the artillery, which was quickly silenced by that of the batteries I caused to be brought into action. Our loss amounted to only four men wounded. The day's march had been most wearisome, and under a burning sun the absence of water, until we reached the insignificant but welcome stream of the Bulganac, made it to be severely felt. Both armies moved towards the Alma the following morning, and it was arranged that Marshal St. Arnaud should assail the enemy's left by crossing the river at its junction with the sea, and immediately above it, and that the remainder of the French divisions should move up the heights in their front, whilst the English Army should attack the right and centre of the enemy's position. In order that the gallantry exhibited by Her Majesty's troops, and the difficulties they had to meet, may be fairly estimated, I deem it right, even at the risk of being considered tedious, to endeavour to make your Grace acquainted with the position the Russians had taken up. It crossed the great road about two miles and a half from the sea, and is very strong by nature. The bold and almost precipitous range of heights, of from 350 to 400 feet, that from the sea closely border the left bank of the river, here ceases and formed their left, and turning thence round a great amphitheatre or wide valley, terminates at a salient pinnacle where their right rested, and whence the descent to the plain was more gradual. The front was about two miles in extent. Across the mouth of this great opening is a lower ridge at different heights, varying from 60 to 150 feet, parallel to the river, and at distances from it of from 600 to 800 yards. The river itself is generally fordable for troops, but its banks are extremely rugged, and in most parts steep; the willows along it had been cut down, in order to prevent them from affording cover to the attacking party, and in fact everything had been done to deprive an assailant of any species of shelter. In front of the position on the right bank, at about 200 yards from the Alma, is the village of Bouliouk, and near it a timber bridge, which had been partly destroyed by the enemy. The high pinnacle and ridge before alluded to was the key of the position, and consequently, there the greatest preparations had been made for defence. Half way down the height, and across its front, was a trench of the extent of some hundred yards, to afford cover against an advance up the even steep slope of the hill. On the right, and a little retired, was a powerful covered battery, armed with heavy guns, which flanked the whole of the right of the position. Artillery, at the same time, was posted at the points that best commanded the passage of the river and its approaches generally. On the slopes of these hills (forming a sort of table land) were placed dense masses of the enemy's infantry, whilst on the heights above was his great reserve, the whole amounting, it is supposed, to between 45,000 and 50,000 men. The combined armies advanced on the same alignement, Her Majesty's troops in contiguous double columns, with the front of two divisions covered by light infantry and a troop of horse artillery; the 2nd Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans, forming the right, and touching the left of the 3rd Division of the French Army, under His Imperial Highness Prince Napoleon, and the Light Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown, the left; the first being supported by the 3rd Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir Richard England, and the last by the 1st Division, commanded by Lieutenant-General His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge. The 4th Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir George Cathcart, and the cavalry under Major-General the Earl of Lucan, were held in reserve to protect the left flank and rear against large bodies of the enemy's cavalry, which had been seen in those directions. On approaching to near the fire of the guns, which soon became extremely formidable, the two leading divisions deployed into line, and advanced to attack the front, and the supporting divisions followed the movement. Hardly had this taken place, when the village of Bouliouk, immediately opposite the centre, was fired by the enemy at all points, creating a continuous blaze for three hundred yards, obscuring their position, and rendering a passage through it impracticable. Two regiments of Brigadier-General Adams' brigade, part of Sir De Lacy Evans' division, had, in consequence, to pass the river at a deep and difficult ford to the right under a sharp fire, whilst his first brigade, under Major-General Pennefather, and the remaining regiment of Brigadier-General Adams, crossed to the left of the conflagration, opposed by the enemy's artillery from the heights above, and pressed on towards the left of their position with the utmost gallantry and steadiness. In the meanwhile, the Light Division, under Sir George Brown, effected the passage of the Alma in his immediate front. The banks of the river itself were, from their rugged and broken nature, most serious obstacles, and the vineyards, through which the troops had to pass, and the trees which the enemy had felled, created additional impediments, rendering every species of formation, under a galling fire, nearly an impossibility. Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown advanced against the enemy under great disadvantages. In this difficult operation he nevertheless persevered, and the 1st Brigade, under Major-General Codrington, succeeded in carrying a redoubt, materially aided by the judicious and steady manner in which Brigadier-General Buller moved on the left flank, and by the advance of four companies of the Rifle Brigade, under Major Norcott, who promises to be a distinguished officer of light troops. The heavy fire of grape and musketry, however, to which the troops were exposed, and the losses consequently sustained by the 7th, 23rd, and 33rd Regiments, obliged this brigade partially to relinquish its hold. By this time, however, the Duke of Cambridge had succeeded in crossing the river, and had moved up in support, and a brilliant advance of the brigade of Foot Guards, under Major-General Bentinck, drove the enemy back, and secured the final possession of the work. The Highland Brigade, under Major-General Sir Colin Campbell, advanced in admirable order and steadiness up the high ground to the left, and in co-operation with the Guards; and Major-General Pennefather's brigade, which had been connected with the right of the Light Division, forced the enemy completely to abandon the position they had taken such pains to defend and secure. The 95th Regiment, immediately on the right of the Royal Fusiliers in the advance, suffered equally with that corps an immense loss. The aid of the Royal Artillery in all these operations was most effectual. The exertions of the Field Officers and the Captains of troops and batteries to get the guns into action were unceasing, and the precision of their fire materially contributed to the great results of the day. Lieutenant-General Sir Richard England brought his division to the immediate support of the troops in advance, and Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir George Cathcart was actively engaged in watching the left flank. The nature of the ground did not admit of the employment of the cavalry under the Earl of Lucan; but they succeeded in taking some prisoners at the close of the battle. In the details of these operations, which I have gone into as far as the space of a despatch would allow, your Grace will perceive that the services in which the General and other Officers of the Army were engaged, were of no ordinary character; and I have great pleasure in submitting them for your Grace's most favourable consideration. The mode in which Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown conducted his division under the most trying circumstances demands the expression of my warmest approbation. The fire to which his division was subjected and the difficulties he had to contend against, afford no small proof that his best energies were applied to the successful discharge of his duty. I must speak in corresponding terms of Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans, who likewise conducted his division to my perfect satisfaction, and exhibited equal coolness and judgment in carrying out a most difficult operation. His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge brought his division into action in support of the Light Division with great ability, and had for the first time an opportunity of showing the enemy his devotion to Her Majesty, and to the profession of which he is so distinguished a member. My best thanks are due to Lieutenant-General Sir R. England, Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir George Cathcart, and Lieutenant-General the Earl of Lucan, for their cordial assistance wherever it could be afforded; and I feel it my duty especially to recommend to your Grace's notice the distinguished conduct of Major-General Bentinck, Major-General Sir Colin Campbell, Major-General Pennefather, Major-General Codrington, Brigadier-General Adams, and Brigadier-General Buller. In the affair of the previous day, Major-General the Earl of Cardigan exhibited the utmost spirit and coolness, and kept his brigade under perfect command. The manner in which Brigadier-General Strangways directed the artillery, and exerted himself to bring it forward, met my entire satisfaction. Lieutenant-General Sir John Burgoyne was constantly by my side, and rendered me, by his counsel and advice, the most valuable assistance; and the Commanding Royal Engineer, Brigadier-General Tylden, was always at hand to carry out any service I might direct him to undertake. I deeply regret to say that he has since fallen a victim to cholera, as has Major Wellesley, who was present in the affair of the previous day, notwithstanding that he was then suffering from serious illness. He had, during the illness of Major-General Lord de Ros, acted for him in the most efficient manner. I cannot speak too highly of Brigadier-General Estcourt, Adjutant-General, or of Brigadier-General Airey, who, in the short time he has conducted the duties of the Quartermaster-General, has displayed the greatest ability as well as aptitude for the office. I am much indebted to my military secretary, Lieutenant-Colonel Steele, Major Lord Burghersh, and the officers of my personal staff, for the zeal, intelligence, and gallantry they all, without exception, displayed. Lieutenant Derriman, R.N., the Commander of the _Caradoc_, accompanied me during the whole of the operation, and rendered me an essential service by a close observation of the enemy's movements, which his practised eye enabled him accurately to watch. I lament to say that Lieutenant-Colonel Lagondie, who was attached to my head-quarters by the Emperor of the French, fell into the enemy's hands on the 19th, on his return from Prince Napoleon's division, where he had obligingly gone at my request, with a communication to his Imperial Highness. This misfortune is deeply regretted, both by myself and the officers of my personal staff. The other officer placed with me under similar circumstances, Major Vico, afforded me all the assistance in his power, sparing no exertion to be of use. I cannot omit to make known to your Grace the cheerfulness with which the regimental officers of the Army have submitted to most unusual privations. My anxiety to bring into the country every cavalry and infantry soldier who was available prevented me from embarking their baggage animals, and these officers have with them at this moment nothing but what they can carry, and they, equally with the men, are without tents or covering of any kind. I have not heard a single murmur. All seem impressed with the necessity of the arrangement, and they feel, I trust, satisfied that I shall bring up their bât horses at the earliest moment. The conduct of the troops has been admirable. When it is considered that they have suffered severely from sickness during the last two months; that since they landed in the Crimea they have been exposed to the extremes of wet, cold, and heat; that the daily toil to provide themselves with water has been excessive, and that they have been pursued by cholera to the very battle-field, I do not go beyond the truth in declaring that they merit the highest commendation. In the ardour of attack they forgot all they had endured, and displayed that high courage, that gallant spirit for which the British soldier is ever distinguished and under the heaviest fire they maintained the same determination to conquer, as they had exhibited before they went into action. I should be wanting in my duty, my Lord Duke, if I did not express to your Grace, in the most earnest manner, my deep feeling of gratitude to the officers and men of the Royal Navy for the invaluable assistance they afforded the Army upon this as on every occasion where it could be brought to bear upon our operations. They watched the progress of the day with the most intense anxiety; and as the best way of evincing their participation in our success, and their sympathy in the sufferings of the wounded, they never ceased, from the close of the battle till we left the ground this morning, to provide for the sick and wounded, and to carry them down to the beach; a labour in which some of the officers even volunteered to participate, an act which I shall never cease to recollect with the warmest thankfulness. I mention no names, fearing I might omit some who ought to be spoken of; but none who were associated with us spared any exertion they could apply to so sacred a duty. Sir Edmund Lyons, who had charge of the whole, was, as always, most prominent in rendering assistance and providing for emergencies. I enclose the return of killed and wounded. It is, I lament to say, very large; but I hope, all circumstances considered, that it will be felt that no life was unnecessarily exposed, and that such an advantage could not be achieved without a considerable sacrifice. I cannot venture to estimate the amount of the Russian loss. I believe it to have been great, and such is the report in the country. The number of prisoners who are not hurt is small, but the wounded amount to 800 or 900. Two General officers, Major-Generals Karganoff and Shokanoff, fell into our hands. The former is very badly wounded. I will not attempt to describe the movements of the French Army--that will be done by an abler hand; but it is due to them, to say that their operations were eminently successful, and that under the guidance of their distinguished commander, Marshal St. Arnaud, they manifested the utmost gallantry, the greatest ardour for the attack, and the high military qualities for which they are so famed. This despatch will be delivered to your Grace by Major Lord Burghersh, who is capable of affording you the fullest information, and whom I beg to recommend to your especial notice. I have, &c., RAGLAN. MARSHAL DE ST. ARNAUD'S DESPATCH AS TO THE ALMA. FIELD OF BATTLE OF ALMA, _September 21, 1854_. SIRE,--The cannon of your Majesty has spoken; we have gained a complete victory. It is a glorious day, sire, to add to the military annals of France, and your Majesty will have one name more to add to the victories which adorn the flags of the French army. The Russians had yesterday assembled all their forces, and collected all their means to oppose the passage of the Alma. Prince Menschikoff commanded in person. All the heights were crowned with redoubts and formidable batteries. The Russian army reckoned about 40,000 bayonets, from all points of the Crimea. In the morning there arrived from Theodosia 6,000 cavalry and 180 pieces of heavy and field artillery. From the heights which they occupied, the Russians could count our men man by man, from the 19th to the moment when we arrived on the Bulganak. On the 20th, from six o'clock in the morning, I carried into operation, with the division of General Bosquet, reinforced by eight Turkish battalions, a movement which turned the left of the Russians and some of their batteries. General Bosquet manoeuvred with as much intelligence as bravery. This movement decided the success of the day. I had arranged that the English should extend their left, in order at the same time to threaten the right of the Russians, while I should occupy them in the centre; but their troops did not arrive until half-past ten. They bravely made up for this delay. At half-past twelve the line of the Allied army, occupying an extent of more than a league, arrived on the Alma, and was received by a terrible fire from the tirailleurs. In this movement the head of the column of General Bosquet appeared on the heights, and I gave the signal for a general attack. The Alma was crossed at double-quick time. Prince Napoleon, at the head of his division, took possession of the large village of Alma, under the fire of the Russian batteries. The Prince showed himself worthy of the great name he bears. We then arrived at the foot of the heights, under the fire of the Russian batteries. There, sire, commenced a battle in earnest, along all the line--a battle with its episodes of brilliant feats of valour. Your Majesty may be proud of your soldiers: they have not degenerated: they are the soldiers of Austerlitz and of Jena. At half-past four the French army was everywhere victorious. All the positions had been carried at the point of the bayonet, to the cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" which resounded throughout the day. Never was such enthusiasm seen; even the wounded rose from the ground to join in it. On our left the English met with large masses of the enemy, and with great difficulties, but everything was surmounted. The English attacked the Russian positions in admirable order, under the fire of their cannon, carried them, and drove off the Russians. The bravery of Lord Raglan rivals that of antiquity. In the midst of cannon and musket-shot, he displayed a calmness which never left him. The French lines formed on the heights, and the artillery opened its fire. Then it was no longer a retreat, but a rout; the Russians threw away their muskets and knapsacks in order to run the faster. If, sire, I had had cavalry, I should have obtained immense results, and Menschikoff would no longer have had an army; but it was late, our troops were harassed, and the ammunition of the artillery was exhausted. At six o'clock in the evening, we encamped on the very bivouac of the Russians. My tent is on the very spot where that of Prince Menschikoff stood in the morning, and who thought himself so sure of beating us that he left his carriage there. I have taken possession of it, with his pocket-book and correspondence, and shall take advantage of the valuable information it contains. The Russian army will probably be able to rally two leagues from this, and I shall find it to-morrow on the Katcha, but beaten and demoralized, while the Allied army is full of ardour and enthusiasm. I have been compelled to remain here in order to send our wounded and those of the Russians to Constantinople, and to procure ammunition and provisions from the fleet. The English have had 1,500 men put _hors de combat_. The Duke of Cambridge is well: his division, and that of Sir G. Brown, were superb. I have to regret about 1,200 men _hors de combat_, three officers killed, fifty four wounded, 253 sub-officers and soldiers killed, and 1,033 wounded. General Canrobert, to whom is due in part the honour of the day, was slightly wounded by the splinters of a shell, which struck him in the breast and hand, but he is doing very well. General Thomas, of the division of the Prince, is seriously wounded by a ball in the abdomen. The Russians have lost about 5,000 men. The field of battle is covered with their dead, and our field hospitals are full of their wounded. We have counted a proportion of seven Russian dead bodies for one French. The Russian artillery caused us loss, but ours is very superior to theirs. I shall all my life regret not having had with me my two regiments of African Chasseurs. The Zouaves were the admiration of both armies: they are the first soldiers in the world. Accept, sire, the homage of my profound respect and of my entire devotedness. MARSHAL R. DE ST. ARNAUD. FRENCH ACCOUNT OF THE FIRST BOMBARDMENT OF SEBASTOPOL. FROM GENERAL CANROBERT. M. LE MARÉCHAL,--Yesterday, at sunrise, we opened our fire in concert with the English army. Matters were going on well, when the explosion of a battery powder magazine, unfortunately of considerable size, somewhat disturbed our attack. This explosion produced the greater effect from the number of the batteries in proximity to the spot where it occurred. The enemy took advantage of this incident to increase his fire, and the General in command of the artillery agreed with me, that we were under the necessity of suspending our fire in order to make our repairs, as well as to complete the system of attack towards our right by the construction of new batteries to approach those of the English army. This delay is certainly much to be regretted, but we are compelled to submit to it, and I am making every arrangement necessary for shortening it as much as possible. Sebastopol has sustained the fire far better than was expected; the enclosed space, throughout its enormous development in a straight line, carrying all it can hold of heavy sea-guns, renders it capable of prolonging the contest. On the 17th, our troops took possession of the plateau that faces the point of attack, called the Bastion du Mât; they now occupy it. This evening we shall construct there the mask of a 12-gun battery, and, if possible, that of a second battery, on the extreme right, above the ravine. All our means of attack are concentrated on this bastion, and we shall, I trust, dismantle it rapidly, with the assistance of the English batteries that are battering its left front. Yesterday, about ten in the morning, the Allied fleets attacked the outer batteries of the place, but I have not yet received information that will enable me to give you an account of the results of this attack. The English batteries are in the best possible state: they have received nine new mortars, which will, it is supposed, produce great effect. Yesterday there was an immense explosion in the battery surrounding the tower situate to the left of the place. It must have injured the enemy a great deal. Since then this battery has fired but little, and this morning there were only two or three pieces able to fire. I have no precise news of the Russian army. Nothing tends to show that it has changed the positions it held, and in which it expected its reinforcements. I have received almost the whole of the reinforcements I expected in infantry from Gallipoli and Varna. General Levaillant has just arrived with his staff, which raises to five divisions the effective force in infantry of the army that I have here under my orders. The sanitary state is highly satisfactory, the spirit of the troops excellent, and we are full of confidence. CANROBERT. LORD RAGLAN'S BALAKLAVA DESPATCH. LORD RAGLAN TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. (_Received November 12._) BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _October 28, 1854_. MY LORD DUKE,--I have the honour to acquaint your Grace that the enemy attacked the position in the front of Balaklava at an early hour on the morning of the 25th instant. The low range of heights that runs across the plain at the bottom of which the town is placed, was protected by four small redoubts hastily constructed. Three of these had guns in them, and on a higher hill, in front of the village of Camara, in advance of our right flank, was established a work of somewhat more importance. These several redoubts were garrisoned by Turkish troops, no other force being at my disposal for their occupation. The 93rd Highlanders was the only British regiment in the plain, with the exception of a part of a battalion of detachments composed of weakly men, and a battery of artillery belonging to the Third Division; and on the heights behind our right were placed the Marines, obligingly landed from the fleet by Vice-Admiral Dundas. All these, including the Turkish troops, were under the immediate orders of Major-General Sir Colin Campbell, whom I had taken from the First Division with the 93rd. As soon as I was apprised of this movement of the enemy, I felt compelled to withdraw from before Sebastopol the First and Fourth Divisions, commanded by Lieutenant-Generals His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge and the Honourable Sir George Cathcart, and bring them down into the plain; and General Canrobert subsequently reinforced these troops with the First Division of French Infantry and the Chasseurs d'Afrique. The enemy commenced their operation by attacking the work on our side of the village of Camara, and, after very little resistance, carried it. They likewise got possession of the three others in contiguity to it, being opposed only in one, and that but for a very short space of time. The farthest of the three they did not retain, but the immediate abandonment of the others enabled them to take possession of the guns in them, amounting in the whole to seven. Those in the three lesser forts were spiked by the one English artilleryman who was in each. The Russian cavalry at once advanced, supported by artillery, in very great strength. One portion of them assailed the front and right flank of the 93rd, and were instantly driven back by the vigorous and steady fire of that distinguished regiment, under Lieutenant-Colonel Ainslie. The other and larger mass turned towards Her Majesty's heavy cavalry, and afforded Brigadier-General Scarlett, under the guidance of Lieutenant-General the Earl of Lucan, the opportunity of inflicting upon them a most signal defeat. The ground was very unfavourable for the attack of our Dragoons, but no obstacle was sufficient to check their advance, and they charged into the Russian column, which soon sought safety in flight, although far superior in numbers. The charge of this brigade was one of the most successful I ever witnessed, was never for a moment doubtful, and is in the highest degree creditable to Brigadier-General Scarlett and the officers and men engaged in it. As the enemy withdrew from the ground which they had momentarily occupied, I directed the cavalry, supported by the Fourth Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir George Cathcart, to move forward and take advantage of any opportunity to regain the heights; and not having been able to accomplish this immediately, and it appearing that an attempt was making to remove the captured guns, the Earl of Lucan was desired to advance rapidly, follow the enemy in their retreat, and try to prevent them from effecting their object. In the meanwhile the Russians had time to re-form on their own ground, with artillery in front and upon their flanks. From some misconception of the instruction to advance, the Lieutenant-General considered that he was bound to attack at all hazards, and he accordingly ordered Major-General the Earl of Cardigan to move forward with the Light Brigade. This order was obeyed in the most spirited and gallant manner. Lord Cardigan charged with the utmost vigour; attacked a battery which was firing upon the advancing squadrons; and, having passed beyond it, engaged the Russian cavalry in its rear; but there his troops were assailed by artillery and infantry, as well as cavalry, and necessarily retired, after having committed much havoc upon the enemy. They effected this movement without haste or confusion; but the loss they have sustained has, I deeply lament, been very severe in officers, men, and horses, only counterbalanced by the brilliancy of the attack, and the gallantry, order, and discipline which distinguished it, forming a striking contrast to the conduct of the enemy's cavalry, which had previously been engaged with the Heavy Brigade. The Chasseurs d'Afrique advanced on our left, and gallantly charged a Russian battery, which checked its fire for a time, and thus rendered the British cavalry an essential service. I have the honour to enclose copies of Sir Colin Campbell's and the Earl of Lucan's reports. I beg to draw your Grace's attention to the terms in which Sir Colin Campbell speaks of Lieutenant-Colonel Ainslie, of the 93rd, and Captain Barker, of the Royal Artillery; and also to the praise bestowed by the Earl of Lucan on Major-General the Earl of Cardigan and Brigadier-General Scarlett, which they most fully deserve. The Earl of Lucan not having sent me the names of the other officers who distinguished themselves, I propose to forward them by the next opportunity. The enemy made no further movement in advance, and at the close of the day the brigade of Guards of the First Division, and the Fourth Division, returned to their original encampment, as did the French troops, with the exception of one brigade of the First Division, which General Canrobert was so good as to leave in support of Sir Colin Campbell. The remaining regiments of the Highland Brigade also remained in the valley. The Fourth Division had advanced close to the heights, and Sir George Cathcart caused one of the redoubts to be reoccupied by the Turks, affording them his support, and he availed himself of the opportunity to assist with his riflemen in silencing two of the enemy's guns. The means of defending the extensive position which had been occupied by the Turkish troops in the morning having proved wholly inadequate, I deemed it necessary, in concurrence with General Canrobert, to withdraw from the lower range of heights, and to concentrate our force, which will be increased by a considerable body of seamen, to be landed from the ships under the authority of Admiral Dundas, immediately in front of the narrow valley leading into Balaklava, and upon the precipitous heights on our right, thus affording a narrower line of defence. I have, &c., RAGLAN. LORD RAGLAN AT INKERMAN, Nov. 5. LORD RAGLAN TO THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. (_Received November 22._) BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _November 8, 1854_. MY LORD DUKE,--I have the honour to report to your Grace that the army under my command, powerfully aided by the Corps of Observation of the French Army, under the command of that distinguished officer, General Bosquet, effectually repulsed and defeated a most vigorous and determined attack of the enemy on our position overlooking the ruins of Inkerman, on the morning of the 5th instant. In my letter to your Grace of the 3rd, I informed you that the enemy had considerably increased their force in the valley of the Tchernaya. The following day this augmentation was still further apparent, and large masses of troops had evidently arrived from the northward, and on two several occasions persons of distinguished rank were observed to have joined the Russian camp. I have subsequently learnt that the 4th corps d'armée, conveyed in carriages of the country, and in the lightest possible order, had been brought from Moldavia, and were to be immediately followed by the 3rd corps. It was therefore to be expected that an extensive movement would not be long deferred. Accordingly, shortly before daylight on the 5th, strong columns of the enemy came upon the advanced pickets covering the right of the position. These pickets behaved with admirable gallantry, defending the ground foot by foot against the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, until the 2nd Division, under Major-General Pennefather, with its field guns, which had immediately been got under arms, was placed in position. The Light Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown, was also brought to the front without loss of time; the 1st Brigade, under Major-General Codrington, occupying the long slopes to the left towards Sebastopol, and protecting our right battery, and guarding against attack on that side, and the 2nd Brigade, under Brigadier-General Buller, forming on the left of the 2nd Division, with the 88th Regiment, under Lieutenant-Colonel Jeffreys, thrown in advance. The Brigade of Guards under His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge and Major-General Bentinck, proceeded likewise to the front, and took up most important ground to the extreme right on the alignement of the 2nd Division, but separated from it by a deep and precipitous ravine, and posting its guns with those of the 2nd Division. The 4th Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir George Cathcart, having been brought from their encampment, advanced to the front and right of the attack; the 1st Brigade, under Brigadier-General Goldie, proceeded to the left of the Inkerman road; the 2nd Brigade, under Brigadier-General Torrens, to the right of it, and on the ridge overhanging the valley of the Tchernaya. The 3rd Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir Richard England, occupied in part the ground vacated by the 4th Division, and supported the Light Division by two regiments under Brigadier Sir John Campbell, while Brigadier-General Eyre held the command of the troops in the trenches. The morning was extremely dark with a drizzling rain, rendering it almost impossible to discover anything beyond the flash and smoke of artillery and heavy musketry fire. It, however, soon became evident that the enemy, under cover of a vast cloud of skirmishers, supported by dense columns of infantry, had advanced numerous batteries of large calibre to the high ground to the left and front of the 2nd Division, while powerful columns of infantry attacked with great vigour the Brigade of Guards. Additional batteries of heavy artillery were also placed by the enemy on the slopes to our left; the guns in the field amounting in the whole to 90 pieces, independently, however, of the ship guns and those in the works of Sebastopol. Protected by a tremendous fire of shot, shell, and grape, the Russian columns advanced in great force, requiring every effort of gallantry on the part of our troops to resist them. At this time two battalions of French infantry, which had on the first notice been sent by General Bosquet, joined our right, and very materially contributed to the successful resistance to the attack, cheering with our men, and charging the enemy down the hill with great loss. About the same time a determined assault was made on our extreme left, and for a moment the enemy possessed themselves of four of our guns, three of which were retaken by the 88th, while the fourth was speedily recaptured by the 77th Regiment, under Lieutenant-Colonel Egerton. In the opposite direction the Brigade of Guards, under His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, was engaged in a severe conflict. The enemy, under the cover of thick brushwood, advanced in two heavy bodies, and assaulted with great determination a small redoubt which had been constructed for two guns but was not armed. The combat was most arduous, and the Brigade, after displaying the utmost steadiness and gallantry, was obliged to retire before very superior numbers, until supported by a wing of the 20th Regiment of the 4th Division, when they again advanced and retook the redoubt. This ground was afterwards occupied in gallant style by French troops, and the Guards speedily re-formed in the rear of the right flank of the 2nd Division. In the meanwhile, Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir George Cathcart, with a few companies of the 68th Regiment, considering that he might make a strong impression by descending into the valley, and taking the enemy in flank, moved rapidly forward, but finding the heights above him in full occupation of the Russians, he suddenly discovered that he was entangled with a superior force, and while attempting to withdraw his men, he received a mortal wound, shortly previous to which Brigadier-General Torrens, when leading the 68th, was likewise severely wounded. Subsequently to this, the battle continued with unabated vigour and with no positive result, the enemy bringing upon our line not only the fire of all their field batteries, but those in front of the works of the place, and the ship guns, till the afternoon, when the symptoms of giving way first became apparent; and shortly after, although the fire did not cease, the retreat became general, and heavy masses were observed retiring over the bridge of the Inkerman, and ascending the opposite heights, abandoning on the field of battle 5,000 or 6,000 dead or wounded, multitudes of the latter having already been carried off by them. I never before witnessed such a spectacle as the field presented, but upon this I will not dwell. Having submitted to your Grace this imperfect description of this most severe battle, I have still two duties to discharge, the one most gratifying, and the last most painful to my feelings. I have the greatest satisfaction in drawing your Grace's attention to the brilliant conduct of the Allied troops. French and English vied with each other in displaying their gallantry and manifesting their zealous devotion to duty, notwithstanding that they had to contend against an infinitely superior force, and were exposed for many hours to a most galling fire. It should be borne in mind that they have daily for several weeks undergone the most constant labour, and that many of them passed the previous night in the trenches. I will not attempt to enter into the details of the movements of the French troops, lest I should not state them correctly; but I am proud of the opportunity of bearing testimony to their valour and energetic services, and of paying a tribute of admiration to the distinguished conduct of their immediate Commander, General Bosquet, while it is in the highest degree pleasing to me to place upon record my deep sense of the valuable assistance I received from the Commander-in-Chief, General Canrobert, who was himself on the ground and in constant communication with me, and whose cordial co-operation on all occasions I cannot too highly extol. Your Grace will recollect that he was wounded at the Alma. He was again wounded on the 5th, but I should hope that he will not long feel the effects of it. I will in a subsequent despatch lay before your Grace the names of the officers whose services have been brought to my notice. I will not detain the mail for that purpose now, but I cannot delay to report the admirable behaviour of Lieutenant-General Sir George Brown, who was unfortunately shot through the arm, but is doing well; of Lieutenant-General His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, who particularly distinguished himself; and of Major-General Pennefather, in command of the Second Division, which received the first attack, and gallantly maintained itself under the greatest difficulties throughout this protracted conflict; of Major-General Bentinck, who is severely wounded; Major-General Codrington, Brigadier-General Adams, and Brigadier-General Torrens, who are severely wounded; and Brigadier-General Buller, who is also wounded, but not so seriously. I must likewise express my obligations to Lieutenant-General Sir Richard England for the excellent disposition he made of his division, and the assistance he rendered to the left of the Light Division, where Brigadier-General Sir John Campbell was judiciously placed, and effectively supported Major-General Codrington; and I have great pleasure in stating that Brigadier-General Eyre was employed in the important duty of guarding the trenches from any assault from the town. Lieutenant-General Sir De Lacy Evans, who had been obliged by severe indisposition to go on board ship a few days previously, left his bed as soon as he received intelligence of the attack, and was promptly at his post, and though he did not feel well enough to take the command of the division out of the hands of Major-General Pennefather, he did not fail to give him his best advice and assistance. It is deeply distressing to me to have to submit to your Grace the list of the killed, wounded, and missing on this memorable occasion. It is, indeed, heavy; and very many valuable officers and men have been lost to Her Majesty's service. Among the killed your Grace will find the names of Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir G. Cathcart, Brigadier-General Strangways, and Brigadier-General Goldie. Of the services of the first it is almost unnecessary to speak. They are known throughout the British empire, and have within a short space of time been brought conspicuously before the country by his achievements at the Cape of Good Hope, whence he had only just returned when he was ordered to this army. By his death Her Majesty has been deprived of a most devoted servant, an officer of the highest merit, while I personally have to deplore the loss of an attached and faithful friend. Brigadier-General Strangways was known to have distinguished himself in early life, and in mature age, throughout a long service, he maintained the same character. The mode in which he had conducted the command of the artillery, since it was placed in his hands by the departure through illness of Major-General Cator, is entitled to my entire approbation, and was equally agreeable to those who were confided to his care. Brigadier-General Goldie was an officer of considerable promise, and gave great satisfaction to all under whom he has served. It is difficult to arrive at any positive conclusion as to the actual numbers brought into the field by the enemy. The configuration of the ground did not admit of any great development of their force, the attack consisting of a system of repeated assaults in heavy masses of columns; but judging from the numbers that were seen in the plains after they had withdrawn in retreat, I am led to suppose that they could not have been less than 60,000 men. Their loss was excessive, and it is calculated that they left on the field near 5,000 dead, and that their casualties amount in the whole, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, to not less than 15,000. Your Grace will be surprised to learn that the number of British troops actually engaged little exceeded 8,000 men, while those of General Bosquet's division only amounted to 6,000, the remaining available French troops on the spot having been kept in reserve. I ought to mention that while the enemy was attacking our right, they assailed the left of the French trenches, and actually got into two of their batteries; but they were quickly driven out in the most gallant manner with considerable loss, and hotly pursued to the very walls of Sebastopol. I have, &c., RAGLAN. THE BATTLE OF INKERMAN. HEAD-QUARTERS BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _November 7, 1854_. M. LE MARÉCHAL,--I have the honour to confirm my telegraphic despatch of the 6th of November, couched in these terms:--"The Russian army, increased by reinforcements from the Danube, and the reserves in the southern provinces, and animated by the presence of the Grand Dukes Michael and Nicholas, yesterday attacked the right of the English position before the place. The English army sustained the combat with the most remarkable solidity. I caused it to be supported by a portion of the Bosquet division, which fought with admirable vigour, and by the troops which were the most easily available. The enemy, more numerous than we were, beat a retreat with enormous losses, estimated at from 8,000 to 9,000 men. This obstinate struggle lasted the whole of the day. On my left General Forey had, at the same time, to repulse a sortie of the garrison. The troops, energetically led on by him, drove the enemy from the place, with the loss of 1,000 men. This brilliant day, which was not concluded without loss to the Allies, does the greatest honour to our arms." The action, of which the above telegraphic despatch forms the summary, was most animated and warmly contested. At the first shot, the deserters who came to us revealed the real situation of the Russian army in regard to numbers, and enabled us to calculate the reinforcements it had successively received since the battle of the Alma. They are--1st contingent, from the coast of Asia, Kertsch, and Kaffa; 2nd, six battalions and detachments of marines from Nicolaieff; 3rd, four battalions of Cossacks from the Black Sea; 4th, a great portion of the Army of the Danube; and the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth divisions of infantry forming the fourth corps, commanded by General Dannenberg. These three divisions were transported by express, with their artillery, from Odessa to Simpheropol, in a few days. Afterwards arrived the Grand Dukes Michael and Nicholas, whose presence could not fail to produce great excitement among this army, which forms, with the garrison of Sebastopol, a total of at least 100,000 men. It was under these circumstances that 45,000 men of this army attacked by surprise the heights of Inkerman, which the English army could not occupy with a sufficient force. Only 6,000 English took part in the action, the rest being engaged in the siege works. They valiantly sustained the attack until the moment when General Bosquet, arriving with a portion of his division, was able to render such assistance as to insure their success. One does not know which to praise the most--the energetic solidity with which our allies for a long time faced the storm, or the intelligent vigour which General Bosquet (who led a portion of the Brigades Bourbaki and D'Autemarre) displayed in attacking the enemy, who rushed upon their right. The third regiment of Zouaves, under the chiefs of battalion, Montandon and Dubos, supported, in the most striking manner, the ancient reputation of that force. The Algerian riflemen (Colonel de Wimpfen), a battalion of the 7th light (Commander Vaissier), and the 6th of the line (Colonel de Camos), rivalled each other in ardour. Three charges were made with the bayonet, and it was only after the third charge that the enemy surrendered the ground, which was covered with his dead and wounded. The Russian field artillery and artillery of position was much superior in number, and occupied a commanding position. Two horse batteries, commanded by M. de la Boussinière, and a battery of the second division of infantry, commanded by M. Barval (the whole under the orders of Colonel Forgeot), sustained the struggle during the whole day, in conjunction with the English artillery. The enemy decided upon beating a retreat, leaving more than 3,000 dead, a great number of wounded, a few hundred prisoners, and also several caissons of artillery, in the possession of the Allies. His losses, altogether, cannot be estimated at less than from 8,000 to 10,000 men. While these events were being accomplished on the right, about 5,000 men made a vigorous sortie against our attacks to the left, favoured by a thick fog and by ravines which facilitated their approach. The troops on duty in the trench, under the orders of General de la Motterouge, marched upon the enemy, who had already invaded two of our batteries, and repulsed him, killing more than 200 men within the batteries. The general of division, Forey, commanding the siege corps, by rapid and skilful arrangements, arrived with the troops of the fourth division to support the guards of the trenches, and marched himself at the head of the fifth battalion of foot chasseurs. The Russians, beaten along the whole of their line, were retreating precipitately upon the place with considerable losses, when General de Lourmel, seeing them fly before him, and urged by a chivalric courage, dashed in pursuit of them up to the walls of the place, where he fell severely wounded. General Forey had much difficulty in withdrawing him from the advanced position to which his brigade had been hurried by excess of bravery. The Brigade d'Aurelle, which had taken up an excellent position to the left, protected this retreat, which was effected under the fire of the place with considerable loss. Colonel Niol, of the 26th of the Line, who lost his two chiefs of battalion, took the command of the brigade, whose conduct was admirably energetic. The enemy, in this sortie, lost 1,000 men in killed, wounded, or prisoners, and he received a very considerable moral and material check. The battle of Inkerman, and the combat sustained by the siege corps, were glorious for our arms, and have increased the moral power which the Allied armies have attained; but we have suffered losses to be deplored. They amount, for the English army, to 2,400 men killed or wounded, among whom are seven generals, three of whom were killed; and, for the French army, to 1,726 killed or wounded. We bitterly lament the loss of General de Lourmel, who died from his wound, and whose brilliant military qualities and conduct in private life seemed to promise future renown. I also have the regret to announce to you the death of Colonel de Camos, of the 6th of the Line, killed at the head of his troops at the moment when engaged with the enemy. The vigour of the Allied troops, subjected to the double trials of a siege, the difficulties of which are without a precedent, and to actions of war which recall the greatest struggles of our military history, cannot be too highly eulogized. I enclose my order of the day to the army for the battle of the 5th. Accept, &c., CANROBERT, General-in-Chief. ASSAULT ON REDAN, JUNE 18. LORD RAGLAN TO LORD PANMURE. (_Received July 2._) BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _June 19, 1855_. MY LORD,--I informed your Lordship on the 16th that new batteries had been completed, and that in consequence the Allies would be enabled to resume the offensive against Sebastopol with the utmost vigour. Accordingly, on the 17th, at daylight, a very heavy fire was opened from all the batteries in the English and French trenches, and maintained throughout the day, and the effect produced appeared so satisfactory that it was determined that the French should attack the Malakoff works the next morning, and that the English should assail the Redan as soon after as I might consider it desirable. It was at first proposed that the artillery fire should be resumed on the morning of the 18th, and should be kept up for about two hours, for the purpose of destroying any works the enemy might have thrown up in the night, and of opening passages through the abattis that covered the Redan; but on the evening of the 17th it was intimated to me by General Pelissier that he had determined, upon further consideration, that the attack by his troops should take place at three the following morning. The French, therefore, commenced their operations as day broke, and, as their several columns came within range of the enemy's fire, they encountered the most serious opposition, both from musketry and the guns in the works, which had been silenced the previous evening; and observing this, I was induced at once to order our columns to move out of the trenches upon the Redan. It had been arranged that detachments from the Light, 2nd, and 4th Divisions, which I placed for the occasion under the command of Lieutenant-General Sir G. Brown, should be formed into three columns; that the right one should attack the left face of the Redan between the flanking batteries; that the centre should advance upon the salient angle; and that the left should move upon the re-entering angle formed by the right face and flank of the work; the first and last preceding the centre column. The flank columns at once obeyed the signal to advance, preceded by covering parties of the Rifle Brigade, and by sailors carrying ladders and soldiers carrying wool-bags; but they had no sooner shown themselves beyond the trenches than they were assailed by a most murderous fire of grape and musketry. Those in advance were either killed or wounded, and the remainder found it impossible to proceed. I never before witnessed such a continued and heavy fire of grape combined with musketry from the enemy's works, which appeared to be fully manned; and the long list of killed and wounded in the Light and 4th Divisions, and the seamen of the Naval Brigade, under Captain Peel, who was unfortunately wounded, though not severely, will show that a very large proportion of those that went forward fell. Major-General Sir John Campbell, who led the left attack, and Colonel Shadforth, of the 57th, who commanded the storming party under his direction, were both killed, as was also Colonel Yea, of the Royal Fusiliers, who led the right column. I cannot say too much in praise of these officers. Major-General Sir J. Campbell had commanded the 4th Division from the period of the battle of Inkerman, till the arrival very recently of Lieutenant-General Bentinck. He had devoted himself to his duty without any intermission, and had acquired the confidence and respect of all; I most deeply lament his loss. Colonel Shadforth had maintained the efficiency of his regiment by constant attention to all the details of his command, and Colonel Yea was not only distinguished for his gallantry, but had exercised his control of the Royal Fusiliers in such a manner as to win the affections of the soldiers under his orders, and to secure to them every comfort and accommodation which his personal exertions could procure for them. I shall not be able to send your Lordship correct lists of the killed and wounded by this opportunity, but I will forward them by telegraph as soon as they are made out. I have not any definite information upon the movements of the French columns, and the atmosphere became so obscured by the smoke from the guns and musketry, that it was not possible by personal observation to ascertain their progress, though I was particularly well situated for the purpose; but I understand that their left column, under General d'Autemarre, passed the advanced works of the enemy, and threatened the gorge of the Malakoff Tower; and that the two other columns, under Generals Mayran and Brunet, who both, I regret to say, were killed, met with obstacles equal to those we encountered, and were obliged in consequence to abandon the attack. The superiority of our fire on the day we opened, led both General Pelissier and myself, and the officers of the Artillery and Engineers of the two services, and the Armies in general, to conclude that the Russian Artillery fire was, in a great measure, subdued, and that the operation we projected could be undertaken with every prospect of success. The result has shown that the resources of the enemy were not exhausted, and that they had still the power, either from their ships or their batteries, to bring an overwhelming fire upon their assailants. Whilst the direct attack on the Redan was proceeding, Lieutenant-General Sir R. England was directed to send one of the brigades of the 3rd Division, under the command of Major-General Barnard, down the Woronzow Ravine, with a view to give support to the attacking columns on his right; and the other brigade, under Major-General Eyre, still further to the left, to threaten the works at the head of the Dockyard Creek. I have not yet received their reports, and shall not be able to send them to your Lordship to-day; but General Eyre was very seriously engaged, and he himself wounded, though I am happy to say not severely, and he possessed himself of a churchyard, which the enemy had hitherto carefully watched, and some houses within the place; but as the town front was not attacked, it became necessary to withdraw his brigade at night. I shall make a special report upon this by the next mail, and I shall avail myself of the same opportunity to name to you the officers who have been particularly mentioned to me. I am concerned to have to inform you, that Lieutenant-Colonel Tylden, of the Royal Engineers, whose services I have had the greatest pleasure in bringing so frequently to your Lordship's notice, is very severely wounded. The account I received of him this morning is upon the whole satisfactory, and I entertain strong hopes that his valuable life will be preserved. I feel greatly indebted to Sir G. Brown for the manner in which he conducted the duties I entrusted to him; and my warmest acknowledgments are due to Major-General Harry Jones, not only for his valuable assistance on the present occasion, but for the able, zealous, and energetic manner in which he has conducted the siege operations since he assumed the command of the Royal Engineers. He received a wound from a grape-shot in the forehead yesterday, which I trust will not prove serious. I brought up the 1st Division from the vicinity of Balaklava as a reserve, and I shall retain them on these heights. The Sardinian troops, under General La Marmora, and the Turkish troops, under Omer Pasha, crossed the Tchernaya on the 17th instant, and occupy positions in front of Chorgouna. They have not come in contact with any large body of the enemy. I have, &c., RAGLAN. GENERAL PELISSIER'S DESPATCH. HEAD-QUARTERS BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _June 22_. MONSIEUR LE MARÉCHAL,--Since the capture of the external works on the 7th of June I had rapidly made every arrangement to make them the basis of our attack against the _enceinte_ itself of Karabelnaia. We armed them with powerful artillery; the Russian communications and _place d'armes_ were turned to our own use; the ground plan of attack studied in detail; the Allied armies had their respective tasks allotted to them. The English were to storm the Great Redan, and we were to carry the Malakoff Tower, the redan of the Careening Bay, and the intrenchments which cover that extremity of the faubourg. It is superfluous, M. le Maréchal, to point out to your Excellency what would have been the result of such an operation if it had succeeded. Since our last successes the attitude of the enemy and the enthusiasm of our troops promised victory. There was no time to be lost. In concert with Lord Raglan, on the 17th we poured a crushing fire into Sebastopol, especially into the works we intended storming. At an early hour the enemy ceased replying from the Malakoff and from the Redan. It is probable they were economizing their batteries and fire, and that they did not suffer so much from the effects of our artillery as we were led to presume. However that may be, the superiority of our guns confirmed us in our plan for making an assault on the 18th, and on the night before we made all the necessary arrangements for a general movement on the morrow. Three divisions were to take part in the combat--the divisions of Mayran and Brunet, of the 2nd corps; the Division d'Autemarre of the 1st. The division of the Imperial Guard formed the reserve. Mayran's division had the right attack, and was to carry the intrenchments which extend from the battery of the point to the redan of Careening Bay. Brunet's division was to turn the Malakoff on the right. D'Autemarre's division was to manoeuvre on the left to carry that important work. General Mayran's task was a difficult one. His First Brigade, commanded by Colonel Saurin, of the 3rd Zouaves, was to advance from the ravine of Careening Bay as far as the aqueduct, to creep along the left hill side of the ravine, avoiding as much as possible the fire of the enemy's lines, and to turn the battery of the point by the gorge. The Second Brigade, commanded by General de Failly, was to make an attempt on the right of the redan of Careening Bay. They were provided with everything necessary to scale the works. The special reserve of this division consisted of two battalions of the 1st Regiment of the Voltigeurs of the Guard. All these troops were ready at their post at an early hour. Brunet's division had one of its brigades in advance and to the right of the Brancion Redoubt (Mamelon), the other in the parallel in the rear and to the right of that redoubt. A similar arrangement was made as regards D'Autemarre's division--Niol's brigade in advance and to the left of the Mamelon; Breton's brigade in the parallel in the rear. Two batteries of artillery, which could be served _à la bricole_, were placed behind the Brancion Redoubt (Mamelon), ready to occupy the enemy's positions in case we succeeded in carrying them. The division of the Imperial Guard, forming the general reserve of the three attacks, was drawn up in a body in the rear of the Victoria Redoubt. I selected the Lancaster Battery for my post, from which I was to give the signal by star rockets for the general advance. Notwithstanding great difficulties of ground, notwithstanding the obstacles accumulated by the enemy, and although the Russians, evidently informed of our plans, were on their guard and ready to repel an attack, I am inclined to think that if the attack could have been general and instantaneous on the whole extent of the line--if there had been a simultaneous action and the efforts of our brave troops had been united--the object would have been achieved. Unhappily, it was not so, and an inconceivable fatality caused us to fail. I was still more than 1,000 mètres from the place whence I was to give the signal, when a violent fire of musketry, intermixed with grape, apprised me that the combat had commenced seriously on the right. In fact, a little before 3 A.M., General Mayran fancied he recognized my signal in a shell with a blazing fuse sent up from the Brancion Redoubt. It was in vain that he was informed of his mistake. This brave and unfortunate General gave the order for the attack. The Saurin and De Failly columns immediately rushed forward. The first rush was magnificent, but scarcely were these heads of columns in march when a shower of balls and grape was poured in upon them. This crushing fire came not only from the works which we wished to carry, but also from the enemy's steamers, which came up at full steam and manoeuvred with great skill and effect. We, however, caused them some damage. This prodigious fire stopped the efforts of our troops. It became impossible for our soldiers to advance, but not a man retired one step. It was at this moment that General Mayran, already hit in two places, was knocked down by a grapeshot, and was compelled to resign the command of his division. All this was the work of a moment, and General Mayran was already carried off the field of battle when I sent up the signal from the Lancaster Battery. The other troops then advanced to support the premature movement of the Right Division. That valiant division, for a moment disconcerted by the loss of its General, promptly rallied at the voice of General de Failly. The troops engaged, supported by the second battalion of the 95th of the Line, and by a battalion of the Voltigeurs of the Guard, under the orders of the brave Colonel Boudville, hold a footing in the bend of the ground where the General places them, and boldly maintain their position there. Informed, however, of this position, which might become critical, I ordered General Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely to send four battalions of the Voltigeurs of the Guard, taken from the general reserve, to the support of that division. Generals Mellinet and Uhrich marched with that fine body of men, rallied the stragglers in the ravine of Careening Bay, and gave a solid support to General de Failly, by occupying the bottom of the ravine. General Mellinet in person advanced to the right of General de Failly at the head of a battalion of Grenadiers, placed the evening before to defend the ravine, and was of great service to him by covering his right. The attack on the centre had not a better fate. General Brunet had not yet completed all his arrangements when the signal-rockets were fired. The whole of the right was already prematurely engaged for more than twenty to twenty-five minutes. The troops, nevertheless, resolutely advanced, but their valour was of no avail against the well-sustained fire of the Russians and against unforeseen obstacles. At the very outset General Brunet fell mortally wounded by a ball in the chest. The flag of the 91st was cut in two by a ball, but it is needless to add that its fragments were brought back by that gallant regiment. General Lafont de Villiers took the command of the division, and intrusted that of the troops engaged to Colonel Lorencez. The latter held firm while the remainder of the division occupied the trenches to provide against the eventualities of the combat. To the left, General d'Autemarre could not go into action before Brunet's division, nor could he explain the hasty fusillade he heard in the direction of Careening Bay; but at the signal agreed upon for the attack he threw forward with impetuosity the 5th Chasseurs-à-Pied and the first battalion of the 19th of the Line, which, following the ridge of the Karabelnaia Ravine, arrived at the intrenchment which connects it with Malakoff Tower, scaled the intrenchment, and entered the _enceinte_ itself. The sappers of the Engineers were already placing the scaling-ladders for the remainder of the 19th and 26th Regiments, who were hurrying up by order of General d'Autemarre to follow his gallant column. For an instant we believed in success. Our eagles were planted on the Russian works. Unhappily, that hope was promptly dispelled. Our allies had met with such obstacles in their attack on the Grand Redan, they had been received with such a fearful shower of grape, that, despite their well-known tenacity, they had already been obliged to beat a retreat. Such was the spirit of our troops that, despite this circumstance, they would have pushed on and charged down upon the enemy, but the want of unity in the attack of our divisions permitted the Russians to fall upon us with their reserves and with the artillery of the Great Redan; and the enemy did not lose a moment in advancing all the other reserves of the Karabelnaia against our brave Chasseurs-à-Pied. Before so imposing a force Commandant Garnier, of the 5th battalion, already struck by five balls, endeavoured, but in vain, to maintain the conquered ground. Compelled to give way to numbers he re-crossed the intrenchments. General Niol came up to support his brigade, reinforced by the 30th of the Line. A new offensive movement was attempted to assure the success of the new effort, and on a message from General d'Autemarre to the effect that his reserve was reduced to the 74th of the Line, I sent him the regiment of Zouaves of the Guard; but on the arrival of those hardy veterans of our African campaigns, as the movement had no longer any desirable _ensemble_ for so vigorous a blow, with a single division without support either on the right or on the left, and cut up by the artillery of the Redan, the attack upon which had been relinquished by our allies, I at once saw that all chance of success was over. Another effort would only have led to useless bloodshed. It was half-past eight o'clock, and I ordered a general retreat to the trenches. This movement was carried out proudly, with order and coolness, and without the enemy following us on any point. A portion of the Russian trenches remained even occupied by some of our men, who evacuated them gradually, without the enemy daring to turn their advantage to account against them. Our losses have been great. We took care at the very commencement of the action to carry off most of our wounded. But a certain number of those glorious dead remained lying on the glacis or in the ditches of the place. The last duties were rendered to them the following day. Besides General Brunet and General Mayran (who died during the night) we have to deplore the loss of an officer beloved and appreciated by the whole army, the young and brave Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery De Laboursinière, killed while scaling the reverse of a trench obstructed by troops on his way from one of his batteries to the Brancion Redoubt. It is a great loss. In him were the germs of future promise. A number of brave superior officers have been wounded while showing the most noble example. The officers of the staff and of the troops worthily performed their duties, and the conduct of the men was admirable everywhere. We had 37 officers killed, and 17 taken prisoners; 1,544 non-commissioned officers and privates killed or missing. On the evening of the 18th, 96 officers and 1,644 men went to the ambulances. Many wounds, at first thought very serious, will ultimately prove not to be so. The bearers of these honourable scars will shortly rejoin their colours. These losses have not shaken either the ardour or the confidence of these valiant divisions. They only ask to make the enemy pay dearly for this day's work. The hope and the will to conquer are in every heart, and all count upon it that in the next struggle fortune will not play false to valour. PELISSIER, Commander-in-Chief. THE BATTLE OF THE TCHERNAYA. HEAD-QUARTERS, BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _August 18_. MONSIEUR LE MARÉCHAL,--You will have learnt by my telegraphic despatches of yesterday and of the day before the general results of the battle of the Tchernaya; to-day I send your Excellency a detailed report of that battle, so glorious for our arms. For some days, although the enemy abstained from any apparent movement, certain indications made us suppose he would attack our lines on the Tchernaya. You know those positions, which are excellent, and which are covered to the full extent by the Tchernaya itself, and by a canal, which forms a second obstacle. The Sardinian army occupies the whole of the right, opposite Tchorgoun; the French troops guard the centre and the left, which joins after a declivity our plateaux of Inkerman. Independently of a few fords, which are bad enough, there are two bridges across the Tchernaya and the canal. One, a little above Tchorgoun, is under the guns of the Piedmontese; the other, called Traktir Bridge, is below, and almost in the centre of the French positions. Looking straight before one towards the other bank of the Tchernaya, you behold to the right the heights of Tchouliou, which, after extending themselves in undulating plateaux, fall somewhat abruptly towards the Tchernaya below Tchorgoun, opposite the Piedmontese. These heights diminish opposite our centre, and starting from that point to the rocky sides of the Mackenzie Plateaux, there is a plain about three or four kilomètres in width. It is by that plain that the Mackenzie Road leads across the Tchernaya at Traktir Bridge, and, after passing through our pontoons, leads into the Balaklava plain. A strict watch was kept all along our lines--the Turks, who occupy the hilly grounds of Balaklava, were on the alert, and watched Alsou; and General d'Allonville, also put on his guard, doubled his vigilance in the high valley of Baidar. My mind was quite at rest, moreover, as regards the extreme right; it is one of those mountainous regions where it is impossible to manoeuvre large bodies of men. The enemy could only make false demonstrations there--in fact, that is what occurred. In the night between the 15th and 16th of August, General d'Allonville notified that he had troops opposite him; but his attitude imposed upon the enemy, who attempted nothing on that side, and dared not attack him. During this time, the main body of the Russian troops, which had descended from the Mackenzie Heights with the intention of debouching near Ai Todor, advanced, favoured by night, on the Tchernaya; to the right, the 7th, 5th, and 12th Divisions crossed the plain; and to the left, the 17th Division; a portion of the 6th and the 4th followed the plateau of Tchouliou. A strong body of cavalry and 160 pieces of artillery supported the infantry. A little before daybreak the advanced posts of the Sardinian army, placed as vedettes as far as the heights of Tchouliou, fell back, and announced that the enemy was advancing in considerable force. Shortly afterwards, in fact, the Russians lined the heights of the right bank of the Tchernaya with heavy guns (_pièces de position_), and opened fire on us. General Herbillon, who commanded the French troops on this point, had made his arrangements for battle. To the right of the Traktir Road, Faucheux's division, with the 3rd battery of the 12th artillery; in the centre, his own division, with the 6th company of the 13th; to the left, Camou's division, with the 4th battery of the 13th. On his side, General Della Marmora had ranged his troops in order of battle. At the same time, General Morris's fine division of Chasseurs d'Afrique, speedily joined by General Scarlett's numerous and valiant English cavalry, took up a position behind the hills of Kamara and Traktir. This cavalry was to take the enemy in flank, in case he should succeed in forcing a passage by one of the three outlets of Tchorgoun or Traktir, or at the incline to the left of General Camou. Colonel Forgeot, in command of the artillery of the Tchernaya lines, kept six batteries of horse artillery, two of which belonged to the Imperial Guard, ready to act as a reserve. Six Turkish battalions of Osman Pasha's army, led by Sefer Pasha, came to lend us their assistance. Finally, I ordered forward Levaillant's division of the 1st corps, Dulac's division of the 2nd corps, and the Imperial Guard, comprising reserves capable of remedying the most serious _contretemps_. The thick mist which covered the depths of the Tchernaya, and the smoke of the cannonade which had just commenced, prevented us distinguishing against which particular point the chief effort of the enemy would be directed; when, on our extreme left, the 7th Russian division came tilt against Camou's division. Received by the 50th of the Line, the 3rd Zouaves, who charged them with the bayonet, and by the 82nd, which took them in flank, the enemy's columns were compelled to make a demivolte to recross the canal, and could only escape the fire of our artillery by getting out of range to rally. That division did not appear again during the day. In the centre, the struggle was longer and more desperate. The enemy had sent two divisions (the 12th supported by the 5th) against Traktir Bridge. Many of their columns rushed at once upon the bridge, and the temporary passages they constructed with ladders, pontoons, and madriers. They then crossed the Tchernaya, the trench of our lines, and advanced bravely on our positions. But, assailed by Generals Faucheux and De Failly, these columns were routed, and the men recrossed the bridge occupied by the 95th, and were pursued beyond it by the 2nd Zouaves, the 97th of the Line, and by a portion of the 19th battalion of Chasseurs-à-Pied. However, while the artillery was roaring on both sides, the Russians re-formed their columns of attack, the mist had cleared, and their movements became distinctly visible. Their 5th division reinforced the 12th, which had just been engaged; and the 17th was preparing to descend the heights of Tchouliou to support these two first divisions. General Herbillon then ordered General Faucheux to be reinforced by Cler's Brigade, and gave the 73rd as a reserve to General de Failly. Colonel Forgeot, moreover, placed four batteries of horse artillery in position, which gave him on this front a total of seven batteries to be brought to bear upon the assailing masses. The result was, that the second attempt of the Russians, in spite of its energetic character, proved of no avail against us; and they were compelled to retreat with great loss. The 17th Russian Division, which had come down throwing out large bodies of riflemen as skirmishers, had no better success. Received with great resolution by General Cler's Brigade, and by a half battery of the Imperial Guard, harassed on the left by the troops of Tretti's Division, who pressed it closely, that division was compelled to recross the Tchernaya, and to fall back behind the batteries of position which lined the heights from which it had started. From this moment, 9 A.M., the defeat of the enemy was inevitable. Their long columns withdrew as fast as they could, under the protection of a considerable body of cavalry and artillery. For a moment I felt inclined to order a portion of the cavalry to charge and cut down the remnant of the 17th Russian Division, between the Tchouliou and Traktir Bridges. With this object in view, I had prepared some squadrons of Chasseurs d'Afrique, who were joined by some Sardinian squadrons, and by one of General Scarlett's regiments, the 12th Lancers (from India); but the retreat of the Russians was so prompt, that we could only have made a small number of prisoners, and this fine cavalry might have been reached by some of the enemy's batteries still in position; I deemed it preferable not to expose it for so small a result. General Della Marmora did not, moreover, stand in need of this support boldly to retake the advanced positions which his small posts occupied on the heights of Tchouliou. At three o'clock the whole of the enemy's army had disappeared. The Division of the Guard and Dulac's Division relieved the divisions engaged, as they stood in need of some rest. I sent back the first corps of Devaillant's Division, and the cavalry returned to its usual bivouac. This splendid action does the greatest honour to the infantry, to the horse artillery of the Garde, to that of the reserve, and to the artillery of divisions. I will shortly ask your Excellency to place before the Emperor the names of those who have deserved rewards, and to submit to the approbation of his Majesty those which I may have awarded in his name. Our losses are doubtless to be regretted, but they are not in proportion to the results obtained, and to those we have inflicted upon the enemy. We have eight superior officers wounded, nine subaltern officers killed, and fifty-three wounded; 172 non-commissioned officers and soldiers killed, 146 missing, and 1,163 wounded. The Russians have left 400 prisoners in our hands. The number of their killed may be estimated at more than 3,000, and of their wounded at more than 5,000, of which number 1,626 men and thirty-eight officers have been taken to our ambulances. Among the slain found by us are the bodies of two generals, whose names I have not been able to ascertain. The Sardinian army, which fought so valiantly at our side, has about 250 men _hors de combat_. It inflicted a much greater loss upon the enemy. One hundred prisoners, and about one hundred and fifty wounded, remain in its hands. I am sorry to announce to your Excellency that General Della Marmora has informed me that Count de Montevecchio, whose character and talents he greatly appreciated, was killed gloriously at the head of his brigade. I must point out to your Excellency the rapidity with which General Scarlett's cavalry, placed at my disposal by General Simpson, came up. The martial appearance of these magnificent squadrons betrayed an impatience which the happy and prompt result of the battle did not allow me to gratify. The English and Sardinian position batteries, and the Turkish battery which Osman Pasha had sent to Alsou, fired with great precision and success. I thanked Osman Pasha for the promptitude with which he sent me six Turkish battalions under Sefer Pasha (General Koscielzki), four of which during the day occupied the passage near Tchorgoun. Nothing remarkable took place during the day on the Sebastopol side. Generals De Salles and Bosquet were, however, prepared to drive back with energy any attack of the besieged. I send your Excellency with this report the copy of the plan for the battle of the 16th, found upon the body of a Russian general, supposed to be General Read, who commanded the enemy's right, and was especially entrusted with the attack on Traktir Bridge. I am, &c., &c., PELISSIER, Commander-in-Chief. * * * * * As this battle really decided the fall of the place, inasmuch as it enabled the Allies to continue without fear of molestation the armament of those tremendous batteries which would have annihilated the whole forces of Russia inside the walls of Sebastopol, it may not be uninteresting to add the despatches of General Simpson, who was late on the field, and of General Della Marmora, who took an active part in directing the operations of the Sardinians on this memorable day. General Simpson wrote as follows:-- BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _August 18_. MY LORD,--In my despatch of the 14th instant, I informed your Lordship that I had reason to believe that the Russians would attempt by a vigorous attack to force us to raise the siege! This they endeavoured to do on the morning of the 16th, but the result was most glorious to those of the Allied troops who had the good fortune to be engaged. The action commenced before daylight, by a heavy column of Russians under the command of General Liprandi, and composed of the 6th and 17th Divisions, with the 4th and 7th Divisions in reserve, attacking the advanced posts of the Sardinians. The ground occupied by them is on commanding hills on the right of the position, on the left bank of the Souhaia river, where it forms its junction with the Tchernaya, with two advanced posts on the opposite side. These were held with very determined gallantry for a considerable time; but being separated from their supports by the river, and not having the protection of artillery, they were compelled to leave the most advanced one. About the same time, the 5th and 12th Divisions, to which was added a portion of the 17th, advanced against the bridge of Traktir, held by one battalion of French infantry of the Line, who were for a short time obliged to yield and fall back upon the main supports; with these, however, they quickly retook the bridge at the point of the bayonet. Again the Russians attacked with persevering courage, and were enabled to follow up their advantage by gaining the heights which rise precipitously on each side of the road; their success was but momentary--they were driven back across the river, leaving the ground covered with dead and wounded. The Russian General, in no way daunted by the failure of his two attempts, ordered a second column, of equal force to the first, to attack; they advanced with such impetuosity, covered by the fire of their numerous artillery, that a third time the bridge was carried, and the heights above it crowned, but they were again repulsed, and retired in great confusion into the plain, followed by the bayonets of our gallant allies. The General Officer who commanded the Russian column, and who is supposed to be General Read, was killed, and in his possession was found the orders for the battle, signed by Prince Gortschakoff, who commanded in person. From these it would appear that it was a most determined attempt to force us to raise the siege. Had they succeeded, Balaklava was to have been attacked by one portion of their army, whilst the heights on which we now are were to have been stormed with the other; at the same time a vigorous sortie was to have been made from the town on the French works on our extreme left from the Quarantine, and another on the works on our extreme right on Mount Sapoune. The action which I have endeavoured to describe is most glorious to the arms of the French and Sardinian troops. To meet the force of the Russians, the former had but 12,000 infantry and four batteries of artillery engaged; the latter had 10,000 men in position, 4,500 actually engaged, and twenty-four pieces of cannon. The Russian force consisted of from 50,000 to 60,000 men, with 160 pieces of artillery, and cavalry to the amount of 6,000. This disparity of numbers will readily explain to your Lordship the difficulty that would have been experienced had an attempt been made to follow up the advantage by a pursuit. The Russian retreat, moreover, was protected by the fire from the heavy guns in position on the Mackenzie Heights. The loss sustained by the Russians is estimated at between 5,000 and 6,000 men, including 600 prisoners, whilst on the part of the Allies it does not amount to more than 1,000 men. This brilliant affair has caused the greatest delight amongst the ranks of the Allied army; and while it adds fresh lustre to the gallant achievements of the French arms, it is with the utmost pleasure that I have to record the intrepid conduct and gallant bearing of the Sardinian troops, under General Della Marmora, who have for the first time met, conquered, and shed their blood against our common enemy, who is now disturbing the peace of Europe. Captain Mowbray's battery of 32-pounder howitzers was placed in advance with the Sardinian troops, and did most excellent service in preventing the advance of the enemy's artillery. Our cavalry, under Lieutenant-General Sir J. Scarlett, K.C.B., was placed in the plain of Balaklava, prepared to take advantage of any circumstance that might present itself, but the opportunity did not arise for calling upon their services. I regret that I am unable to give a more detailed account of the part performed by the Sardinians, as up to this time I have not received General Della Marmora's report. I have, &c., JAMES SIMPSON, General Commanding. _Lord Panmure, &c. &c. &c._ BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _August 21_. MY LORD,--In my despatch of the 18th instant I was unable to give as detailed an account of the part taken by the Sardinian troops, in the battle of the Tchernaya, as I could have wished. I have since received General La Marmora's report, of which I have now the honour to send you a copy. The killed and wounded of the Russian army exceed, if anything, the number I originally stated. An armistice was granted, to enable the enemy to bury the dead, and vast quantities were carried away. The fire from the batteries of the Allies has been very effective, and the result attained has been sufficient to enable the works against the place to progress satisfactorily. I beg to enclose the list of casualties to the 19th instant. Major M'Gowan, 93rd Highlanders, who was reported by me as missing in my despatch of the 11th August, I have since ascertained was attacked whilst posting his sentries in advance of the trenches, wounded severely, and made prisoner. I have, &c., JAMES SIMPSON, General Commanding. _The Lord Panmure, &c. &c. &c._ [_Translation._] SARDINIAN ARMY.--HEAD-QUARTERS OF THE EXPEDITIONARY FORCES IN THE EAST, KADIKOI, _August 17_. SIR,--The interest which you are so kind as to evince in everything relating to the Sardinian Expeditionary Army makes it imperative upon me to inform your Excellency of the share taken by the troops under my command in the engagement on the Tchernaya yesterday. Upon receiving the report of Colonel Dessaint, attached to the French head-quarters, which you were good enough to communicate to me on the evening of the day before yesterday, and by which we were led to expect very shortly an attack on the line of the Tchernaya, I at once gave orders that my troops should be under arms yesterday morning at an earlier hour than usual. At break of day our outposts stationed on the Mamelon, which commands Tchorgoun, were enveloped in a well-sustained fire of artillery, which proceeded from three batteries posted opposite to the breastworks by which our outposts were covered, and on the two Mamelons further to the right, which form the two banks of the Souliou. They were at the same time vigorously charged by three Russian columns, which came on with fixed bayonets, and attacked our breastworks in front and rear. The men composing these columns carried ladders with them to scale the parapets. The preconcerted signal of alarm was immediately given; and the troops took up the positions which had been assigned to them in anticipation of this attack. I begged his Excellency Hosman Pasha to bring up the Turkish troops which were stationed furthest off; and I ordered the 4th battalion of Riflemen (bersaglieri) to the support of our outposts, which only consisted of three companies, in order that these latter might be enabled to hold their ground as long as possible, and thus give us time to complete our arrangements. Attacked in the rear by the enemy's artillery, and charged by three columns of infantry, the outposts, after an hour's firing, fell back, the reinforcements I had sent to them greatly facilitating their retreat. At the same time I made every effort to silence the enemy's guns. In this endeavour I was assisted by the Turkish field-pieces from Alsou, and by the English battery, with which you were good enough to reinforce us. Several of the enemy's ammunition wagons exploded between seven and eight o'clock. In the meantime the Russians had stationed fresh batteries near the centre of their position, and had opened a most effective fire of artillery on the tête-de-pont at Traktir, and on the French positions on our left. A column of infantry, under cover of this fire, attacked the Mamelon, which formed the extreme right of General d'Herbillon's Division. The first column had crossed the Tchernaya, and surmounted the steep ascent of the Mamelon in spite of the fire of the tirailleurs, when it was vigorously attacked by the French troops in support, and hurled back, broken and disordered, into the Tchernaya. As I considered, from the subsequent dispositions of the enemy's forces, that he only intended to make a demonstration of artillery before our position, while he concentrated his infantry chiefly on the extreme right of the Third Division (Faucher's), on which point a second column was now advancing, I ordered a portion of my 5th Brigade, under the command of General Mallard, to march to the support of the right wing of the French, and I posted two of our batteries in a position from whence they could maintain an oblique fire upon the Russians. At the same time I requested the English cavalry to move down into the plain to be in readiness to charge. I had given similar orders to my own cavalry. When the soldiers of my 5th Brigade arrived at the Mamelon, they found that the enemy's attack had been already repulsed; but the fire of the two batteries of the 2nd Division (Trotti's) appeared to do great execution on the 2nd Russian column, which, checked in front by the French troops, and harassed in the rear by the fire of our batteries and the musketry of our battalions, fell back in the greatest disorder. I then ordered some of our battalions to advance under cover of the Riflemen (bersaglieri), but I was requested to countermand this movement. The enemy, repulsed at all points, commenced his retreat. One column, which appeared to me to consist of a division, retreated by the valley of the Souliou. Another division, the one which had attacked our outposts and the French right in the morning, fell back upon the zigzag Mamelon; while a third division followed the road which leads to Mackenzie's Farm. I took advantage of this state of things to reoccupy with my troops the zigzag Mamelon; in which design I succeeded perfectly, in spite of the imposing force which the enemy still retained on that point. In the meantime, three battalions of Turkish troops advanced into the Valley of Tchorgoun, to replace the battalion of Cialdini's Brigade, which was occupying the heights of Karlooka. Later in the day I crossed the Tchernaya with four squadrons, and marching in a parallel line with the zigzag Mamelon, came upon the old Russian redoubt, whence I could easily discern, at a little distance before us, a very fine array of regular cavalry, supported by horse artillery. It was distributed in twelve separate bodies, and must have been composed of at least fifty squadrons. This cavalry did not fall back on Mackenzie Road till the whole of the infantry and artillery had effected their retreat. The losses sustained by our troops, a portion only of whom was engaged, were very inconsiderable. They amount to about two hundred men placed _hors de combat_; and I impute the fact of our not having lost more men mainly to the works with which we fortified our position, and to the batteries of heavy guns which you were so obliging as to lend us for their defence. It is, however, my painful duty to announce to your Excellency that Count Montevecchio, the General commanding the 4th Brigade, is mortally wounded; a ball passed through his chest. Pray accept, General, the assurance of my high consideration. The General Commanding-in-Chief the Sardinian Expeditionary Forces, (Signed) LA MARMORA. HANG _To his Excellency the General Commanding-in-Chief the English Army._ GENERAL SIMPSON'S DESPATCH. GENERAL SIMPSON TO LORD PANMURE. (_Received September 22._) BEFORE SEBASTOPOL, _September 9, 1855_. MY LORD,--I had the honour to apprise your Lordship in my despatch of the 4th instant, that the Engineer and Artillery Officers of the Allied Armies had laid before General Pelissier and myself a report recommending that the assault should be given on the 8th instant, after a heavy fire had been kept up for three days. This arrangement I agreed to, and I have to congratulate your Lordship on the glorious results of the attack of yesterday, which has ended in the possession of the town, dockyards, and public buildings, and destruction of the last ships of the Russian Fleet in the Black Sea. Three steamers alone remain, and the speedy capture or sinking of these must speedily follow. It was arranged that at twelve o'clock in the day the French columns of assault were to leave their trenches, and take possession of the Malakoff and adjacent works. After their success had been assured, and they were fairly established, the Redan was to be assaulted by the English; the Bastion, Central, and Quarantine Forts, on the left, were simultaneously to be attacked by the French. At the hour appointed our Allies quitted their trenches, entered and carried the apparently impregnable defences of the Malakoff with that impetuous valour which characterizes the French attack; and, having once obtained possession, they were never dislodged. The Tricolor planted on the parapet was the signal for our troops to advance. The arrangements for the attack I entrusted to Lieutenant-General Sir William Codrington, who carried out the details in concert with Lieutenant-General Markham. I determined that the second and light divisions should have the honour of the assault, from the circumstance of their having defended the batteries and approaches against the Redan for so many months, and from the intimate knowledge they possessed of the ground. The fire of our artillery having made as much of a breach as possible in the salient of the Redan, I decided that the columns of assault should be directed against that part, as being less exposed to the heavy flanking fire by which this work is protected. It was arranged between Sir W. Codrington and Lieutenant-General Markham that the assaulting column of 1,000 men should be formed by equal numbers of these two divisions, the column of the light division to lead, that of the 2nd to follow. They left the trenches at the preconcerted signal, and moved across the ground preceded by a covering party of 200 men, and a ladder party of 320. On arriving at the crest of the ditch, and the ladders placed, the men immediately stormed the parapet of the Redan, and penetrated into the salient angle. A most determined and bloody contest was here maintained for nearly an hour, and although supported to the utmost, and the greatest bravery displayed, it was found impossible to maintain the position. Your Lordship will perceive, by the long and sad list of casualties, with what gallantry and self-devotion the officers so nobly placed themselves at the head of their men during this sanguinary conflict. I feel myself unable to express in adequate terms the sense I entertain of the conduct and gallantry exhibited by the troops, though their devotion was not rewarded by the success which they so well merited; but to no one are my thanks more justly due than to Colonel Windham, who gallantly headed his column of attack, and was fortunate in entering, and remaining with the troops, during the contest. The trenches were, subsequently to this attack, so crowded with troops that I was unable to organize a second assault, which I intended to make with the Highlanders under Lieutenant-General Sir Colin Campbell, who had hitherto formed the reserve, to be supported by the third division under Major-General Sir William Eyre. I, therefore, sent for these officers, and arranged with them to renew the attack the following morning. The Highland Brigade occupied the advanced trenches during the night. About eleven o'clock the enemy commenced exploding their magazines, and Sir Colin Campbell having ordered a small party to advance cautiously to examine the Redan, found the work abandoned; he did not, however, deem it necessary to occupy it until daylight. The evacuation of the town by the enemy was made manifest during the night. Great tires appeared in every part, accompanied by large explosions, under the cover of which the enemy succeeded in withdrawing their troops to the north side by means of the raft-bridge recently constructed, and which they afterwards disconnected and conveyed to the other side. Their men-of-war were all sunk during the night. The boisterous weather rendered it altogether impossible for the Admirals to fulfil their intention of bringing the broadsides of the Allied Fleets to bear upon the Quarantine Batteries; but an excellent effect was produced by the animated and well-directed fire of their mortar vessels, those of Her Majesty being under the direction of Captain Wilcox, of the _Odin_, and Captain Digby, of the Royal Marine Artillery. It now becomes my pleasing duty, my Lord, to place on record the high sense I entertain of the conduct of this Army since I have had the honour to command it. The hardships and privations endured by many of the regiments during a long winter campaign are too well known for me to comment upon. They were borne both by officers and men with a patience and unmurmuring endurance worthy of the highest praise, and which gained them the deserved applause and sympathy of their country. The Naval Brigade, under the command of Captain the Honourable Henry Keppel, aided by Captain Moorsom, and many gallant officers and seamen who have served the guns from the commencement of the siege, merit my warmest thanks. The prompt, hearty, and efficacious co-operation of Her Majesty's Navy, commanded by Rear-Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons, and ably seconded by Sir Houston Stewart, has contributed most materially to the success of our undertaking; and here, perhaps, I may be permitted to say that, if it had pleased God that the successful result of this memorable siege should have been reported by my ever to be lamented predecessor in this command, I am sure that it would have been one of his most pleasing duties to express the deep sense which I know he entertained of the invaluable assistance and counsel he received on all occasions from Sir Edmund Lyons. When at times affairs looked gloomy and success doubtful, he was at hand to cheer and encourage; and every assistance that could tend to advance the operations was given with the hearty goodwill which characterizes the British sailor. Nothing has contributed more to the present undertaking than the cordial co-operation which has so happily existed from the first between the two services. I cannot sufficiently express my approbation of the conduct of the Royal Engineers under Lieutenant-General Sir Harry Jones, who has conducted the siege operations from the beginning of this year. For some time past he has been suffering on a bed of sickness, but the eventful hour of the assault would not permit him to remain absent; he was conveyed on a litter into the trenches to witness the completion of his arduous undertakings. My warmest thanks are due to the officers and soldiers of the Royal Artillery under the command of Major-General Sir R. Dacres, who, during the arduous operations of this protracted siege, have so mainly contributed to its ultimate success. I must beg further to record my thanks for the cordial co-operation and assistance I have received in carrying out the details of the service from the Chief of the Staff, the Adjutant and Quartermaster-Generals, and General Staff, as well as Generals commanding Divisions and Brigades of this Army. I must reserve to myself, for the subject of a future despatch, bringing before your Lordship the particular mention of officers of the various branches of this Army, whom I shall beg to recommend to your favourable notice. I entrust this despatch to the care of Brevet-Major the Honourable Leicester Curzon, who has been Assistant Military Secretary to my noble predecessor and myself since the commencement of this war, and who will be able to give your Lordship more minute details than the limits of a despatch will allow. I have, &c., JAMES SIMPSON, General Commanding. FINAL ASSAULT ON SEBASTOPOL. MARSHAL PELISSIER'S REPORT. HEAD-QUARTERS, SEBASTOPOL, _September 11, 1855_. MONSIEUR LE MARÉCHAL,--I shall have the honour to send you by next courier a detailed report of the attack which has rendered us masters of Sebastopol. I can only give you to-day a rapid sketch of the principal features of this great military achievement. Since the 16th of August, the day of the Battle of the Tchernaya, and despite the repeated notifications of a new and more formidable attack of the enemy on the positions which we occupy on that river, every preparation was being made for a decisive assault upon Sebastopol itself. The artillery of the Right Attack opened already on the 17th of August a better sustained fire against the Malakhoff and against the Redan and Careening Bay, the neighbouring defences, and the roadstead, so as to allow the engineers to establish lodgments near the place, where the troops could throw themselves promptly on the _enceinte_. The engineers, moreover, prepared their scaling ladders, and all our batteries of the left opened a very violent fire against the town on the 5th of September. On their side the English kept up a heavy and incessant fire at the Great Redan and its redoubts, which they had to attack. Everything being ready, I resolved, in concert with General Simpson, to give the assault on the 8th of September, at noon. M'Mahon's division was to storm the Malakhoff works; Dulac's division the Redan of Careening Bay; and in the centre the division of La Motterouge was to march against the Curtain which unites those two extreme points. In addition to these troops I have given General Bosquet General Mellinet's division of the Garde to support those three first divisions. So much for the right. In the centre the English were to attack the Great Redan by scaling it at its salient. On the left the first corps, to which General della Marmora added a Sardinian Brigade, having at its head Levaillant's division, was to penetrate by the Central Bastion into the interior of the town, and then turn the Flagstaff Bastion, to make a lodgment there. General de Salles' instructions were only to follow up his attack if circumstances allowed him. Moreover, the fleets of Admiral Lyons and Bruat were to make a powerful diversion by attacking the Quarantine, the roadstead, and sea fronts of the fortress. But the state of the sea, owing to a strong wind from the N.E., was such that neither the line-of-battle ships nor frigates could leave their anchorage. The English and French mortar-boats were, however, enabled to open fire. They fired in a remarkable manner, and did us good service. Precisely at noon M'Mahon, La Motterouge's, and Dulac's divisions, electrified by their leaders, threw themselves against the Malakhoff, the Curtain, and the Little Redan of Careening Bay. After surmounting unheard-of obstacles, and after a terrible hand-to-hand struggle, M'Mahon's division succeeded in making good a footing in the front part of the Malakhoff. The enemy kept up a hail of projectiles of every description upon our brave troops. The Redan of Careening Bay, exposed to a cross fire and to the fire of the steamers, was obliged to be evacuated after having been occupied; but La Motterouge's division held its ground on a portion of the Curtain, and M'Mahon's division gained ground in the Malakhoff, where General Bosquet poured in reserves, which I hastened up. The other attacks were subordinate to that of the Malakhoff, the key of the defences of the whole place. From the Brancion Redoubt, where I had placed myself, I saw that the Malakhoff was in our hands, and I gave the signal agreed upon with General Simpson. The English at once advanced bravely against the salient of the Great Redan; they succeeded in lodging themselves there, and struggled for a long time to keep it; but, overwhelmed by the Russian reserves, which never ceased advancing, and by a violent fire of artillery, they were forced to fall back into their parallels. At the same signal General de Salles attacked the Central Bastion. Levaillant's division had commenced establishing itself there, as also on the right lunette, when, after a sweeping fire of grape, such strong Russian reinforcements came up, that our troops, decimated by the fire, and their officers _hors de combat_, were compelled to return to the _places d'armes_ they had started from. Convinced that the capture of the Malakhoff must decide the success, I prevented a renewal of the other attacks, which, by occupying the enemy on all the points of his vast _enceinte_, had already fulfilled their chief object, and I concentrated all my attention on the possession of the Malakhoff, now completely in the power of General M'Mahon. A critical moment was, however, at hand. General Bosquet had just been struck by a large fragment of a shell, and I was obliged to give his command to General Dulac. A powder magazine in the Curtain near the Malakhoff blew up, and made me fear the most serious consequences. The Russians, hoping to profit by this accident, advanced in dense masses, and in three columns attacked the centre, left, and right of the Malakhoff. But arrangements had already been made within the work. General M'Mahon had daring troops, who feared nothing, to oppose them, and after some desperate attempts the Russians were compelled to beat a retreat. From that moment they relinquished any offensive attack. The Malakhoff was ours, and could not be taken from us. It was half-past four. Measures were immediately taken to put us in a condition to repulse the enemy, should he attempt to attack us in the night. But our uncertainty was soon put an end to. At nightfall flames burst out on all sides, mines exploded, powder magazines blew up. The spectacle of Sebastopol in flames, witnessed by the whole army, was one of the most imposing and terrible sights ever presented in the history of wars. The enemy was evacuating the place. The retreat was effected during the night by means of the bridge established between the two sides of the roadstead, and under cover of the successive explosions, which prevented me from approaching to harass it. On the morning of the 9th the whole south side of the town was abandoned and in our hands. I need not point out to your Excellency the importance of such a success; nor need I speak of that brave army whose warlike virtues and devotion are so well appreciated by our Emperor, and I shall have, though the number is great, to point out to you those who distinguished themselves among so many valorous soldiers. I cannot do so yet, but I shall fulfil that duty in an early despatch. Accept, M. le Maréchal, the expression of my respectful devotion. PELISSIER, Commander-in-Chief. * * * * * On the 9th of September, when it became known that the city was abandoned, the following order was issued:-- "GENERAL AFTER-ORDER. "HEAD-QUARTERS, _September 9_. "The Commander of the Forces congratulates the army on the result of the attack of yesterday. "The brilliant assault and occupation of the Malakoff by our gallant Allies obliged the enemy to abandon the works they have so long held with such bravery and determination. "The Commander of the Forces returns his thanks to the general officers and officers and men of the Second and Light Divisions, who advanced and attacked with such gallantry the works of the Redan. He regrets, from the formidable nature of the flanking defences, that their devotion did not meet with that immediate success which it so well merited. "He condoles and deeply sympathizes with the many brave officers, non-commissioned officers, and men who are now suffering from the wounds they received in the course of their noble exertions of yesterday. "He deeply deplores the death of the many gallant officers and men who have fallen in the final struggle of this long and memorable siege. "Their loss will be severely felt, and their names long remembered in this army and by the British nation. "General Simpson avails himself of this opportunity to congratulate and convey his warmest thanks to the general officers, officers and soldiers of the several divisions, to the Royal Engineers and Artillery, for their cheerful endurance of almost unparalleled hardships and sufferings, and for the unflinching courage and determination which on so many trying occasions they have evinced. "It is with equal satisfaction that the Commander of the Forces thanks the officers and men of the Naval Brigade for the long and uniform course of valuable service rendered by them from the commencement of the siege. "By order, H. W. BARNARD, Chief of the Staff." STATE OF ARMY, MARCH, 1855. +----------+---------------------+-----------------------------------------+ | | OFFICERS. | SERJEANTS. | | +---------------------+------------+-----------+----+-----+-----+ | | | Present. | Sick. | | | | | | +------------+-----------+ | | | | |Field Officers. | |Other-| |Com-|POWs | | | | |Captains. | |wise | |mand|and | | | | | |Subalterns.|Under|Emp- |Pre- |Ab- | |Miss-| | | | | | |Staff.|Arms.|loyed.|sent.|sent.| |ing. |Total| +----------+----+----+----+------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+-----+ |Mounted | | | | | | | | | | | | | Staff | ..| 1| 2| .. | 2| .. | .. | .. | 1| .. | 3| |Cavalry | | | | | | | | | | | | | Division| 16| 29| 39| 46 | 125| 45 | 9 | 14 | 15| .. | 208| |Infantry | 85| 246| 391| 218 | 1293| 165 | 150 | 406 | 134| 2 | 2150| |Ambulance | 1| 1| 1| 1 | 6| .. | .. | 1 | 3| .. | 10| +----------+----+----+----+------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+-----+ |ARTILLERY.| | | | | | | | | | | | |Staff | 7| 12| ..| 5 | 27 | .. | .. | 2 | ..| .. | 29| |Field | | | | | | | | | | | | | Batteries| ..| 16| 25| 10 | 52 | .. | .. | 5 | ..| .. | 57| |Siege | | | | | | | | | | | | | Train | ..| 28| 34| 4 | 66 | 1 | 3 | 8 | 1| .. | 79| | +----+----+----+------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+-----+ | Total | 7| 56| 59| 19 | 145 | 1 | 3 | 13 | 1| .. | 163| +----------+----+----+----+------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+-----+ | Royal }| | | | | | | | | | | | |Engineers}| | | | | | | | | | | | |Sappers, }| | | | | | | | | | | | |and }| 4| 9| 15| 6 | 19 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 20| .. | 48| |Miners }| | | | | | | | | | | | +==========+====+====+====+======+=====+======+=====+=====+====+=====+=====+ +----------+------------------------------------------+ | | TRUMPETERS OR DRUMMERS. | | +------------+-----------+----------+------+ | | Present. | Sick. | | | | +-----+------+-----------+Command. | | | | |Other-| | |POWs | | | | |wise | | |and | | | |Under|Emp- |Pre- |Ab- | |Miss-| | | |Arms.|loyed.|sent.|sent.| |ing. |Total.| +----------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+ |Mounted | | | | | | | | | Staff | ..| .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | |Cavalry | | | | | | | | | Division| 28| .. | 1 | 2 | 2 | .. | 33 |Infantry | 488| 2 | 35 | 106 | 8 | .. | 638 | |Ambulance | ..| .. | .. | 1 | .. | .. | 1 | +----------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+ |ARTILLERY.| | | | | | | | |Staff | ..| .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | .. | |Field | | | | | | | | | Batteries| 11| .. | 1 | 1 | .. | .. | 13 | |Siege | | | | | | | | | Train | 26| .. | 1 | 2 | .. | .. | 29 | | +-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+ | Total | 37| .. | 2 | 3 | .. | .. | 42 | +----------+-----+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+ | Royal }| | | | | | | | |Engineers}| | | | | | | | |Sappers, }| | | | | | | | |and }| 12 | .. | .. | .. | 2 | .. | 14 | |Miners }| | | | | | | | +==========+=====+======+=====+=====+====+=====+======+ ----------+-------------------------+-------------------------------------- | RANK AND FILE. | HORSES. +-------------+-----------+----+-----+------|-----+-----+-----+----- | Present. | Sick. | | | | | | | +------+------+-----------+ | | | | | | | |Other-| |Com-|POWs | | | | | | |wise | |mand|and | | | | | |Under |Emp- |Pre- |Ab- | |Miss-| |Pres-| |Com- | |Arms. |loyed.|sent.|sent.| |ing. |Total.| ent.|Sick.|mand.|Total. ----------+------+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------|-----+-----+-----+----- Mounted | | | | | | | | | | | Staff | 15| 1 | .. | 9 | 12| .. | 37| 18 | 6 | 31 | 55 Cavalry | | | | | | | | | | | Division| 989| 233 | 140 | 312 | 114| 1 | 1,789| 315 | 323 | 82 | 720 Infantry |15,920| 1854 |3394 |9476 |1713| 64 |32,421| .. | .. | .. | .. Ambulance | 85| .. | 4 | 66 | 41| .. | 196| .. | .. | .. | .. ----------+------+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------|-----+-----+-----+----- ARTILLERY.| | | | | | | | Native Horses. | | | | | | | +-----+-----+----------- Staff | ..| 68 | .. | .. | ..| .. | 68| 51 | 12 | .. Field | | | | | | | | | | Batteries| 1,196| .. | 175 | 307 | ..| 3 | 1,681| 749 | 290 | .. Siege | | | | | | | | | | Train | 1,608| 6 | 90 | 291 | ..| .. | 1,995| 17 | 73 | .. +------+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------|-----+-----+----------- Total | 2,804| 74 | 265 | 598 | ..| 3 | 3,744| 817 | 375 | .. ----------+------+------+-----+-----+----+-----+------|-----+-----+----------- Royal }| | | | | | | | | | Engineers}| | | | | | | | | | Sappers, }| | | | | | | | | | and }| 406| 43 | 37 | 76 | 106| .. | 668| .. | .. | .. Miners }| | | | | | | | | | ==========+======+======+=====+=====+====+=====+======+=====+=====+=========== --------------------------------------------------------------------------- ORDNANCE. -------------------------------------+------------------------------------- SIEGE GUNS. | FIELD GUNS. ------------------------------+------+------------------- 10-inch. | | |8-inch. | | | |68-pounders. | | | | |32-pounders. | | | | | |24-pounders. | | | | | | |9-pounder | |9-pounders. | | | | | Field guns. | | |24-pounder | | | | | |13-inch | | |Howitzers. | | | | | | Mortars. | | | |6-pounders. | | | | | | |10-inch | | | | |12-pounder | | | | | | | Mortars.| | | | |Howitzers. | | | | | | | |TOTAL.| | | | |TOTAL. --+--+--+--+--+--+--+---------+------+--+--+--+--+------- 2|15| 6|62|24| 2| 8| 14 | 135 |36|18| 4| 2| 60 --+--+--+--+--+--+--+---------+------+--+--+--+--+------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------+ GRAND TOTAL. | ----------------------------+----------------------+------------------+ Cavalry and Infantry. |Ordnance Corps. |Whole Army. | Officers 1,077 | Officers 175 | Men 43,318| Sergeants 2,371 | Sergeants 211 | Horses 1,967| Trumpeters, &c. 673 | Drummers 56 | Guns 195| Rank and File 34,443 | Rank and File 4,412 | | Horses 775 | Horses 1,192 | | ----------------------------+----------------------+------------------+ THE TREATY OF PARIS. THE FOLLOWING ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT ARTICLES OF THE TREATY, SIGNED BY THE REPRESENTATIVES OF THE GREAT POWERS, AT THE END OF THE CRIMEAN WAR. Art. VII. Her Majesty the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, His Majesty the Emperor of Austria, His Majesty the Emperor of the French, His Majesty the King of Prussia, His Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias, and His Majesty the King of Sardinia, declare the Sublime Porte admitted to participate in the advantages of the public law and system (_concert_) of Europe. Their Majesties engage, each on his part, to respect the independence and the territorial integrity of the Ottoman Empire; guarantee in common the strict observance of that engagement, and will, in consequence, consider any act tending to its violation as a question of general interest. Art. VIII. If there should arise between the Sublime Porte and one or more of the other signing Powers any misunderstanding which might endanger the maintenance of their relations, the Sublime Porte, and each of such Powers, before having recourse to the use of force, shall afford the other Contracting Parties the opportunity of preventing such an extremity by means of their mediation. Art. IX. His Imperial Majesty the Sultan, having, in his constant solicitude for the welfare of his subjects, issued a firman which, while ameliorating their condition without distinction of religion or of race, records his generous intentions towards the Christian population of his empire, and wishing to give a further proof of his sentiments in that respect, has resolved to communicate to the Contracting Parties the said firman, emanating spontaneously from his sovereign will. The Contracting Powers recognize the high value of this communication. It is clearly understood that it cannot, in any case, give to the said Powers the right to interfere, either collectively or separately, in the relations of His Majesty the Sultan with his subjects, nor in the internal administration of his empire. Art. XI. The Black Sea is neutralized: its waters and its ports, thrown open to the mercantile marine of every nation, are formally and in perpetuity interdicted to the flag of war, either of the Powers possessing its coasts, or of any other Power, with the exceptions mentioned in Articles XIV. and XIX. of the present Treaty. Art. XIII. The Black Sea being neutralized according to the terms of Article XI, the maintenance or establishment upon its coast of military-maritime arsenals becomes alike unnecessary and purposeless; in consequence, His Majesty the Emperor of all the Russias and His Imperial Majesty the Sultan engage not to establish or to maintain upon that coast any military-maritime arsenal. Art. XXII. The Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia shall continue to enjoy, under the suzerainty of the Porte, and under the guarantee of the Contracting Powers, the privileges and immunities of which they are in possession. No exclusive protection shall be exercised over them by any of the guaranteeing Powers. There shall be no separate right of interference in their internal affairs. Art. XXVIII. The Principality of Servia shall continue to hold of the Sublime Porte, in conformity with the Imperial Hats which fix and determine its rights and immunities, placed henceforward under the collective guarantee of the Contracting Powers. In consequence, the said Principality shall preserve its independent and national administration, as well as full liberty of worship, of legislation, of commerce, and of navigation. Art. XXIX. The right of garrison of the Sublime Porte, as stipulated by anterior regulations, is maintained. No armed intervention can take place in Servia without previous agreement between the High Contracting Powers. * * * * * Hang TREATY BETWEEN HER MAJESTY, THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA, AND THE EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH, GUARANTEEING THE INDEPENDENCE AND INTEGRITY OF THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE. _Signed at Paris, April 15, 1856._ _Ratifications exchanged at Paris, April 29, 1856._ Art. I. The High Contracting Parties guarantee, jointly and severally, the independence and the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, recorded in the Treaty concluded at Paris on the thirtieth of March, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-six. Art. II. Any infraction of the stipulations of the said Treaty will be considered by the Powers signing the present Treaty as _casus belli_. They will come to an understanding with the Sublime Porte as to the measures which have become necessary, and will without delay determine among themselves as to the employment of their military and naval forces. * * * * * THE DENUNCIATION OF THE TREATY OF PARIS. EARL GRANVILLE TO SIR A. BUCHANAN. FOREIGN OFFICE, _Nov. 10, 1870_. Sir,--Baron Brunnow made to me yesterday the communication respecting the Convention between the Emperor of Russia and the Sultan, limiting their naval forces in the Black Sea, signed at Paris on the 30th of March, 1856, to which you allude in your telegram of yesterday afternoon. In my despatch of yesterday I gave you an account of what passed between us, and I now propose to observe upon Prince Gortschakoff's despatches of the 19th and 20th ult., communicated to me by the Russian Ambassador on that occasion. Prince Gortschakoff declares, on the part of His Imperial Majesty, that the Treaty of 1856 has been infringed in various respects to the prejudice of Russia, and more especially in the case of the Principalities, against the explicit protest of his representative, and that, in consequence of these infractions, Russia is entitled to renounce those stipulations of the Treaty which directly touch her interests. It is then announced that she will no longer be bound by the Treaties which restrict her rights of sovereignty in the Black Sea. We have here an allegation that certain facts have occurred which, in the judgment of Russia, are at variance with certain stipulations of the Treaty, and the assumption is made that Russia, upon the strength of her own judgment as to the character of those facts, is entitled to release herself from certain other stipulations of that instrument. This assumption is limited in its practical application to some of the provisions of the Treaty, but the assumption of a right to renounce any one of its terms involves the assumption of a right to renounce the whole. This statement is wholly independent of the reasonableness or unreasonableness, on its own merits, of the desire of Russia to be released from the observation of the stipulations of the Treaty of 1856 respecting the Black Sea. For the question is, in whose hand lies the power of releasing one or more of the parties from all or any of these stipulations? It has always been held that that right belongs only to the Governments who have been parties to the original instrument. The despatches of Prince Gortschakoff appear to assume that any one of the Powers who have signed the engagement may allege that occurrences have taken place which in its opinion are at variance with the provisions of the Treaty; and, although this view is not shared nor admitted by the co-signatory Powers, may found upon that allegation, not a request to those Governments for the consideration of the case, but an announcement to them that it has emancipated itself, or holds itself emancipated, from any stipulations of the Treaty which it thinks fit to disprove. Yet it is quite evident that the effect of such doctrine, and of any proceeding which, with or without avowal, is founded upon it, is to bring the entire authority and efficacy of Treaties under the discretionary control of each one of the Powers who may have signed them; the result of which would be the entire destruction of Treaties in their essence. For whereas their whole object is to bind Powers to one another, and for this purpose each one of the parties surrenders a portion of its free agency, by the doctrine and proceeding now in question one of the parties, in its separate and individual capacity, may bring back the entire subject into its own control, and remains bound only to itself. Accordingly, Prince Gortschakoff has announced in these despatches the intention of Russia to continue to observe certain of the provisions of the Treaty. However satisfactory this might be in itself, it is obviously an expression of the free will of that Power, which it might at any time alter or withdraw; and in this it is thus open to the same objections as the other portions of the communications, because it implies the right of Russia to annul the Treaty on the ground of allegations of which she constitutes herself the only judge. The question therefore arises, not whether any desire expressed by Russia ought to be carefully examined in a friendly spirit by the co-signatory Powers, but whether they are to accept from her the announcement that, by her own act, without any consent from them, she has released herself from a solemn covenant. I need scarcely say that Her Majesty's Government have received this communication with deep regret, because it opens a discussion which might unsettle the cordial understanding it has been their earnest endeavour to maintain with the Russian Empire; and for the above-mentioned reasons it is impossible for Her Majesty's Government to give any sanction, on their part, to the course announced by Prince Gortschakoff. If, instead of such a declaration, the Russian Government had addressed Her Majesty's Government and the other Powers who are parties to the Treaty of 1856, and had proposed for consideration with them, whether anything has occurred which could be held to amount to an infraction of the Treaty, or whether there is anything in the terms which, from altered circumstances, presses with undue severity upon Russia, or which, in the course of events, had become unnecessary for the due protection of Turkey, Her Majesty's Government would not have refused to examine the question in concert with the co-signatories to the Treaty. Whatever might have been the result of such communications, a risk of future complications and a very dangerous precedent as to the validity of international obligations would have been avoided. I am, &c., (Signed) GRANVILLE. P.S.--You will read and give a copy of this despatch to Prince Gortschakoff. * * * * * PRINCE GORTSCHAKOFF TO BARON BRUNNOW. CZARSKOE SELO, _8 (20) November, 1870_. M. le Baron,--The English Ambassador has read to and given me a copy of a despatch of Lord Granville relating to our communications of the 19th (31) of October. I have hastened to place it before His Majesty the Emperor. It has pleased our August Master to notice, first, the earnest desire of the Cabinet of London to maintain a cordial understanding between England and Russia, and secondly, the assurance that it would not refuse to examine the modifications which circumstances have caused in the results of the Treaty of 1856. As regards the view of strict right laid down by Lord Granville we do not wish to enter into any discussion, recall any precedent, or cite any example, because such a debate would not conduce to the understanding that we desire. Our August Master has had an imperative duty to fulfil towards his country, without wishing to wound or threaten any of the Governments who signed the Treaty of 1856. On the contrary, His Imperial Majesty appeals to their sentiments of justice, and to the consciousness of their own dignity. We regret to see that Lord Granville dwells chiefly on the form of our communications. It was not done by our choice. Assuredly, we should have desired nothing better than to arrive at the result in harmony with the Powers who signed the Treaty of 1856. But Her Britannic Majesty's principal Secretary of State well knows that all the efforts repeatedly made to unite the Powers in a common deliberation, in order to do away with the causes of complication which trouble the general peace, have constantly failed. The prolongation of the actual crisis, and the absence of a regular Power in France, remove still further the possibility of such an union. Meanwhile, the position of Russia by this Treaty has become more and more intolerable. Lord Granville will allow that the Europe of to-day is very different from that which signed the Act of 1856. It was impossible that Russia should consent to remain indefinitely bound by a transaction which, already onerous when concluded, lost its guarantees from day to day. Our August Master knows his duty towards his country too well to impose on it any longer an obligation against which the national feeling protests. We cannot admit that the abrogation of a theoretical principle without immediate application, which only restores to Russia a right of which no other nation would be deprived, can be considered as a menace to peace, or that the annulment of one point in the Treaty implies the annulment of the whole. Such has never been the intention of the Imperial Cabinet. On the contrary, our communications of the 19th (31st) of October declare in the most explicit manner that His Majesty the Emperor adheres entirely to the general principles of the Treaty of 1856, and that he is ready to come to an understanding with the Powers who signed that transaction, either by confirming the general stipulations, or by renewing them, or by substituting for them any other equitable arrangement which will be considered fitting to ensure tranquillity in the East, and the equilibrium of Europe. There seems to be no reason why the Cabinet of London, if agreeable to it, should not enter into explanations with those who signed the Treaty of 1856. On our part, we are ready to join in any deliberation having for its object the general guarantees for consolidating the peace of the East. We are sure that this peace would receive additional security if a permanent cause of irritation now existing between the two Powers most directly interested in it was removed and their mutual relations were resettled on a good and solid understanding. You are requested, M. le Baron, to read and give a copy of this despatch to Lord Granville. The principal Secretary of State of Her Britannic Majesty has expressed to you the regret he would experience if this discussion would alter the good understanding which the Government of Her Majesty the Queen has striven to maintain between the two countries. Will you inform his Excellency how much the Imperial Cabinet would share in this regret. We think the good understanding of the two Governments essentially useful to the two countries, as well as to the peace of the world. It is with a lively satisfaction that we have seen it become during the last few years more and more intimate and cordial. The parity of the circumstances in which we are placed seem of a kind to render this more desirable than ever. Receive, &c., GORTSCHAKOFF. * * * * * EARL GRANVILLE TO SIR A. BUCHANAN. FOREIGN OFFICE, _Nov. 28_. Sir,--The Russian Ambassador has read and given to me a copy of a despatch of Prince Gortschakoff of the date of 8th (20th) November. It is not necessary for Her Majesty's Government to recur to the important questions of international law raised by the circular of Prince Gortschakoff, as they have nothing to add to the declaration on the subject which they have already made. His Excellency has been good enough to appeal to my knowledge of facts which His Excellency states prevented that consultation and agreement with other parties to this Treaty which Russia would have preferred. I am aware that suggestions for Congresses to settle other European questions have been made and not adopted. It has been also stated to me that intimations have been given to some of my predecessors, that in the case of certain contingencies, which however have never occurred, such as the possession of the Principalities by Austria, Russia would feel bound to call into question some of the provisions of the Treaty of 1856. But I am ignorant of any occasion on which Russia, the party most interested, has proposed in any way to this country that a relaxation of the Treaty should be taken into consideration. I cannot therefore admit that the Imperial Government can justify this proceeding by the failure of efforts which have never been made. The courteous language in which Prince Gortschakoff's despatch is written, his assurance of the manner in which he would have preferred to open this question, and his declaration of the strong desire for a confirmation of good relations between the two nations, particularly important at this time, encourage Her Majesty's Government in the belief that the obstacle to such relations will be removed. They observe that His Excellency describes the declaration which has been made by Russia as an abrogation of a theoretical principle without immediate application. If these words are to be construed into an announcement that Russia has formed and stated her own opinion of her rights, but has no intention of acting in conformity with it without due concert with the other Powers, they go far to close the controversy in which the two Governments have been engaged. Her Majesty's Government have no objection to accept the invitation which has been made by Prussia to a Conference, upon the understanding that it is assembled without any foregone conclusions as to its results. In such case Her Majesty's Government will be glad to consider with perfect fairness, and the respect due to a great and friendly Power, any proposals which Russia may have to make. You will read and give a copy of this despatch to Prince Gortschakoff. I am, &c., (Signed) GRANVILLE. * * * * * THE CONFERENCE OF 1871. HANG THE RESULT OF THE DENUNCIATION OF THE TREATY OF PARIS BY RUSSIA WAS THAT A CONFERENCE, SUGGESTED BY PRINCE BISMARCK, WAS ARRANGED TO MEET AT LONDON. PROTOCOL NO. 1. _At the Sitting of January 17._ Earl Granville expressed himself as follows:-- Earl Granville-- "The Conference has been accepted by all the co-signatory Powers of the Treaty of 1856, for the purpose of examining, without any foregone conclusion, and of discussing with perfect freedom, the proposals which Russia desires to make to us with regard to the revision which she asks of the stipulations of the said Treaty relative to the neutralization of the Black Sea. "This unanimity furnishes a striking proof that the Powers recognize that it is an essential principle of the law of nations that none of them can liberate itself from the engagements of a treaty, nor modify the stipulations thereof, unless with the consent of the contracting parties by means of an amicable understanding." The Plenipotentiary of Russia requested the permission of the Conference to read a summary which he wished to be inserted in the Protocol:-- "He instanced specially the precedent of the Conferences held at different periods in Paris, and cited the decisions adopted by general agreement with the view of modifying the Government of the Principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, an alteration which received the sanction of the Sublime Porte, as well as the assent of the other Contracting Powers. "He affirmed that these deviations from the Treaty have exercised no influence on the firm intention of the Emperor to maintain intact the general principles of the Treaty of 1856, which have defined the position of Turkey in the system of Europe. "In fact, these stipulations, suggested at another period under the influence of conjunctures entirely different from the present situation are no longer in harmony with the relations of good neighbourhood which exist at this moment between the two Riverain Powers." ANNEX. The Plenipotentiaries of North Germany, of Austria-Hungary, of Great Britain, of Italy, of Russia, and of Turkey, assembled to-day in Conference, recognize that it is an essential principle of the law of nations that no Power can liberate itself from the engagements of a treaty, nor modify the stipulations thereof, unless with the consent Powers by means of an amicable arrangement. In faith of which the said Plenipotentiaries have signed the present Protocol. Done at London, the 17th January, 1871. (Signed) BERNSTORFF. APPONYI. GRANVILLE. CADORNA. BRUNNOW. MUSURUS. BROGLIE. March 13, 1871. INDEX. Adams, Brigadier-General, at Inkerman, 169 _Adelaide_, the, her arrival in Balaklava, 201 _Agamemnon_, the, her orders for sailing, 81; enters Balaklava, and attacks the fort, 137 Airey, General Sir R., his encampment, 42; superseded, 423 Aladyn, encampment at, 42, 46 Alexander, Colonel, 128 Alexander, Dr., 8 Allied armies, assembled at Varna, 50; military review of the, 51; their great losses in killed and wounded, 341; their preparation for winter quarters, 379; error of their campaign, 494, 495. See _French_, and _Soldiers_ Alma, the river, halt of the Allied forces at, and preparations for the battle of, 98; account of the battle, 102 _et seq._; position of the Russians on, 106; the Allies victorious, 120; retreat of the Russians from, _ib._; military conduct of the battle of, 121; state of the battle-field, 483; telegraph at, 486; position and attack at, 486, 487; bitter reflections on the battle, _ib._; graves at, 489; frightful losses at, 490; its entrenchments, _ib._; monument at, 491 Aloupka, visit to, 482; the Colonel of, _ib._; dinner at, _ib._ Aloushta, 476; visits to, 479 Ambalaki, capture of, 268 Ambulance corps, wretchedness of the, 199; disbanded, 378 Ambulances, their great utility, 363; superiority of the English ones, 439 Anderson, Captain, 42, 87 Araba drivers, their disappearance from Roumelia and Bulgaria, 201 Arabas, arrival of, with provisions, 97 Arabat, Spit of, 277, 496; unsuccessful attack on the fortress of, _ib._ Armies of the Russians and the Allies, condition of the, 303; their respective positions before Sebastopol, 305; general state of the, 469 Armistice, for the burial of the dead, and interchange of civilities during the, 228, 246, 267; sad scenes during the, 295; news of, from the respective governments, 457; mutual visits after the, 458 _et seq._; agreed to, 462; followed by peace, 467 Arms, a gallant feat of, 258, 259 Army, British, its distressed position at Varna, 62; its different divisions, and General Commander, 87; its improved condition, 238; its concentrated attack on Sebastopol, 351 _et seq._; its amount of armament in the bombardment of Sebastopol, 336 _et seq._; jealousies in the, 385, 386; preparations for its winter encampment, 420. See _Crimea_, and _Soldiers_ Artillery, duel of, 249; its powerful effects, 463 Athens, Gulf of, 12 Athos, Mount, 12 Autemarre, General d', the French Commander in the Sea of Azoff, 265. Azoff, expedition to the Sea of, 265; capture of Yenikale, 268; operations in the, 270 _et seq._; destruction of the Russian shipping, &c., 280; complete success of the expedition, 281; purity of its water, 496 Baidar, miserable state of, 475 Bakschiserai, retreat of the Russians to, 131; visit to, 472; miserable state of, 474 Balaklava, march of the expedition to, 137; a poor village, _ib._; surrender of the town, _ib._; cholera at, 138; intended attack of the Russians on, 156; fortified earthworks thrown around, 166; hurricane at, 180 _et seq._; miserable condition of, 191, 192; dreadful scenes among the Turks in, 192; false alarm at, 193; improvements in, 235; general state of, 250; movements in front of, 325; its singular aspect, 375; discipline in the harbour of, 450; improvements in, _ib._ Baltschik, rendezvous of the expedition in, 70, 71 Barnard, General, appointed chief of the staff, 305; his meeting with the Russians, 458 Bashi-Bazouks, their military characteristics, 51; their encampment, 52; disbanded, 57 Batteries before Sebastopol, 214, 215; relative position and strength of the, 336 _et seq._ Bayonet, sanguinary charge with the, at Inkerman, 169, 170; contests with the, 255, 259; reluctance to charge with the, 347 Bazancourt's strictures on the Allied forces, 97-100 Beatty, the engineer, his death, 250 Belbek, the river, 132; scenery of the, _ib._; barrier of the, 133; arrival of the Allied troops at, _ib._; false alarm at, 135; deliberations at, 136; march from the, _ib._; heights of the, 484; cantonments on the, _ib._ Bell, Captain, his gallantry at Alma, 114 Bentinck, Major-General Sir H., lands at Eupatoria, 86; his orders relative to the services of the fourth division, 392 Berdiansk, attack on, 270 Birds, crowds of, on board ship, 9, 10; Crimean varieties, 233 Bizot, General, killed, 252 Black River, the, 133; gorge of the, 166 Black Sea, entrance of the expedition into the, 39 Blane, Major, 183 Bombardment of Sebastopol, 250 _et seq._; terrible effects of the, 335, 338 _et seq._ See _Sebastopol_ Bomb-shells of the Russians, 248, 343 Bonaparte, Emperor, his intended visit to the Crimea, 260 Bono Johnnies, 53, 54, 175 Bosphorus, arrival of the British troops in the, 23; scenery of the, 37, 38 Bosquet, General, commander of the second division of the French, 56; his command at the Alma, 98; his bravery, 102, 103; at the Tchernaya, 155; at Inkerman, 172 Bouljanæk, affair at, 94 _et seq._ Bouet Willaumez, the French Admiral, 487 Boussiniere, his bravery at Alma, 103 Boxer, Admiral, commander of Balaklava, 210; his improvements at Balaklava, 239 British soldiers, their devoted heroism, 2, 3 British troops, their disembarkation at Eupatoria, 84. See _Soldiers_ Brown, General Sir G., 8; visits Rustum Pasha, 15; his quarters, 16; cordiality of the French towards, 16; a strict disciplinarian, 23; proceeds to Varna, 36; his landing at Eupatoria, 85; his danger, _ib._; commands the light division, 87; his gallantry at the Alma, 113, 114; at Inkerman, 169; his operations, 242; commander of the expedition to the Sea of Azoff, 265 Bruat, Admiral, 27; death of, 447; high mass celebrated for the soul of, _ib._ Bucharest, captured by Omar Pasha, 55 Bug, river, expedition up the, 413; scenery on the banks of the, _ib._; conflict with the Russians, 414; its confluence with the Dnieper, 415; operations in the, 416, 417; raising of the blockade, 419; difficulties of ascending it, _ib._, _note_ Bulair, town of, 16, 21; military works at, 23; fortifications at, 27 Bulgaria, peasantry of, 43, 44; immense forces assembled in, 48, 49; the natives forsake their homes, 46 Buller, Brigadier-General, 42 Burgoyne, Sir John, proposes the flank march, 132, 134; his departure for England, 243 Burliouk, ruins of, 489, 491 Burrell, Dr., 8 Cafés at Gallipoli, 17, 18 Calvert, Mr., the consul at Gallipoli, 15; his active efforts, _ib._ Cambridge, Duke of, his arrival at Gallipoli, 30; dines with the Sultan, 33; lands at Eupatoria, 86; commands the first division, 87; his gallantry at Alma, 114; at Inkerman, 169 Camel, anecdote of one at Sebastopol, 439 Cameron, General, of the Highland division, 324 Camp-followers in the Crimea, 449, 450 Camp life, 48 Campbell, General Sir Colin, 25; his military experience, 114 Campbell, General Sir J., of the fourth division, 242; his military operations, _ib._; death of, 292 "Canards," hatching of, 215 Canrobert, General, 6; at Gallipoli, 15; arrives at Varna, 41; his bravery at Alma, 102; assumes the command of the French troops, 139; at Inkerman, 172; his order of the day after the battle of Inkerman, 190; his address to the troops, 260 Canteen-keepers, their rapacity, 445 Carbuccia, General, death of, 56 Cardigan, Lord, his difficult reconnaissance, 54; his early operations, 94; at the Tchernaya, 155; his desperate cavalry charge at Balaklava, 159 Careening Bay, Sebastopol, 143 Casualties, number of, 324, 432 Cathcart, Sir G., commands the fourth division, 87; at Balaklava, 139; slain at Inkerman, 170; his advice while living disregarded, 436 Cathcart's Hill, its position, 248, 249, 252; view of Sebastopol from, 334; present state of, 375 Cavalry brigade, British, criticisms on the, 152; its charge on the Russians, 157; relics of the, 257 Cemetery, struggle for the, 292; its capture, 294 "Chambers of horrors," 367 Chapman, Captain, at Sebastopol, 151 Charges at night, difficulties of describing, 261 Chasseurs, at Inkerman, 171; review of the, 261 Cherson, Cape, lighthouse of, 138 Cherson Bay, cruise up the, 413 Chersonese, Cape, 76; memorials of the brave at the, 494 Cholera, its violence in Bulgaria, 56; at Varna, 57, 58; horrors attending it, 58, 61, 62; its ravages at Balaklava, &c., 138, 139, 447 Christian subjects of Turkey, their right to protection, 2 Christmas of 1854, its dreariness in the Crimea, 196; of 1855, 447 Church, desolated interior of a, 257 Civilians, their criticisms on military matters, 447 Classical fictions, 10 Clifford, Hon. Mr., 115 Climate of the Dardanelles and surrounding country, 25, 26 Clothing, terrible deficiency of, 196, 197; supplied by the _Times'_ commissioner, 196; general supplies of, 202, 441 Codrington, General Sir W., his gallantry at Alma, 111, 112; at Inkerman, 169; his justification, 353; appointed commander-in-chief, 423; his various promotions, 424, 425; his career, 425; his general orders, 425; his grand review of the British troops, 454-456; his general orders respecting the departure of the Sardinians, 492 Coffee, wretched supply of, 204 Colborne, Major, 31 Cold, destructive effects of the, 205, 206; paralyzing effects of, 221 Colville, Captain, his bravery at Alma, 111 Comet, appearances of the, 9 Commissariat department, 8; its difficulties at Gallipoli, 20, 21; its pressure of business, 59; its supplies, 179; its deficiencies, 191; improvement in the supplies, 238; favourable changes in the, 437 Commission, mixed, at Sebastopol, for distributing the prize captures, 381-385 Cooking, want of apparatus for, 478 Cooking rations, receipts for, 219 Corn, destruction of, in the Sea of Azoff, 270; quantity of, issued to the English army, 375; great waste of, 444 Cossacks, appearance of the, 80, 84; first encounter with the, 94, 95; their indefatigability, 202; their cunning, 212; a brush with the, 258; their sly manoeuvres at Kinburn, 420; their appearance and habiliments, 459, 473, 480; their horses, 480, 481 Councils, divided, evils of the, 426 CRIMEA, causes of the expedition to the, 1; preparations for the campaign, 2 _et seq._; influence of the press on the, 2, 3; early difficulties, and imperfect arrangements for the war, 15, 17; orders for attacking the, 56; preparations for invading the, _ib._; Russian forces at the, _ib._; departure of the expedition, 70; its shores and anchorage, 73 _et seq._; landing at Eupatoria, 84-86; first encounters with the Russians, 89, 94, 95; amount of the invading force, 87; Tartar race of the, 88; march of the Allied army, 83 _et seq._; battle of the Alma, 97 _et seq._; advance from the Alma, 129; movements of the Russians, 133; advance on Belbek, 134; capture of Balaklava, 137; arrival at Sebastopol, 138; and its investment, 141 (see _Sebastopol_); battle of Inkerman, 169; hardships of the campaign, 179; attack on Eupatoria, 190; attack of the French on Sebastopol, and the progress of the siege, 200; great hardships, 203; climate, _ib._; the _Times'_ fund sent to the, 196; commencement of active operations in the spring, 231; railway in the, 232; birds and flowers in the, 233; sports of the camp, 234; march of improvement in, 235; severe fighting before Sebastopol, 244 _et seq._; Kertch expeditions, 263, 265; expedition to the Sea of Azoff, 265; severe fighting before Sebastopol, 284 _et seq._; death of Lord Raglan, 299; General Simpson appointed Commander-in-Chief, 301; battles of the Tchernaya, 155, 315; the Sardinian contingent, 310; capture of the Malakoff, 343; retreat of the Russians, 361; capture of Sebastopol, 362; review of the great struggle, 370 _et seq._; state of the two armies, 387; ruins of Sebastopol, 387-389; General Simpson's despatch respecting operations in, 390; mildness of the weather in November, 1855, 427, 429; disadvantageous position of the Allies in the, 427; winter of 1855, 440; mud of the, 444; Russian forces in the, 446; a second Christmas in the, 447; winter in the, _ib._; storm in the, 448; camp followers in the, 449; destruction of the Sebastopol docks, 451-453; the British forces in the, 454-456; armistice takes place, 462; peace proclaimed, 467; preparations for evacuation, 468; review of the great struggle, 468-471; excursion into the interior, 472; tour through the, and general aspect of the country, 473; departure of the Sardinian staff from, 492; memorials of the brave, 494; tour in the north of the, _ib._; its outlets, and the difficulties these presented to the Russians, _ib._; wells of the, _ib._; salt waters of the, 495; German villages of the, 496; reflections on the campaign, _ib._ Crimean Flora, 477 Croat labourers, their physical strength and endurance, 232 "Crow's Nest," battery so called, 338 Cuddy, Lieut.-Colonel, his bravery and ill-treatment, 466; his death, _ib._ Dardanelles, arrival of the British troops at the, 12; coasts of the, _ib._; climate and scenery of the, 25, 26 Dead, armistice for the burial of the, 228, 246, 287, 295 Death, the valley of, 64, 67 Demur Kapu, 476 Desaint, Colonel, 56 Deserters from the Allied forces, 204; from the Russians, 204, 234; their accounts from Sebastopol, 204; stories of the, 387; their miserable plight, _ib._ Devno, march to, 50; the Valley of Death, 64, 67 Diarrhoea among the troops at Varna, 46 Dickson, Colonel, 24; at Balaklava, 139; at Sebastopol, 146; at Inkerman, 170 Dinner, a Crimean one, 219 Discipline, relaxation of, 427 Divisions of the British forces, and their commanders, 87; their landing at Eupatoria, 85, 86; their order of march, 93 Djemel Pasha, commander of the Dardanelles, 19; his learning and intelligence, 19, 20 Dnieper, entry of the united squadron into the, 415; its blockade raised, 419; difficulties of ascending the, 419, _note_ Dobrudscha, campaign in the, and losses experienced thereby, 56 Docks, of Sebastopol, destroyed, 451-453 Dog-hunting in the Crimea, 235 Dogs and cats from Sebastopol, 439 Doyne, Mr., the head engineer, his vigorous labours at Sebastopol, 388, 421, 441 Dragoon Guards, their charge on the Russians, 157 Drainage, operations of, 442 Dress of the British soldiers, 18 Drummers of the Crimea, 450 Drunkenness, punishment of, 445 Dundas, Admiral, 41; his orders, 76 Egerton, Colonel, his bravery at the Alma, 116 Egyptian troops at Varna, 49 Elchingen, Duc d', death of, 56 Electric telegraph laid down, 236; its tendency to mischievous consequences, 443 Electricity, agencies of, 278 Eman, Colonel, killed, 353 _Emperor_, the guiding star of the fleet, 82 Engineering works, scarcity of men for, 243, 244 England, her commercial interests as regards Turkey, 1 England, Sir Richard, arrives at the Dardanelles, 25; commands the third division, 87 English. See _Soldiers_, and _Army_ Enniskilleners, their charge on the Russians, 157 Enos, town of, 15 Entrenchments, advance of the, 308 Espinasse, General, 56 Estcourt, General, 129; death of, 299 Etesian wind, 11 Etonnoirs of the French, 255, 494 Euboea, 12 Eupatoria, survey of the coast of, 59; coast of, 75, 76; town of, 80; selected for the landing-place, _ib._; inhabitants of, 82; landing of the French at, 82, 83; resolution to garrison it, 91; Russian attack on, 190 Evans, General Sir de Lacy, arrives at the Dardanelles, 25; commands the second division, 87; lands at Eupatoria, 86; his bravery at the Alma, 107, 115; his report of military operations at the Alma, 116; his despatch from the heights of the Tchernaya, 161-163; his illness, 165, 175 Expedition, Crimean, its departure, 70; its extent, 71; vastness of the armada conveying it, 73; its voyage from Varna to the Crimea, 73-75; its uncertainties, 75, 76; account of its disembarkation, 84-88; military force of the, 87; marches into the interior, _ib._; its order of march, 93; its halt at the Alma, 96; at the Katcha, 132; accession of forces at the, _ib._; makes a détour round the Belbek, 132 _et seq._; its march from the Belbek to Balaklava, 136, 137. See _Crimea_, and _Sebastopol_ Explosions, disastrous ones, 328, 361, 380, 429-433; causes, 433 Eyre, Brigadier, 25; appointed to the command of the third division, 311; his excursion in the interior of the Crimea, 479 Fatigue parties, severe duties of the, 197 Fatima Hanoum, the Kurdish chieftainess, 54 Ferguson, General, 7 Fidonisi, French rendezvous of, 71 Fighting, love of, an anecdote, 434 Filder, Commissary-General, 40; his office in Varna, 59; his instructions, 67 Fire, a disastrous one, 380 Flagstaff Battery, contentions for the, 191 Flank march of the Allies, 134 Fleet of the Russians, its submergement, 472, 473 Flowers of the Crimea, 233 Food, prices of, at Varna, 41 Forey, General, his bravery at the Alma, 103 Fort Constantine, in Sebastopol, 138 Forts of the north side of Sebastopol, 472 Fourth division, General Bentinck's testimony to their services, 392 France, her political interests as regards Turkey, 1 French camp, sickness in the, 218; their superiority in cooking, _ib._ French fleet, conveying the expedition, 73, 74 French Spahis effect a landing at Eupatoria, 83 French forces, their arrival at Malta, 6; their superior arrangements, 15, 16, 21, 47; their accommodations at Gallipoli, 17, 18; their police regulations, 18; their mode of making purchases, 17; number of, at Gallipoli, 16, 21; their cordiality to the English, 18, 48; their uniforms, _ib._; their methods of dealing with the Turks, 17; review of, at Gallipoli, 28; staff of the, 29; first land on the Crimea, 82, 83; their successful bravery at the Alma, 102; their landing at Kamiesch, 138; their siege and bombardment of Sebastopol, 140 _et seq._; their order of battle at Inkerman, 174, 175; road made by the, 198; important reinforcements received, 205; their sufferings, 209; their conflicts with the Russians, 239; their contests for the rifle-pits, 253-255; their gallantry, 259; their capture of the Mamelon, 284, 285; their unsuccessful attack on the Malakoff, 290, 291; great losses sustained thereby, 292-294; their second attack, and capture of the Malakoff, 343; engaged at the battle of the Tchernaya, 316, 319; amount of their ordnance on their last bombardment of Sebastopol, 336; their works for storming the Malakoff, 364; their operations after the fall of Sebastopol, 375 _et seq._; review of the, 422; their system of mines, 493 Frost-bites in the Crimea, 202, 205, 221 _Fury_, the, her reconnaissance of Sebastopol, 59 Fusileer Guards, their arrival at Malta, 5; their severe losses, 357 Gallipoli, departure of the English and French troops for, 8, 9; arrival at, 13; description of, 13, 14; wretchedness of, 14; population of, _ib._; its bad quarters, 15-17; difficulties of the commissariat at, 17, 21; high price of provisions, 22; police regulations at, 18; alarming fire at, 24; confusion arising therefrom, 24, 25; climate and scenery of, 25, 26; arrival of generals at 27, 30 Gambier, Lieut. Colonel, commander of the siege train at Sebastopol, 146; at Inkerman, 170 Generals of the army, deficiency of, 190 German colonists of the Crimea, 496 Genitchi, attack on, 270 Gibb, Captain, 9 _Golden Fleece_, the, 8, 9, 10, 12; her arrival at Gallipoli, 13 Golden Horn, the, 37 Goldie, Brigadier-General, at Inkerman, 169; slain, 170 Goodram, Samuel, blown up, 434; anecdotes of, _ib._ Gordon, Captain, 42; at Sebastopol, 142 Gortschakoff, Prince, 101; his operations, 437; his intended plan of operations, 441 Grant, Captain, of the ambulance corps, 199 Greece, localities of, 10, 11 Greek and Latin Churches, their quarrels in Turkey, 1 Greek hermit, 11 Greeks, their religion, 16; their apathy, 29 Greys, their charge on the Russians, 157 Guards, their departure from London, 3; their arrival at Malta, 4, 5; their difficulty of obtaining provisions, 6; their arrival at Varna, 47; leave Varna for the Crimea, 67; their gallantry at the Alma, 110, 114, 120; their heroism and severe losses at Inkerman, 171, 175; Queen Victoria's presents to the, 212; their magnificent appearance in line, 115, 116 Hall, Dr., his letter to Dr. Smith, 385 Hallewell, Captain, 15, 31 Hamelin, Admiral, 41 Hammersley, Major, his tour in the north of the Crimea, 494 Handcock, Colonel, killed, 346 Harbour discipline at Balaklava, 450 Highland Brigade, their condition, 64; leave Varna for the Crimea, 67; their gallantry at the Alma, 110, 120; steadiness of their movements in action, 115; their bravery at the Tchernaya, 156; their kilt, 202 Hill, Captain, shot, 247 _Himalaya_, the, her arrival at Malta, 5; at the Bosphorus, 23; her enormous cargo of horses and men, 90 Hoey, Colonel, his bravery at the Alma, 118 Horses, difficulty of getting them on shore, 90; great havoc among, 206 Hospital quarters at Gallipoli, 17 Hurricane at Balaklava, 180; its violence, 181-186; distress caused thereby, 184, 185; miserable state of Balaklava after the, 187 Hussars, arrival of the, 255 Hut of the author, 440; its situation, 441 Huts, decorations of the, 439, 448; robberies of the, 439; complaints against the, 448 Ida, Mount, 12 Inkerman, the British force taken by surprise at, 168; sanguinary battle of, 169-172; a series of sanguinary hand-to-hand fights, 170; review of the dreadful battle-field, 173; the frightful slaughter at, 174-176; ghastly relics of the battle, 257 Isarkaia, ruined chateau of, 478 Jack Tar at his tricks, 238; his playbill, 329 John Bull at a nonplus, 326-328 Jones, General Sir H., replaces Sir J. Burgoyne, 243, 305 Kadikoi, encampment at, 144; road made from, 198; its administrative government, 445 Kamara, village of, 166 Kamiesch, landing of the French at, 138; amusements at, 440 Kara-Bournou, destruction of the magazines, at, 267 Karaguel, town of, 67 Kariakoff, the Russian commander, 101 Kars, fall of, 447 Katcha, mouth of the, 59; valley of the, 129-132; river of the, 130; Russian vessels sunk in the harbour of the, 132; march from, 134 Keppel, Captain, commander of the naval brigade, 302 Kertch, expedition to, 263; return of the expedition, 264; second expedition, 265; town of, 268, 269; capture of, 268; plunder of, 269, 270, 279; its inhabitants, 272, 273; hospital at, 274; dreadful ravages in, 275, 276; peninsula of, 419, _note_ Kinburn, expedition to, 406; description of, _ib._; plan of the attack on, 407-409; bombarded by the Allied fleet, 410; surrender of, 411; fort described, 412; refortified by the Allies, 419; Cossacks in the neighbourhood of, _ib._ Koran, not adapted to the civil law of Turkey, 20 Kostendji, village of, laid waste, 57 Kurds, chieftainess of the, 54 Lancaster gun, destroyed by a shot, 252 Laspi, the French doctor, plundered by the Turks, 313 Lawrence, Colonel, 9, 111, 112 Leblanc, Mr., accidentally shot, 241 _Leander_, frigate, 12 Leslie, Lieutenant, wounded, 119 Letters from head-quarters, 31 Levinge, Major, death of, 60 Levinge, Captain, 42 Liège muskets, used by the Russians, 178 Light Cavalry Brigade, its desperate charge at Balaklava, 159; ordered to embark for Eupatoria, 393 Light division, its heroic gallantry, 109, 111, 112; its severe losses, 357; its casualties, 432; its attack at the Alma, 491 Lights, short supplies of, 440 "Looting" at Kertch, 272 Lucan, Lord, commander of the cavalry division, 33, 87; at the Tchernaya, 154; his desperate cavalry attack, 159; his recall, 220 Lüders, General, 457 Luggage of the English and French armies, 30 Lyons, Admiral, his opinions on the flank march of the expedition, 134; commands the expedition to the Sea of Azoff, 266; his operations in Cherson Bay, 413 _et seq._ Machines, for exploding, 278 Mackenzie's Farm, 133 Macnish, Lieutenant W. L., drowned, 34 Malakoff Tower, 207; French preparations for attacking, 215; unsuccessful attack on the, 290, 291; great losses sustained, 292-294; a second attack on the, left to the French, 303; the French advances towards, 308; assaulted and captured by the French, 343; contest in the rear of the, 350, 351; its capture causes the loss of Sebastopol, 365; strength of its works, _ib._; terrible scenes of the, _ib._; number of guns captured in the, 383 Malea, Cape, 10, 11 Malta, arrival of the Guards at, 4; busy scenes in, 5; cordial reception of the British troops at, 5, 6; arrival of the French troops at, 6, 8 Mamelon, attack on the, 243; contest for the, 244; firing from the, 249; capture of the, 284; continued struggles for the, 285; interior of the, 297 _Manilla_, her arrival at Malta, 5 Mansell, Captain, 24, 54 Markham, General, assumes the command of the second division, 305 Marmora, Sea of, 14, 16, 25, 37 Marmora, General della, the Sardinian commander, 264; his departure from the Crimea, 492; honours paid to, _ib._ Martimprey, General, 6 Matapan, Cape, 10 Maule, Colonel, death of, 60 May-day, in the Crimea, 262 Medals, distribution of, at Sebastopol, 372 Medicines, utter want of, in the Crimea, 208 Mediterranean, storm in the, 9 Mehemet Kiprisli Pasha, 34 Memorials of the brave in the Crimea, 494 Menschikoff, Prince, the Russian commander, at the battle of the Alma, 101; his military force, 123; his military genius, 436; satirical songs on, 470 Michael, Grand Duke, at the battle of Inkerman, 168; his reconnaissance of the Allied armies, 191 Middle Packet Ravine, 246, 296 Military spectacle, a grand one, 260 Military matters, criticisms of civilians on, 447 Mines, explosion of, 255; of the French and Russians, 493 Minié rifle, its destructive effects, 171, 172 Miskomia, valleys of, 448, 475 Mitylene, 12 Mixed commission for dividing the spoils of Sebastopol, 381-385 Monastir, town of, 64, 67 Monetary arrangements, intricacy of, 22 Money, waste of, 326 Money-changers, Jew and Armenian, 32 _Montezuma_, her arrival at Malta, 6 Monument at the Alma, 491 Morea, coast of the, 10; arrival of the troops at, 12 Mortar-battery, contest for the, 245 Mounted staff corps, disbanded, 378 Mud, of the Crimea, 444; of Balaklava, 445 Mule-litters of the French, 199 Muscovite character, type of the, 490 Muscovite infantry, a bad lot of, at Kinburn, 412 Music, military, influence of, 141 Musketry, affair of, between the Russians and the French, 210 Napoleon, Emperor, his Christmas presents to the Crimean army, 198 Napoleon, Prince, arrives at the Dardanelles, 27; reviews the troops, _ib._; his arrival in Bulgaria, 48 Naval brigade, their attack on the Redan, 291; their severe losses, 294; their admirable practice, 336 "Navvies," their rapid progress, 214; their industry, 232 Newbury, Mr., death of, 60 Newspaper correspondence in the Crimea, 188; its difficulties, 189 Newspapers, effect of their statements, 209, 210 Nicholaieff, its situation in the bay, 404; dockyards of, 418; its ship-building and arsenal, _ib._ Nicholas, the Czar of Russia, his menacing pretensions, 1; his ideas respecting the campaign, 65, 66; death of, 236 Nicholas, Grand Duke, at the battle of Inkerman, 168 Niel, General, the French engineer, 214 Night attacks, difficulty of describing, 261 Nightingale, Miss Florence, her devoted labours at Scutari, 24 Nixon, Lieutenant, his bravery at the Alma, 111 Nolan, Captain, killed at Balaklava, 160 Norcott, Colonel, 105; his bravery at the Alma, 109, 111, 114 November, anniversary of the month, 429; favourable change of circumstances in the, _ib._; its seasonable mildness, _ib._ Oczakoff, fort of, destroyed, 412 Odessa, threatened by the Allied fleets, 398; the alarm of the inhabitants, 399; reasons for not attacking, 401, 403; description of, 398, 402 Old Fort, selected for the landing-place for the expedition, 81 Omar Pasha, his military appearance, 50; his review of the troops, 51; at Varna, 33; his conference with Lord Raglan and Marshal St. Arnaud, 34; his proposed plans, _ib._; his arrival at Sebastopol, 197; his visit to the Crimea, 217; undertakes to send 20,000 Turks to Sebastopol, 239; is tired of his inactive position in the Crimea, 306; his expedition in Asia Minor, 447 Order of Merit, suggestion respecting, 296, 451 Osmanli, their military courage, 49; their want of discipline, _ib._; their military appearance, _ib._; their temperance and spare diet, 145; their kindness to the sick, 165 Out-posts, good-fellowship of the, 211 Ovens, combat for the, 191 Paget, Lord G., ordered to Eupatoria, 393 Pashas of Turkey, their adherence to ancient usages, 20 Paskiewitch, General, his bombardment of Silistria, 34 Patton, Captain, death of, 139 Paulet, Lord, W., his promotion, 420 Pavlovskaia, fort of, 268; occupation of, 277 Peace, rumours of, 325; proclamation of, 467 Pelissier, Marshal, succeeds General Canrobert, 264; created a marshal, 372; his review of the British troops, 454-456 Pennefather, Brigadier-General, 25, 169 Pera, district of, 38 Perekop, its defences, 495 Peroffsky, mined chateau of, 475 Phoros, visit to, 475; obstacles at, 476, 477 Pickets, affair of, 187 Piedmont, political situation of, 310; character of her army, 311 _Pluton_, the, 8 Polish deserters, 191, 234, 387 Post-house, imperial, in Sebastopol, 130 Potteries district, 252 Powell, Captain, 55, 166 Press, its faithfulness and ability, and its support of the ministry, 2, 3 Promotions of officers, 420 Provisions, prices of, at Gallipoli, 24; general depôt for, 201; dearness of, at Balaklava, 213; want of apparatus for cooking, 478 Purchase system, evils of the, 465-467 Quarantine battery, contentions for the, 191 Quarries, capture of the, 284; continued contests for the, 285; batteries of the, 338 Races in the Crimea, 234, 265 Rafts, Russian, capture of, 517 Raglan, Lord, the British Commander-in-Chief, his arrival at Gallipoli, 27; his conference with Omar Pasha at Varna, 34; visits the Turkish encampment, _ib._; his head-quarters at Scutari, 32; his review of the troops, 94; his want of communication with General Evans, 98; his strong political feelings and aristocratic prejudices, 104; an accomplished gentleman, but no general, 105; his operations against Sebastopol, 140 _et seq._; his orders at Balaklava, 158, 159, 161; his despatch after the battle of the Tchernaya, 163; his death, 299; his qualities, 300; succeeded by General Simpson, 301 Railway road, its formation in the Crimea, 213, _note_, 214; brought into use, 232 Railway train, accident with the, 249 Railway works, 441 Ranken, Major, death of, 458 Rations, ill supply of, 17; scarce supply of, 440 Reade, Mr., death of, 139 Reconnaissance, preparations for, 220; frustrated, 222 Red tape and routine business, 208, 212 Redan, defences of the, 253; unsuccessful attack on the, 291, 292; great losses sustained, 292-294; final attack on the, 346 _et seq._; plan of assault, 344, 345; description of the interior, 349 _et seq._; failure of the English attack, 350; detailed account of the conflict 351 _et seq._; causes of the repulse, 356; tremendous losses sustained thereby, 354, 355, 357-359; ruin and desolation of the, 367; number of guns captured in the, 383; melancholy accident in the, 433 Redschid Pasha, the Turkish commander in the Sea of Azoff, 265 Reid, Sir W., 7 Rifle-pits, position of the, 241; attacks on, and severe contests for the, 242, 243, 244, 253-255, 259 Riza Pacha, 34 Road-making, 375, 421; difficulties of, 388 Roads, 198; round Sebastopol, 441; one from Balaklava to Kadikoi, 442 Rocket practice, its effects, 258 Ros, Lord de, quartermaster-general, 27; his interview with Omar Pasha, 33 Rose, Brig-Gen., commissioner for the British army, 88 Round Tower of Sebastopol, defences of the, 253; desperate contests for the, 285 Russia, causes of the war with, 1; her spirit of aggression, 1, 2; her armies on the Danube, 33; and their siege of Silistria, 48; death of the Emperor of, 236 Russian forces in the Crimea, 60; their encampment bombarded by the Allied fleet, 89; first encounter with the, 94, 95; their determined bravery at the battle of the Alma, 103, 107-109; their position, 106, 123; their defeat, 113, 114, 125; their retreat towards Simpheropol, 120; their numbers, 123; their loss in the battle, 126; their defences on the north of Sebastopol, 133; their movements _ib._; their defence of Sebastopol, 149 _et seq._; their manoeuvring, 155, 159, 193; their attack from the Tchernaya, 151, 193; their cavalry defeated, 155; their retreat from Balaklava, 160; their fortified position, 166; surprise the British at Inkerman, 168; their desperate attack, 171; defeated, 172; formation of the army, 177; their uniform and weapons, 177, 178; their general appearance, 177, 178; their devotion to their officers, _ib._; their barbarity to our men, _ib._; their furious conflicts, 214, 216, 227, 239, 242 _et seq._; receive reinforcements from Sebastopol, 243; their great losses, 246; their contests for the rifle-pits, 253, 254; their movements towards the Tchernaya, 263; their furious attack, and defeat, 263-265; destruction of their ports, corn, and shipping, in the Sea of Azoff, 270; continue to receive supplies of men and food, 306; defeated at the battle of Tchernaya, 318; the divisions engaged in the battle at Tchernaya, _ib._; concentration of the, 330; their distressed condition, 339; lose the Malakoff, and retreat to the north side of Sebastopol, 343; their retreat after the capture of the Malakoff, 360, 361; ability of their engineers, 362; their operations after the fall of Sebastopol, 372, 373; their defences and activity on the north side of Sebastopol, 376; their firing, 380; their miserable state after the capture of Sebastopol, 387; their continued firing, 388; capture of their immense rafts in the Dnieper, 417; apprehensions of their renewed attacks, 435; their threatening movements, 443, 446; their attempt to surprise, 446; their continued firing, 451; their military music, 471; their fleet submerged, 472, 473; their mutual intercourse with the Allies, 465; their mines, 493; their immense losses in the Crimea, 496, 497 Russian New Year, opening of the, 200 Russian officer discovered at Eupatoria, 84 Russian song on the war, 470 Rustum, Pasha of Adrianople, 15 Sailor, his comparative comforts, 72 Sailors, British, their good-natured assistance to the troops, 86, 87 Sailors' batteries, their activity, 247, 249 Sailors' brigade, their severe losses, 253 St. Arnaud, Marshal, his arrival at Gallipoli, 30; dines with the Sultan, 33; his conference with Omar Pasha, at Varna, 34; his vigour and coolness, 61; his declaration to the army, on embarking for the Crimea, 66; seized with illness, 74; reviews the troops, 94; explains his plan of battle, 97; death, 139 St. Laurent, M., death of, 248 Salt lakes of the Crimea, 266, 495 Saltmarshe, Lieutenant, death of, 65 Sanatorium at Balaklava, 240 Sappers and Miners at Varna, 43 Sardinians, their arrival at the Crimea, 264; their soldierlike equipments, _ib._; their character as soldiers, 311, 492; their skill and bravery at the battle of the Tchernaya, 316-318; their departure from the Crimea, 492; general orders respecting, _ib._ Saros, Gulf of, 16 Scarlett, Brigadier-General, 52; at Balaklava, 157 Schapan, on the coast of the Crimea, 79 Scutari, arrival of troops at, 23; the Alied forces at, 31, 32; departure from, 36 Sea, life at, 72 Sea-passage, the, 9 _et seq._ SEBASTOPOL, orders for besieging, 56; report respecting, 59; reconnoitring of, 76; forces of, 89; its northern defences, 133; south of, occupied by the Allies, 138; investment of, and commencement of the siege, 140; operations against, 141; first sortie, 143; the line of operations, 143, 144; difficulties of the ground, 146; the Russian defence, _ib._; the first bombardment, _ib._; effects of the fire upon, 146, 147; the Russian manoeuvres, 151; its continued defence, 186; its great strength, 211; the tales of the siege, 193 _et seq._; during the winter, 195 _et seq._; reconnaissance of, 206; Russian defences of, 206, 207; furious contests before, 214; a good view of, 224; its general appearance, 225; cannonading of, 227; ships sunk in the harbour of, 228; active operations against, 229, 231; Russian reinforcements, 243; furious struggles for, 244; a number of officers killed and wounded, 244, 245; its general defences, 248, 249; desultory contests, 249; continued bombardment of, 250 _et seq._; the various batteries brought against, 252; its ruinous condition, 253; renewed operations against, 282; preparations for the general attack, _ib._; capture of the Mamelon and Quarries, 284; and further struggles, 285 _et seq._; positions of the contending parties, 303 _et seq._; principal events of the siege, 304-306; the writer's opinions as to its capture, 308; letter of a Russian lady respecting, 309; ominous preparations for the final assault, 312, 313; crisis of the siege, 330; commencement of the sixth and last bombardment, 334; aspect of the city from Cathcart's Hill, _ib._; tremendous bombardment of, 335, 339; frightful state of the town, 339, 348; in flames, 341; the Russians retreat to the north side on the capture of the Malakoff, 343, 360, 361; visit to the city after its capture, 362; plunder taken from, 363; hospital of, 364; general review of the great struggle, 370; the Russian defences on the north side of, 376; the mixed commission appointed for adjudicating the spoils of, 381-385; materials and build of the forts of, 388; ruins of, 387-389; Russian account of its capture, 389; state of affairs in, 420; want of proper system and organization, 421; proceedings of the mixed commission on the division of the spoils, 381-385; how the city might have been taken, 436; spoils of, contribute to the comfort of the army, 438; sales of the different articles, _ib._; destruction of the docks, 451-453; the city a mass of ruins, 454; reflections on the siege, 468 _et seq._; northern forts of, 472 Seymour, Lieut.-Colonel, slain, 170 Shipping of the Russians, sunk in the harbour of Sebastopol, 228; on fire, 340; sunk and destroyed, 341 Ships of war engaged in the Crimean expedition, 67 Shumla, Turkish forces at, 34 Sick, comforts for the, 378 Sickness of the British troops, 196, 209, 217; in the French camp, 198, 209, 218 Siege works, formidable progress of the, 236, 308, 322 Sievernaya, the, 133, 309; defence of the, 133 Silistria, bombardment by the Russians, 34; siege of, raised, 48 Simeis, Tartar village of, 481 _Simoom_, her arrival at Malta, 5 Simpheropol, typhus-haunted streets of, 473 Simpson, General, succeeds Lord Raglan as Commander-in-Chief, 300; not suited for the position of Commander-in-Chief, _ib._; his order of the day announcing his appointment to the command, 301; his personal staff, _ib._; receives the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour, 372; his despatch respecting the operations on the 8th of September, 390; his failure as a commander, 424; suspended, _ib._; his farewell address, _ib._ Sinope, slaughter of, avenged, 370 Sivash, waters of the, 495 Snow-storm, effects of one, 221-223 Social vultures, 445 Soldier, his hardships, 72 Soldiers, British, their devoted heroism, 2; their departure for Gallipoli, 9; their voyage, 9 _et seq._; their arrival at the Dardanelles, 12; quartered at Gallipoli, 15; deficiency of accommodation for the, 16; their difficulties at Gallipoli, 17; their arrival in the Bosphorus, 23; their uniforms, 18; their complaints 46; their disposition, 33; their games and amusements, 35; their sufferings at Varna, 62; their landing at Eupatoria, 84; want of accommodation for, 89; sickness among, 91; their operations and bravery at the battle of the Alma, 107 _et seq._; enter Balaklava, 137; their siege and bombardment of Sebastopol, 140 _et seq._; surprised at Inkerman, 168; their want of clothing, 179; their distressing position, 180 _et seq._; their heroism, 199; continual drain of, 209, 210; effect of the author's statements, _ib._; their armament, 305; their severe losses, 354, 355, 357-359; not equal to the French as labourers, 389; their increased comforts, 437, 441; grand review of the, 454; their splendid appearance, 455, 456 Soyer, M., at the Crimea, 328; his system of cookery, _ib._ Spahis, their capture of cattle, 91, 92 Spencer, Hon. General A., commander of the expedition to Eupatoria, 394 Spirit vendors, their abominable articles, 445; expelled the Crimea, _ib._ Sports of the camp, 234 Spring, sports of the, 234; its genial influence, 239 Spy, Russian, in the trenches, 210; his information trustworthy, 216 Squadrons, English and French, their formidable array before Odessa, 399, 400; their plan of operations in the expedition to the Bay of Cherson, 406-409; their attack on Kinburn, 407 _et seq._; compel its surrender, 411; their departure from the Bay of Cherson, 417, 419 Strangways, General Fox, slain at Inkerman, 171 Staff of General Simpson, 301 Stanislaff, threatened attack on, 417 Star fort, in Sebastopol, 138, 309 Steamers, Russian, sunk at Sebastopol, 370 Stewart, Admiral Houston, 7; his operations in Cherson Bay, 413, 414 Storms, in the Mediterranean, 9; in the Dardanelles, 26; their fatal effects, 33, 34, 180-186; in the Crimea, 449 Sullivan, Colonel, 15 Supplies received by the Russians, 306 Surgeons of the Crimean army, official neglect of, 385 Suttlers, their rapacity, 445 Surgery of the English, its skill, 439 Taganrog, attack on, 270 Taioutine regiment, 133 Takli Bournou, Cape of, 266 Taman, coast of, 266 Tarkan Cape, promontory of, 73, 77 Tartar race of the Crimea, 88, 475; their friendliness, 92; their ruined villages, 478, 479 Tartars of Kertch, 272 Tchernaya, the river, 133; occupied by the Russian infantry, 152; the adjoining country, 153; the Russians advance from the, 154, 155; despatch of General Evans after the battle, 161-163; attack on the, 315; position of the, _ib._; battle of the, 316 _et seq._; the Russians defeated at, 318; a review of the battle-field, struggle between the French and the Russians, 319; fire of the English battery, 320; last effort of the Russians, _ib._; their retreat, _ib._; memorials of the fight, 322; excursion to the, after the armistice, 483 Tchongar, its defences, 495 Telegraph, information by, 421; at Alma, 486 Tenedos, Mount, 12 Thaw, effects of a, 199, 200 Theatre, play-bill of the, 329; acting in the, 329, 330 Therapia, number of wounded officers at, 311 Thomas, General, at the Alma, 102 Thompson, Dr., 129; death of, 139 Tice, Dr., 42 _Times_, commissioner, various articles sent by the, 196; his valuable supplies to the troops, _ib._ Timoyoieff, General, his negotiations respecting the armistice, 459; characteristics of, 461 Tornado, its violence, 368 Torrens, Brig.-General, at Inkerman, 169 Traktir, hamlet of, 137 Traktir bridge, novel scene at the, 458 _et seq._; armistice signed at the, 462 Transport, want of, at Varna, 46 Transports to the Crimea, 70 Trenches, terrible state of the, 197; conversations in the, 261; service in the, 331 Troad, the, 12 Trochu, Colonel, 56 Truce, flags of, 389; See _Armistice_ Tryon, Lieut., death of, 190 Turco-Egyptian troops at Varna, 49 Turkey, her independence menaced, 1; protection of her Christian subjects, 2; her need of reform, 20 Turkish commission, its difficulties, 19 Turkish forces, strength of the, 34 TURKS, their opinion of the English and the French, 18; their apathy, 29, 35; at Sebastopol, 145; their redoubts, 153; their flight from the Russian attack, 154; employed in the trenches, 165; their inefficiency, 165, 166; their dreadful state in Balaklava, 192; their removal from Balaklava, 235; 15,000 infantry join the besiegers before Sebastopol, 254; their dress and appearance, _ib._; reconnaissance by the, 256; their position in Asia Minor, 306; their plundering disposition, 313, 314 Turner, Commissary-General, 15 Tylden, Brigadier-General, of the Engineers, death of, 128 Unett, Colonel, killed, 346 Uniforms of the French and English, 18 Upton, Mr., capture of, 138 Valetta, arrival of the British troops at, 5; of the French troops, 6, 8 _Valetta_, the transport, 8 Varna, conferences at, between Omar Pasha and the Allied generals, 34; departure of the troops at, 36; arrival at, _ib._; town of, described, 40, 41; march from, 41; improvements at, 43; surrounding country of, _ib._; animals of, _ib._; natives of, _ib._; inconveniences at, 45; further arrival of troops at, 48, 49; council of war at, 55; cholera at, 57; great fire at, 61; council of war at, 63; determine on invading the Crimea, _ib._; the army embarks from, 70 Varnutka, valley of, 475 Vatika Bay, landing at, 11 Vegetables and fruits, mismanagement in their supply, 217 Veliki, Lake of, 495 Vicars, Captain, killed, 245 Victor, Colonel, 9 Victoria, Queen, celebration of her birthday in Turkey, 35 Vivandière, the, 21 Wallachia occupied by Omar Pasha, 54 Walpole, Mr., leader of the Indian Osmanli, 55 Walsham, Lieutenant, 119 War, its false economy, 36, 45; dreadful picture of the horrors of, 97 _et seq._; havoc of, 360 _et seq._ Warren, Colonel, his bravery at the Alma, 118 Weare, Captain, 119 Weather, improvements in the, 214; state of the, 217; returning mildness of the, 235; effects of the, 251 Wellington, Duke of, his circular to commanding officers in 1812, 390-392 Wells of the Crimea, 484, 494 Welsh Fusileers, monument to their officers slain at the Alma, 491 Wetherall, Colonel, 185 "Whistling Dick," 165 White buildings of Sebastopol, destruction of the, 457 Whitmore, Captain, 15 Wild-fowl shooting in the Crimea, 203, 234 Wild-fowl of the Crimea, 233 Windham, Colonel, bravery of, 346, 349, 350; goes for assistance, 349; his promotion, 420 Winter of 1855, four months of, 440; its severity, 445 Winter encampments round Sebastopol, 193 _et seq._; requisitions, &c., evil system of, 194, 208 Winter quarters, preparations for, 166, 438 Wolff, Admiral, 270 Woronzoff, Colonel, palace of, 483 Woronzoff Road, 144, 310, 340, 342, 343 Wrangel, General Von, his hospitality, 495 Yalta, visit to, 476 Yea, Colonel, 118 Yellon, Deputy-Assistant-Commissary, killed, 432 Yenikale, capture of, 267; town of, 270; destruction and plunder at, 267-269 Yursakova, town of, 67 Yusuf, General, 51, 57 Zouaves, their dress and appearance, 22; their martial bearing and equipments, 27, 28; their pillaging propensities, 91, 195, 223; their bravery at the Alma, 102; at the Tchernaya, 155; at Inkerman, 171; our gay and gallant friends, 195; their activity and bravery, 242; review of the, 260; their capture of the Mamelon, 284 FOOTNOTES: [1] The letter which appeared in the _Times_ giving an account of the Battle of the Alma was written at a plank which Captain Montagu's sappers put on two barrels to form a table. [2] The districts which were the scenes of such brutal excesses in the suppression of a conspiracy are not in Bulgaria. [3] The 3rd Battalion Grenadier Guards, and 1st Battalion Coldstream Guards. The 1st Battalion Scots Fusilier Guards embarked on February 28th. [4] This was a timely warning--almost a prophetic warning--sounded long ere a British soldier set foot in the East. [5] It is a fact that at one time the Turks were busily engaged strengthening the batteries at the entrance of the Dardanelles, in order to prevent the entrance of the Allied fleets without their consent. [6] It did happen that a Russian man-of-war very nearly captured one of our screw transports off the mouth of the Bosphorus as she was running up to Varna with the commissariat chest full of gold on board. [7] The French aver that it was our tardiness. [8] Now Lord Strathnairn. [9] It seems to have been a sort of passion with the French to be "the first" to do everything--or was it a passion with our generals to be second? Our allies were the first at Gallipoli, first at Varna, first in the Crimea--all our attacks depended on them. They attacked first at the Alma, and when they turned the Russian right our attack was to take place. They also attacked first in the two great assaults, and our assaults were made to depend on the success of their demonstrations. [10] No. 1 company of the 22nd Royal Welsh Fusileers now claim the honour, and Colonel Lysons, who was in the boat along with Lieutenant Drew, asserts that he was the first man to spring on shore. [11] Lord Raglan and staff, and several officers of rank, remained on board ship that night. His lordship did not take up his quarters on shore till the next day. [12] They were thrown out of the commissariat araba, in which they had been placed by order of the Commissariat-General, and were abandoned to the Cossacks, so I never saw them again. It was found necessary to make room for some of the reserve ammunition which had been stowed in arabas that broke down on the march. [13] He must mean a few sotnias of Cossacks. The cavalry were on the right flank. [14] As an instance of the difficulty of obtaining accurate information respecting the incidents of a general action, I may state that Captain Henry, an officer promoted from the ranks for his distinguished bravery, and who has received the Order of Victoria, told me that the guns were taken over a bridge, and not over a ford--that he was with the first gun, that no wheeler was killed, and that he fired _only_ on Russian _infantry_, and never directed a _round_ against the Russian _guns_. In most of these statements it is probable the gallant officer was mistaken, although actually present. [15] Since this was written, it appears that the Crimea is to be blessed with a Russian railroad to Theodosia; but it is doubtful whether it will be used for other and better objects than that for which the rail was first laid down on its soil. [16] This was written on the 22nd of February, 1855. On the 9th of September the enemy retired to the north side, where they remained when we left the Crimea. [17] Mr. Gould, the ornithologist, informs me that the Crimea is not, to his knowledge, among the habitats of the "summer duck." [18] This suggestion was acted on, and sanitary commissioners were sent out later in the year. [19] Mr. Beatty, the able, kind, and deserving gentleman who was in charge of the line, received injuries which laid the foundation of a disease that afterwards proved fatal. [20] Sir Stephen Lushington, in his Report, seems to have been under the impression that the ladders were properly placed. He laboured under a grave delusion. [21] The creation of an Order of Merit and Valour, which I took every occasion of recommending, and for which I suggested the name "Victoria" in one of my letters, as the most expressive and appropriate, has since been carried out. [22] It was, as I have since heard, caused by a barrel of tar at the top of the shears, which was placed there in order to light up the dockyards, where the Russians were embarking their wounded and stores for the north side. [23] On the 18th June, Lord Raglan and Staff were stationed in the parallel of the Right Attack, close behind the Quarries, where they were exposed to heavy fire, but were close to the scene of the assault. The position in which General Simpson was placed by the Engineers was far from the Redan, and was separated from the trenches by the Woronzoff Ravine. [24] A private named O'Brien led them, or at least was the first to leap out of the trench, and was shot through the back as he was crossing the ditch by a Russian above him. [25] Very unfavourable comments have been made upon Major-General (then Colonel and acting Brigadier) Windham's conduct in leaving the Redan at such a moment, and some French officers did not hesitate to speak of his "desertion" of his men, as they called it, in the severest terms. I have therefore thought it advisable to give the lengthened statement, which was furnished to me on the best authority the very day after the assault, of the motives which led General Windham to quit the Redan, and of the circumstances which preceded and followed that proceeding. I offer no opinion on the merits of the controversy. I merely state what were presented to me--I believe correctly--as facts by one who ought to have been conversant with them.--W. H. RUSSELL. [26] Sir W. Codrington, who acted with great gallantry at the Alma, and who proved himself a most careful and excellent Brigadier and a zealous General of Division, denied at the time, in a letter which came under my notice, that he was at all discomposed by the untoward events of the 8th of September. But a man, under such circumstances, is not the best judge of his own acts; and though I have the highest admiration for General Codrington's bravery, honesty, simplicity of mind, and character, and soldierly qualities, I think it right to retain the statement which I made on the faith of officers who had opportunities of observing him on that day, when he was indeed charged with enormous responsibility, and subjected to the severest test by which a general can be tried. [27] Joined the squadron at Odessa. [28] "Je suis radicalement opposé." [29] "Do not attack Odessa unless you are certain of succeeding." [30] The ascent of the Bug or the Dnieper is only to be attempted by vessels with shot-proof screens and proof decks, inasmuch as every man could be picked off the decks by Minié riflemen, unless the banks of the river were cleared by troops in numbers sufficient to beat back the enemy as they advanced. In spite of our operations in the Sea of Azoff, let it be remembered that we did not reduce Arabat or Genitchi, and that the Russians had free use of the Spit. The water of the sea is frozen in winter to the distance of several miles, so that no boat can approach to prevent the passage of troops or convoys. Had Arabat fallen, and an expedition landed at Kaffa or Theodosia, we should have been masters of the Peninsula of Kertch. The want of wisdom and foresight of most of our military operations in burning, laying waste, and blowing up, was never better exemplified than at Kertch. There was a very fine barrack near the quarantine station, on the Bay of Kertch, recently built, provided with every comfort, and well supplied with water from a deep well, and with capacious tanks. In the ordinary exercise of reason these buildings should have been preserved, inasmuch as it had been determined to keep a British force at Kertch; but, before Sir George Brown left, they were burnt and reduced to a heap of blackened ruins. During the following winter, with infinite labour and trouble, and at prodigious expense, we were obliged to _send the materials for huts_ to Kertch, and drag them up close to the site of the barracks, where they formed a very poor protection against the weather in comparison with the substantial buildings which we destroyed. As the tanks were ruined and the well spoiled, the men were compelled to drag water a distance of three miles to their new residence. [31] I do not allude to the advice given by Sir de Lacy Evans, who was so strongly impressed with the falseness and insecurity of our position in a military sense, that he recommended Lord Raglan to retire from it, as much as to the opinions of those generals who maintained that we had no business in the Crimea at all. [32] Notwithstanding a reckless assertion in Major Calthorpe's letters, I have the best authority for reiterating the statement that Lord Lyons looked with disfavour on the flank march. [33] The Russians, it will be said, were on the north side, and yet they could not drive us out of the south side. But the Russians had no fleet. Even as it was, we never were in strong military force on the south side, and our boats never ventured on the waters of the harbour. [34] Every officer of the Crimean army will readily concur with me in saying that a kindlier, more zealous, or more able public servant than Mr. Beatty never existed. We all deeply regretted his death. [35] Major-General Barnard. [36] A very accurate and interesting memorial has been written by Captain Brine, R.E., illustrated with admirable sketches by Major the Hon. E. Colborne, and published by Ackerman, Regent Street. * * * * * Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: Je suis radicalement oppose=> Je suis radicalement opposé {pg 401} Light Divison=> Light Division {pg 49} appeared to be be kept=> appeared to be kept {pg 49} opportuity=> opportunity {pg 111} crosssd=> crossed {pg 124} Divison=> Division {pg 134} Lancastar=> Lancaster {pg 146} havresacks=> haversacks {pg 148} of of => of {pg 163} Quarantime Fort=> Quarantine Fort {pg 164} earthworth of quadrilateral form=> earthwork of quadrilateral form {pg 166} halycon=> halcyon {pg 184} prepared againts=> prepared against {pg 188} enciente=> enceinte {pg 191} suggested by by=> suggested by {pg 192} could not not describe=> could not describe {pg 192} dysentry=> dysentery {pg 198} beame=> became {pg 201} maison bruleé=> maison brulée {pg 206} parrallels=> parallels {pg 206} the managment=> the management {pg 215} The Navvy's Barrow=> The Navy's Barrow {pg 211} Scarely=> Scarcely {pg 222} seriously disabled=> seriously disable {pg 237} twiced blessed=> twice blessed {pg 240} Chasseurs Indigenes=> Chasseurs Indigènes {pg 260} bear the whole brunt=> bears the whole brunt {pg 261} between=> beween {pg 264} these was sometimes=> there was sometimes {pg 273} The Austrian Consul was found to have a large store of corn, which he concealed in magazines painted and decorated to pass as part of his dwelling-house. It was all destroyed. Amid the necessary destruction, private plunderers found facility for their work. Along the quay there was a long line of walls, which once were the fronts of store-houses, magazines, mansions, and palaces. They soon became empty shells, hollow and roofless, with fire burning luridly within them by night, and streaks and clouds of parti-coloured smoke arising from them by day. The white walls were barred with black bands where the fire had rushed out of the window-frames. These store-houses belonged to Russians, and were full of corn--these magazines were the enemy's--these mansions belonged to their nobles and governors--and these palaces were the residences of their princes and rulers; and so far we carried on war with all the privileges of war, and used all the consequences of conquest. In the whole lengthened front facing the sea, and the wide quay which borders it, there was not an edifice untouched but one. This was a fine mansion, with a grand semicircular front, ornamented with rich entablatures and a few Grecian pillars. The windows permitted one to see massive mirrors and the framework of pictures and the glitter of brasswork. Inside the open door an old man in an arm-chair received everybody. How deferential he was! how he bowed! how graceful, deprecatory, and soothing the modulation of his trunk and arms! But these were nothing to his smile. His face seemed a kind of laughing-clock, wound up to act for so many hours. When the machinery was feeble, towards evening, the laugh degenerated into a grin, but he managed with nods, and cheeks wreathed in smiles, and a little bad German and French, to inform all comers that this house was specially under English and French protection, to save it from plunder and pillage. The house belonged, _on dit_, to Prince Woronzoff, and the guardian angel was an aged servitor of the Prince. Being paralytic, he was left behind; and did good service in his arm-chair. The silence and desolation of places which a few days before were full of people, were exceedingly painful and distressing. They were found in every street, almost in every house, except when the noise of gentlemen playing on pianos with their boot-heels or breaking up furniture was heard within the houses or the flames crackled within the walls. In some instances the people had hoisted the French or Sardinian flag to protect their houses. That poor device was soon detected and frustrated. It was astonishing to find that the humblest dwellings had not escaped. They must have been invaded for the mere purpose of outrage and from the love of mischief, for the most miserable of men could have but little hope of discovering within them booty worthy of his notice.=> Repeat of Page 276 removed {pg 279-280} Kertch and Yenikalè=> Kertch and Yenikale {pg 281 x 2} Bastion du Mat=> Bastion du Mât {pg 305, 508} confiedently affirmed=> confidently affirmed {pg 329} Divisoin=> Division {pg 346} her novel birth=> her novel berth {pg 369} RESOURCES THE OF RUSSIANS=> RESOURCES OF THE RUSSIANS {pg 373} on the 13th it marked 20° Fahrenheit=> on the 15th it marked 20° Fahrenheit {pg 448} teh bugle=> the bugle {pg 450} Tchnernaya=> Tchernaya {pg 457} why the deuce doesn't go it off=> why the deuce doesn't it go off {pg 457} them came a big puff=> then came a big puff {pg 458} widely-spead rumour=> widely-spread rumour {pg 467} neigbourhood=> neighbourhood {pg 475} gaud jays=> gaudy jays {pg 475} Petersburgh=> Petersburg {pg 488} house of fine fine=> house of fine {pg 489} have surrenderad=> have surrendered {pg 494} CATCHCART'S HILL=> CATHCART'S HILL {pg 499} I must point out out=> I must point out {pg 525} consesequence=> consequence {pg 537} with the ocnsent=> with the consent {pg 544}